#11nov2013

[flashphotographyforwriters]

Have you seen me?

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?: One 1992 Model Off-White Side-by-Side Refrigerator

Our fridge has gone missing.

It has been acting up ever since we made the mistake of leaving it home alone one weekend last summer.  We returned to find it plugged in, but the food inside had turned, and the bottom was scuffed and skid marked, and it was covered with funky stickers from all over the North Jersey coast. 

It has taken off in the wee hours of the night at least seven times since then, but has always returned the next day.

Truth be told, we don’t even use it to store food anymore, because the coolant system’s gone wonky and once the cord shorted out and almost electrocuted an entire kitchen full of cookie-baking kiddies.

We suspect it might be traversing the art-and-craft fair circuit, as it seems particularly fond of bluesy rock music and saving the environment.

If you see it, proceed with caution because it is very clever and because we’ve had to keep the doors duct taped shut ever since it tried to eat our beloved Shih Tzu Walter.

But it is really important to me that I get it back.  You see, I keep my genie in there.

[flashphotographyforwriters]

Fridge

Sweating now in my coat I try to catch my breath and I take a few steps back.  I should have just paid someone to haul it to the dump for me she has said as I drove it out here.

She had won. It was a slow strip, layer by layer and this was the last bit still left.

It has been with me since I was old enough to have one of my own, battered and decorated as I once was. The minute it showed any real weakness it was asked to leave and by "asked" I meant it was sentenced to do so.

It was to be replaced by a smaller, sleeker one fits under a custom made counter, in a custom made bar, in a custom made home, in a custom made life.

The chill had returned and the coat became useful again. I jammed my hands in my pockets making the coat as taught as possible. I turned but stopped, walked back to the fridge, reached out and peeled off a magnet that was melded in place. Slipped in my pocket and walked back to the truck only to discard it in the piles of garbage somewhere in between.

[flashphotographyforwriters]

Fall

I shut the front door behind me without turning on the light. Kicking off my shoes, I swiped at a stray tear and headed to the bedroom. Got into my sweats and some thick woollen socks, then padded through the darkened house to the back porch and the old glider there.

The glider was situated next to an old refrigerator, one I’d inherited from the previous owner and kept out here, as they had, to hold drinks. It had started out a cream color but was somewhere dingier now, its top half covered in bumper stickers for defunct radio stations and theme parks on the Jersey shore. There were remnants of duct tape on the handles where they had been secured for a previous trip, and the freezer side didn’t really work. It had probably, I thought glumly as I yanked it open and grabbed a bottle of beer, led a more interesting life than I had.

I popped the top with the bottle opener I kept tied to the handle and flopped down on the glider. It was still early October and the leaves had just started to turn. The air was cool but not cold, crisp with the scent of apples and pine, and hints of smoke from someone illegally burning leaves in their yard.

The house sat at the top of a gentle hill, and the back yard sloped down to the worn cedar fence marking the neighbors’ property line. It was possible, sitting here, to see the rooftops and windows of half the houses in the neighborhood, scenes of people living their lives obscured by tree branches tipped silver in the light of the half-moon.

I’d had quite enough beer already tonight, but was in no mood to refrain at the moment. I scrubbed my wet cheeks with the sleeve of my hoodie and took a sip. Tomorrow, I’d get a hold of myself and make a plan to get through this. Tomorrow, I’d throw myself into my regular life and try to move on. Tonight, though, I’d relive the moment that my silent and cowardly devotion had been unknowingly rejected, in favor of a girl who’d seen someone she liked, and done something about it.

I leaned my head back against the wooden siding and listened to the wheezy, comforting hum of the fridge. Tonight, I’d cry.

[flashphotographyforwriters]

Soldiers' bliss

"Don't be late Adam!"

Adam jokingly responded, "For what mom?"

Before his mother could respond, Adam activated his skylers and soared out into the pre-dawn morning with an electronic tablet in one hand and a folded sheet of paper in the other. "Bye, mom!" Adam's shout faded into a buzz of dozens of commuters.

Adam's communicator began to ring moments from his home. "Glenn" flashed brightly on the display.

"Adam! Quick game of ball before school?"

Adam declined, "Sorry Glenn, I have to take care of something."

"You're not still going to that old fridge by the rails every day, are you?"

Adam was in a hurry to disable his communicator. "Later, Glenn!" Glenn's voice could still be heard as Adam closed his communicator and sharply veered off course.

The rails were surrounded by landfills, which served two purposes; waste disposal and noise barriers. The areas around the rails were off-limits to civilians, yet loosely monitored for trespassers.

The sunrise struck Adam's eyes as he zipped through the towers of refuse. The smog caused by the industrial district in the hazy distance resulted in a magnificent sunset. Adam fixated on the sight as he approached his destination.

When Adam turned his head, he gasped and momentarily lost control of his flight.  A man stood beside Adam's refrigerator. Adam linked eyes with the man, and the man calmly turned to face him.

"Smooth boy, jus' relax." he said in a dry flinty voice, "...I ain't bitin"

Adam slowly hovered towards his refridgerator, stopping at a safe distance of several yards, 10 feet from the ground.

"You're not allowed to be here...who are you?"

The man grinned, "I'm about as allowed to be here as you are son...say what makes you allowed t'be here all the same?"

Adam froze, the prospect of punishment sunk deep into Adam's heart, "I..."

The man's grin widened, "Smooth son, if you go down, I go down. Jus' keep your communicator cold and we'll be fine. Friends call me Rooster." Adam was relieved and moved a few feet closer to the refrigerator.

The refrigerator stood firmly on the ground, a distinctive white against a backdrop of dusty grey piles of scrap. Its face covered with relics proudly projecting obsolete concepts of its time, like music bands, radio stations and liquor. Cancerous bright orange rust crept from the rear, slowly consuming the entire body.

The door was opened to reveal a pile of poorly stacked papers. Rooster noticed the folded sheet of paper clenched in Adam's hand. The paper resembled those stacked within the refrigerator.

"What's that in your hand there son?" asked Rooster.

"It's a...drawing."

Rooster moved towards the open refrigerator door, "Boy ain't you a bit old for draw'ns? What your ma and pa got to say about it?"

Adam was embarrassed, "My mom says its fine, she used to draw when she was 14 and...hey, stop!"

Rooster took his hands away from Adam's pile of drawings, "Alright son, alright..." Rooster slowly closed the door.

Adam observed Rooster as he slowly paced around the refrigerator, resuming his interested from before Adam's arrival. Rooster was a lanky, worn man. His pale leathery face was shaded by blotches of graying hair. Rooster's clothes were torn and dirty, he wore a military jacket despite the unseasonably warm weather. A patch on Rooster's sleeve caught Adam's eyes.

"You were in the war?"

Rooster paused for a moment before squaring his shoulders toward Adam. Rooster boomed, "Sir, yes sir, 504th infantry division, still ready for action!"

Roosters stern face relaxed as his eyes remained locked onto Adam. "Showed them Chinese what for... I did most of my time on the..."

Rooster's eyes drifted slightly to the side after capturing Adam's attention. "...Rooster? On the what? Hey you didn't..."

Adam was interrupted by the deafening hiss of a passing train. Adam took the opportunity to hover in for a closer look at Rooster's jacket. The closer inspection revealed several medals and patches for awards that Adam could not recognize. The train passed and quickly moved out of sight.

"My dad was in the war too. He was in the Navy, did you know him? His name was Patrick Sorin."

"Son we all pawns, and we all took orders from the king. I had my brothers and he did too."

Adam didn't understand, "He had a lot of medals, like you. I thought you two may have..."

"Oh! A brave li'l soldier jus' like me. Savin' the world from high prices. Your daddy deserved all his shiny medals, huh?"

Adam picked up on the sarcasm and hovered away from Rooster. "Don't talk about my father like that!"

Rooster snapped, "Don't be talkin' bout war then boy! You don't understand! Uncle Sam sends boys out ta follow orders, and when it's all over... all's we left with is blood on our hands and questions."

Rooster paused before looking Adam sharply in the eyes. "...Yo' daddy was lucky to bite it before comin' back."

Adam choked up, "How...how did you know that he didn't come back?"

Rooster gazed at Adam as his brow unfurled. A small chuckle turned into belting laughter, exposing Rooster's decaying teeth.

"Reason boy...no son of mine would be wearing skylers made in China."

Adam looked down at his feet and began to panic. He managed to contort his body and twist his head towards his back to reveal the label on his heel, 'Made in China'.

"Damn right boy, your daddy died so your ma could save a few bucks on your skylers. That's why he's lucky son, cause he didn't have to go home to see why he died."

Adam's eyes turned furious. Adam came crashing down to Earth from an alarming height, and without hesitation, rose to his feet to angrily strike Rooster across the mouth, dropping him to the ground.

Rooster was taken aback by the force of the blow, and opened his eyes to see Adam, shoe-less, marching away.

Before Adam disappeared behind a column of refuse, he yelled, "If I see you here tomorrow, I'll kill you!"

Rooster rose to his feet and noticed that Adam had dropped his drawing. Rooster unfolded it to reveal an crudely drawn image of a Chinese soldier, covered in red and a stick-figure boy holding the gun that killed him.

Rooster chuckled as a stream of blood flowed over his chin. He opened the door, placed the drawing on the stack, then ripped the patch off of his sleeve and placed it atop the drawings before closing the door.

Rooster whistled as he continued walking down the rails.