by Thomas L. Traband III
Tony sat in a motel room in Columbus. Just a motel room: bed, TV, telephone and window with a parking lot view. The TV babbled about American politics, but he did not pay close attention. Instead, he concentrated on the telephone.
The telephone sat on the desk. Just sat and did nothing. Tony took a drag off his cigarette. He did not know why he smoked. He did not know why he watched the telephone. He just did.
Maybe, he thought, the telephone will ring. He warmed to that idea. That would work. The telephone might ring. But who would it be? No one knew where he was. He had wanted it that way. He left alone and unobserved to achieve this end. No, better not to hope for a telephone call.
Maybe he could place a call. Who would he call? He could call Greg. He liked that idea. He could talk to Greg. It would make him feel better. It always did. If he called, he would tell Greg where he was. That would not work.
Tony checked his watch and inadvertantly heard the TV say something about ‘alliance burden-sharing’. The watch informed him he had one hour until check-out. He turned his attention to the ashtray.
Tony walked down a street in Columbus. Just a street with some houses on it. All the houses were old and run down. Clothes hung on leaning clotheslines. Paint peeled on shutters. Stuffing stuck out of chairs on rotted wooden porches. Some yards had some grass.
People sat on the porches. They wore secondhand clothes or work uniforms. A woman with no teeth screamed at a man in blue coveralls. The man smoked a cigarette and scratched his unshaven chin. He did not shout back.
Children stood in little groups and watched Tony pass. Their faces drooped. Their eyes were blank with hopelessness. There were no smiles. No laughter, no toys in the yard.
Tony understood, but he stood out in his Levi’s and Nike’s. He had worked hard for these icons of American success. He had valued them highly.
He kept walking and noticed the change which overtook the town. He passed quiet factories and mills. He crossed railroad tracks and found neon signs. He found fast food franchises, gleaming new banks and office buildings. He found a new shopping mall and wondered who worked and shopped in this part of town. He wondered where they lived.
As he approached the mall, he noticed how majestic it looked in concrete and glass. A sign proclaimed the starting times for movies which Tony wondered who watched. Cars filled the parking lot, shiny and new. A bus stopped to disgorge well-dressed shoppers. People scurried to replace them, laden with bags which were emblazoned with the logos of fashionable, expensive stores.
Tony entered by a glass door, through a glass vestibule. The floor shone. The signs glowed. Multitudes thronged each store. Happy children laughed and smiled at a clown’s antics; their hair trimmed and combed, their nails clipped, their shoes tied. A fountain shot into the air and a young couple tossed pennies into it.
A slightly older Tony Thompson smiled at his lovely wife, his arm encircled her trim waist. They each tossed a penny into the fountain, then kissed lightly. Her eyes glowed warmly with her love for him; a love which his eyes reflected back.
He shook the dream from his mind and lit a cigarette. Tears welled up behind his eyes, but he fought them. He hoped no one saw his pain. He glanced around, but no one took any notice of him. They all had business to take care of.
Greg sat in his new living room. He thought about spending all that money, but felt comfortable and at home for the first time. He thought of Tony and wondered where his best friend was. Tony’s last letter sounded terribly depressing. He hoped Tony was all right. He wished he would call. He could not call Tony since Tony had no telephone.
Just as Tony’s life had crashed, Greg’s had taken off. Greg had a new living room, a girlfriend he loved and his own company starting up. In fact, he waited for a new client to come by for a meeting.
Greg wanted his life to be this way.
Tony sat in a clean little restaurant. They served breakfast as well as burgers and fried chicken. The restaurant staffed more happy, healthy people. He saw more young families with smiling, playful children. He quietly ate his meal and looked out the window.
Heavy construction equipment lined the new highway, surrounded by mounds of moved earth. An orange diamond warned motorists to watch for ‘trucks entering highway’.
Tony again thought of calling Greg. Perhaps Greg could help him. But, no, he told himself, not yet. He would go visit Greg. That would put him seven hundred miles from Columbus and still not be considered missing. He realized he still had that airline ticket with Bob’s name on it. He could exchange it and they would not be able to find out where he went. All he had to do was get to Atlanta.
Shuttle busses ran from the base, he knew. He did not want to return, however. Still, the shuttle busses offered his best opportunity for getting to Atlanta.
He left the restaurant and walked over to the mall. He found several cabs waiting for him. He selected one and instructed the driver to take him to the main PX.
Tony waited forty-five minutes for the shuttle bus. He got on and paid the driver eleven dollars for his one-way ticket. The thought occurred to him he could have left on Friday and gained about forty-eight hours. Two days would really have given him time to disappear. He would just have to make do with what time he had.
The bus pulled out onto 185, headed north. Tony watched trees and fields and buildings pass. The view hypnotized him and he slept.
He dreamed he was home and visiting Greg. Greg seemed happy to see him. They sat in Greg’s living room, only it did not look like the living room he remembered. The drank beer and swapped war stories. They laughed.
“So what brings you here?” Greg asked.
“Just visiting. I thought I should take the weekend off.”
“But it’s Sunday. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“Well, uh, yeah, I do. So I’m a little AWOL...”
“Like a little pregnant? How could you do this?”
“Because I could.”
Greg looked perplexedly at Tony, then Greg’s eyes glazed over and he stood.
Greg began cleaning up. He looked so dedicated to his task that Tony worried.
“Hey, Greg. Greg, let me help you,” Tony offered and picked up a couple bottles. He deposited them in the kitchen trash can. Greg did not notice.
“Greg, yo’, over here.” Tony whistled. Greg continued to ignore him.
“Greg!” Tony screamed as Greg looked right through him. l
Tony woke to find himself still on the bus to Atlanta, still on the highway. He sat up and resisted sleeping again. The dream scared him.