Part Nine
Which is, coincidentally, the last section I will be posting on here.
Paul stood by the edge of the porch, hands gripping the handrail. He watched the bearded figure approach with apprehension. He was certain it wasn't the same one from earlier. That one didn't have a beard.
A skinny, chinless guy who looked barely out of high school had been included in Granite's monologue. She was taking drinks from his flask between sentences, and he was staring, quietly and appreciatively, at her tits.
"It's like it's not even art anymore," She said, and taking a long pull, "Right, Paul?"
The stranger's bag scraped dully on the sidewalk.
"I'm sorry" He turned toward her, stole a quick glance at the strange figure nearing the front of house, looked back at her, "What was that?" His eyes flicked nervously back to the figure scraping and shuffling slowly down the sidewalk. He tried to smile at Ruby.
She followed his gaze, and noticed the stooped, bearded figure slowly near the sidewalk directly in front of the house. He had stepped out of orange glow of the streetlight, so the weeping sores covering his face were no longer visible. If they had been, maybe this stupid girl named after some rock or mineral wouldn't have done what she'd done. Maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe the crazy, ugly hobo would have just shuffled on by to terrorize a different party.
But, as it was, Sphene, or maybe it was Kimberlit looked out to the sidewalk and saw a sad, homeless, elderly man and it struck a chord within her. She clenched her fists and a muscle twitched in her jaw. Her monologue was about to become a drunken tirade.
"See? This is exactly like what I've been saying. In America we let our elderly, our poor, our helpless and our infirm rot in the streets, like garbage. Look at this poor man, dragging all of his belongings behind him in a dirty sack. It makes me sick." She shook her head, her lips drew into a thin, candy-red line.
The high-school kid nodded, the fur-lined hunter's cap he was wearing fell further down his zit-speckled forehead, "Yeah, it's--"
"Hey Mister!" Topaz shouted, cutting him off.
"Oh no, please don't," Paul held his hand out her, touching her shoulder lightly, "Please don't yell. You don't know what you're doing."
Arkose stared at Paul as if he was a rat that had suddenly taken a shit on her shoulder. She dusted his hand off, twisting her body away from him. "Hey, sir!" She shouted again, "Do you want some food, somewhere to get out of the rain?"
The stranger stopped his slow, determined shuffle, staring down at an invisible spot in front of his feet.
The fighting couple stopped yelling at each other and stared at Galena, then slowly turned their heads to watch the man on the sidewalk.
In small, slow increments the stranger began to turn his body toward the porch.
Emery, Sard, Sapphire, Whatever, walked to the center of the porch, "You are welcome here! Come in from the cold!"
The man who had quietly been strumming Neutral Milk Hotel songs stopped playing. Silence fell, like the thick, cloistering air of August, over those gathered on the porch. Cars could be heard from the freeway, hurdling themselves into oblivion.
The homeless man didn't seem to be paying attention. He stooped, head lowered, mumbling the words to a frozen tune of a song dulled and cheapened by the passage of time to a meaningless jumble of sounds. He shuffled his feet, his head bobbing almost reluctantly, and kept his eyes firmly fixed to a spot on the ground somewhere in front of his feet. "Invest," he mumbled, "Skills." A sore on the corner of his mouth broke open and oozed a yellowish white liquid into his filthy beard, "Time management" he whispered. He swayed his body slowly back and forth slowly, rhythmically. A dog barked somewhere inside the house.
"Don't be afraid!" Amethyst said, she took a step down from the porch, arms raised. Like a priest descending from the pulpit, addressing her sinful, unwashed congregation of one. "You are safe here! Come and have a drink, something to eat!"
The stranger opened his mouth, a thick, wet, gargling moan escaped his throat. He began to cough, and spat a large, brown, wet glob onto the sidewalk. Slowly, he began to lift one long arm.
Distantly, a car alarm went off.
Breccia took another step down the porch, "You can come inside."
"Please, don't do this," Paul pleaded. Kaoline ignored him.
The barking came closer, and Paul turned to the front door in time to see a small brown, wire-haired terrier rushing out the front door, barking furiously.
Cyanite or Emerald reached the last step of the porch. As she placed her foot gently on the cement walk, the dog rushed past her. She lost her balance and fell forward slowly, inevitably toward the muddy yard. She landed on her knees and shook her head. The high-school kid rushed down the porch and caught her arm, helping her up.
He glanced back at Ryan with a greedy, triumphant smirk.
The dog had run halfway down the walk and was now standing in front of the stranger, hackles raised, barking and growling with increasing pitch and tempo. With each piercing yip, it's front legs lifted off the ground.
The stranger took one jerking step toward the creature, planting his foot down suddenly and firmly onto the walk.
Just then, shrieking laughter erupted from the back yard. A young, dark-haired woman brandishing a Jose Cuervo bottle ran a sort of frolicking skip around the side of the house. She held the bottle aloft, pouring it into her open mouth and down her neck before doing a strange sort of jig. Amber droplets of tequila sparkled in the blinking light.
"Sheila!" the desperate cry rose from behind the same corner of the house the young lady had come from.
Sheila clutched the bottle to her chest, "It's mine!" She leaned her whole body into this cry, mouth wet and wide open, dripping tequila.
Another dark-haired young woman came stomping, out of breath around the corner of the house, "No! You're making a scene!"
Sheila held herself perfectly erect, like tin soldier, and hugged the bottle closer to her chest. She shook her had firmly.
The other girl held out her hand, "Give it here. You're done. I'm finding Aaron and we're going home."
"No!" Sheila shouted again. And then she ran, laughing, headlong across the yard and straight into the bearded stranger.
She collided with his thick body and fell onto her back into the mud. The bottle crashed to the sidewalk and with a loud pop sprayed broken glass and tequila in a glittering, golden arc.
The man had not been moved by this collision. He gazed around the yard vaguely, and sniffed the air.
The dog began to howl.
"Hey!" the girl said, sitting up in the mud, "What'd you push me for?" She rubbed her elbow, pouting.
The stranger turned his body toward her, reaching down for her. He moaned again, mouth open, drool and pus dripping from his cracked lips.
Sheila wrinkled her nose, "Who are you? You smell bad."
He tilted his head toward her in that curious, bird-like way and then suddenly dove for her, knocking her back into the mud.
Sheila screamed, flailing her arms. She ripped up clumps of mud and grass, shoving them into the strangers face.
But his body was heavy and he lay his weight upon her, not acknowledging her kicks to his his groin and legs or the bits of the yard now covering his face and dropping from his open mouth and onto her chest. The stranger breathed loudly, wetly with a sort of, "Haah-haah," half choking, half laughing noise, he pawed at her body like a blind man.
"Sheila!" The victim's friend cried, rushing over and beating the stranger's back with her fists.
"Get him off of me!" Sheila screamed, "He stinks!" The dog barked and yelped, jumping at the stranger's heels.
The stranger managed to pin one of Sheila's arms to the ground. She used her other to alternately punch his ear, pull his beard, and claw at his face. He seemed oblivious to any of these actions. A long string of drool dripped onto her chest
Sheila's friend grabbed at the stranger's thick coat and tried to pull him off of her friend, "Someone help!" She implored, throwing a desperate look to those watching from the porch with amused interest. A small handful of people had wandered outside and were sipping their beers and talking quietly to one another, pointing. Someone began to laugh. Nervously, a handful of others joined in.
Selinite, or maybe it was Rodinia was standing still, finally silent next to the high-schooler, allowing him to grasp her arm, which she let hang limply in his hands.
The stranger got a firm hold of Sheila's head and pushed it to one side, baring her throat. The raspy "Haah-haah" turned into a wet, huffing snort. He leaned his head into her vulnerable, creamy white neck and snuffed at it. Sheila let forth a crying wail, pleading once again, "Get him off me!" and kicking her feet aimlessly.
Arching his head back, the bearded man let forth one almost triumphant, hiccuping, "Haah-haah" before striking at her neck like a cobra or a wolf.
Sheila shrieked wordlessly, like a frightened animal. She redoubled her kicks and flailed her free arm wildly. The other twitched and thrashed uselessly in the mud under the stranger's unrelenting grip. Sheila's friend began to cry, still pulling at the man's jacket and now throwing kicks at his ribs.
"Ag--"The stranger said, pulling his head back again, snorting and chortling. He coughed, another, "Haah-haah," spitting Sheila's own blood into her muddy, tear-streaked face. She wailed miserably through her sobs. "Agflagation," the stranger said, and lowered his head, slurping and grunting, into the bleeding gore of her neck.
Paul stood by the edge of the porch, hands gripping the handrail. He watched the bearded figure approach with apprehension. He was certain it wasn't the same one from earlier. That one didn't have a beard.
A skinny, chinless guy who looked barely out of high school had been included in Granite's monologue. She was taking drinks from his flask between sentences, and he was staring, quietly and appreciatively, at her tits.
"It's like it's not even art anymore," She said, and taking a long pull, "Right, Paul?"
The stranger's bag scraped dully on the sidewalk.
"I'm sorry" He turned toward her, stole a quick glance at the strange figure nearing the front of house, looked back at her, "What was that?" His eyes flicked nervously back to the figure scraping and shuffling slowly down the sidewalk. He tried to smile at Ruby.
She followed his gaze, and noticed the stooped, bearded figure slowly near the sidewalk directly in front of the house. He had stepped out of orange glow of the streetlight, so the weeping sores covering his face were no longer visible. If they had been, maybe this stupid girl named after some rock or mineral wouldn't have done what she'd done. Maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe the crazy, ugly hobo would have just shuffled on by to terrorize a different party.
But, as it was, Sphene, or maybe it was Kimberlit looked out to the sidewalk and saw a sad, homeless, elderly man and it struck a chord within her. She clenched her fists and a muscle twitched in her jaw. Her monologue was about to become a drunken tirade.
"See? This is exactly like what I've been saying. In America we let our elderly, our poor, our helpless and our infirm rot in the streets, like garbage. Look at this poor man, dragging all of his belongings behind him in a dirty sack. It makes me sick." She shook her head, her lips drew into a thin, candy-red line.
The high-school kid nodded, the fur-lined hunter's cap he was wearing fell further down his zit-speckled forehead, "Yeah, it's--"
"Hey Mister!" Topaz shouted, cutting him off.
"Oh no, please don't," Paul held his hand out her, touching her shoulder lightly, "Please don't yell. You don't know what you're doing."
Arkose stared at Paul as if he was a rat that had suddenly taken a shit on her shoulder. She dusted his hand off, twisting her body away from him. "Hey, sir!" She shouted again, "Do you want some food, somewhere to get out of the rain?"
The stranger stopped his slow, determined shuffle, staring down at an invisible spot in front of his feet.
The fighting couple stopped yelling at each other and stared at Galena, then slowly turned their heads to watch the man on the sidewalk.
In small, slow increments the stranger began to turn his body toward the porch.
Emery, Sard, Sapphire, Whatever, walked to the center of the porch, "You are welcome here! Come in from the cold!"
The man who had quietly been strumming Neutral Milk Hotel songs stopped playing. Silence fell, like the thick, cloistering air of August, over those gathered on the porch. Cars could be heard from the freeway, hurdling themselves into oblivion.
The homeless man didn't seem to be paying attention. He stooped, head lowered, mumbling the words to a frozen tune of a song dulled and cheapened by the passage of time to a meaningless jumble of sounds. He shuffled his feet, his head bobbing almost reluctantly, and kept his eyes firmly fixed to a spot on the ground somewhere in front of his feet. "Invest," he mumbled, "Skills." A sore on the corner of his mouth broke open and oozed a yellowish white liquid into his filthy beard, "Time management" he whispered. He swayed his body slowly back and forth slowly, rhythmically. A dog barked somewhere inside the house.
"Don't be afraid!" Amethyst said, she took a step down from the porch, arms raised. Like a priest descending from the pulpit, addressing her sinful, unwashed congregation of one. "You are safe here! Come and have a drink, something to eat!"
The stranger opened his mouth, a thick, wet, gargling moan escaped his throat. He began to cough, and spat a large, brown, wet glob onto the sidewalk. Slowly, he began to lift one long arm.
Distantly, a car alarm went off.
Breccia took another step down the porch, "You can come inside."
"Please, don't do this," Paul pleaded. Kaoline ignored him.
The barking came closer, and Paul turned to the front door in time to see a small brown, wire-haired terrier rushing out the front door, barking furiously.
Cyanite or Emerald reached the last step of the porch. As she placed her foot gently on the cement walk, the dog rushed past her. She lost her balance and fell forward slowly, inevitably toward the muddy yard. She landed on her knees and shook her head. The high-school kid rushed down the porch and caught her arm, helping her up.
He glanced back at Ryan with a greedy, triumphant smirk.
The dog had run halfway down the walk and was now standing in front of the stranger, hackles raised, barking and growling with increasing pitch and tempo. With each piercing yip, it's front legs lifted off the ground.
The stranger took one jerking step toward the creature, planting his foot down suddenly and firmly onto the walk.
Just then, shrieking laughter erupted from the back yard. A young, dark-haired woman brandishing a Jose Cuervo bottle ran a sort of frolicking skip around the side of the house. She held the bottle aloft, pouring it into her open mouth and down her neck before doing a strange sort of jig. Amber droplets of tequila sparkled in the blinking light.
"Sheila!" the desperate cry rose from behind the same corner of the house the young lady had come from.
Sheila clutched the bottle to her chest, "It's mine!" She leaned her whole body into this cry, mouth wet and wide open, dripping tequila.
Another dark-haired young woman came stomping, out of breath around the corner of the house, "No! You're making a scene!"
Sheila held herself perfectly erect, like tin soldier, and hugged the bottle closer to her chest. She shook her had firmly.
The other girl held out her hand, "Give it here. You're done. I'm finding Aaron and we're going home."
"No!" Sheila shouted again. And then she ran, laughing, headlong across the yard and straight into the bearded stranger.
She collided with his thick body and fell onto her back into the mud. The bottle crashed to the sidewalk and with a loud pop sprayed broken glass and tequila in a glittering, golden arc.
The man had not been moved by this collision. He gazed around the yard vaguely, and sniffed the air.
The dog began to howl.
"Hey!" the girl said, sitting up in the mud, "What'd you push me for?" She rubbed her elbow, pouting.
The stranger turned his body toward her, reaching down for her. He moaned again, mouth open, drool and pus dripping from his cracked lips.
Sheila wrinkled her nose, "Who are you? You smell bad."
He tilted his head toward her in that curious, bird-like way and then suddenly dove for her, knocking her back into the mud.
Sheila screamed, flailing her arms. She ripped up clumps of mud and grass, shoving them into the strangers face.
But his body was heavy and he lay his weight upon her, not acknowledging her kicks to his his groin and legs or the bits of the yard now covering his face and dropping from his open mouth and onto her chest. The stranger breathed loudly, wetly with a sort of, "Haah-haah," half choking, half laughing noise, he pawed at her body like a blind man.
"Sheila!" The victim's friend cried, rushing over and beating the stranger's back with her fists.
"Get him off of me!" Sheila screamed, "He stinks!" The dog barked and yelped, jumping at the stranger's heels.
The stranger managed to pin one of Sheila's arms to the ground. She used her other to alternately punch his ear, pull his beard, and claw at his face. He seemed oblivious to any of these actions. A long string of drool dripped onto her chest
Sheila's friend grabbed at the stranger's thick coat and tried to pull him off of her friend, "Someone help!" She implored, throwing a desperate look to those watching from the porch with amused interest. A small handful of people had wandered outside and were sipping their beers and talking quietly to one another, pointing. Someone began to laugh. Nervously, a handful of others joined in.
Selinite, or maybe it was Rodinia was standing still, finally silent next to the high-schooler, allowing him to grasp her arm, which she let hang limply in his hands.
The stranger got a firm hold of Sheila's head and pushed it to one side, baring her throat. The raspy "Haah-haah" turned into a wet, huffing snort. He leaned his head into her vulnerable, creamy white neck and snuffed at it. Sheila let forth a crying wail, pleading once again, "Get him off me!" and kicking her feet aimlessly.
Arching his head back, the bearded man let forth one almost triumphant, hiccuping, "Haah-haah" before striking at her neck like a cobra or a wolf.
Sheila shrieked wordlessly, like a frightened animal. She redoubled her kicks and flailed her free arm wildly. The other twitched and thrashed uselessly in the mud under the stranger's unrelenting grip. Sheila's friend began to cry, still pulling at the man's jacket and now throwing kicks at his ribs.
"Ag--"The stranger said, pulling his head back again, snorting and chortling. He coughed, another, "Haah-haah," spitting Sheila's own blood into her muddy, tear-streaked face. She wailed miserably through her sobs. "Agflagation," the stranger said, and lowered his head, slurping and grunting, into the bleeding gore of her neck.