Amalgam Cross
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This story stars characters from popular American literature: Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby, Jim
Casy from The Grapes of Wrath, and Scout Finch from To Kill a
Mockingbird. IT was written in Fall, 2006.
Twilight
watercolors spilled across the Alabama sky. The cicadas buzzed a repetitive
chorus in a unison that could only be appreciated by those who were patient
enough to pay attention. The end of summer brought with it a heat which spared no
relief at night. It was nature’s way of saying, Get ready for a doozey of a winter. There was no breeze in the air
to carry the swirling dust left behind by the occasional automobile that
chugged down Highway 47.
On the side of the
road sat a humble olive building as if it had been there since the dawn of
time. One dilapidated post stood next to the tiny diner with ancient dignity.
As the sun was ready to lower itself to sleep, the post flickered faintly to light.
The fainted neon edged itself into brightness, merely stating the title: Roadside Diner. Fluorescent glimmers
oscillated around the entrance where the bell started to jingle.
The bell jangled
twice, three times, and then four when Darcy realized another patron was
happening through the door. She paid it no mind and poured Mr. Whittaker some
more coffee. Steam rose to greet her with a welcoming curl. Again she heard the
bell while grabbing a slice of apple pie for Ms. Nelson, the widow Mr.
Whittaker visits every Tuesday afternoon. While wrapping the piece for delivery
the resounding clang of the bell chimed again and again. How busy ‘m I gett’n? she wondered. It was early Tuesday evening,
and the only customers who ever wandered into the Roadside was Mr. Whittaker, occasionally Fleece Grubb the fruit
truck driver, the Mable sisters, and a new face every once in a harvest moon.
Darcy gave the restaurant a quick look-over while gathering Mr. Whittaker’s
change: just Mr. Whittaker, Kona and Esther Mable, and a new fellow. If the
bell was chiming like hog heaven, then where were all the customers that
appeared to be coming in?
“Thank ye, Miss
Darcy,” Mr. Whittaker tipped his hat. He gathered the packaged pie, cradling it
like an infant in his farmer’s arm. A dimple shone with a wink, as he turned to
exit.
“Yew have yerself
a good day, Mr. Whittaker,” Darcy hollered, wiping the countertop. “And give
Ms. Nelson our regards, would ya?”
As Mr. Whittaker
walked through the door with a jingle, Darcy noticed a small figure in the
doorway. It maneuvered past Mr. Whittaker’s waddling hips and squeezed into the
foyer. The gaunt figure readjusted its
overalls and strode toward the counter with its head held as high as could be
and landed on the exact stool Mr. Whittaker had just occupied. The child had a
bundle and rested it on the counter.
“Yew musta been
th’ one play’n with th’ door,” Darcy referred to the consistent chiming. “We
don’t allow much play’n in hea, ‘less you can afford to buy someth’n.”
“I wasn’t play’n with
th’ damn door,” the child boasted. “I jus’ got here!”
The two heads of
the Mable sisters rose from their conversation with a gasp. Darcy blushed and
motioned back to their gossip. She leaned in closer to the child.
“Lissen here, boy,
we don’t tolerate language in hea,” Darcy hissed. “Yew either pay fer someth’n
quick er get out!”
“I ain’t no boy,” hollered the child. Darcy sat up
with astonishment. She was right! Her hair was cropped short, her hands were
dirty, and she was even dressed like a boy. But, indeed, she was no boy. With raised eyebrows, Darcy crossed her arms.
“Boy . . . girl .
. . whatever you are, yew gotta pay fer someth’n er go home.”
The little girl
grimaced and reached into her sack, drawing out five pennies. “This here enough
fer a soda?” Leeringly Darcy gathered up the change, sticky and worn.
“What’s yer name,
kid?” Darcy asked as she reached into the cooler. She shivered as she reached
in for a bottle.
“They call me
Scout,” she puffed. “But you never heard that if they come a’ look’n.”
“Yew runn’n away?”
Darcy popped the cap and handed Scout the soda. “Ah need to send fer your ma
and pa?”
Scout grabbed the
bottle in earnest. She savored the cool wet glass, converting the filth on her
hands to mud. She spent several seconds gulping and gulping until over half the
soda was gone, cold carbonation settling her empty stomach. She slammed the
bottle on the countertop as if accomplishing a mighty feat. She wiped her arm
across her mouth, replacing a once gentle face with a long streak of sepia
slime. Scout sighed in relief.
“Ain’t got no ma,”
she patted her tummy in contentment. “And my pa don’t need to know what’s goin’
on here. Unless you wanna cause a fisco you don’t wanna get under!”
“Yew mean yerself
a fiasco?”
“Whatever,” Scout
waved her off.
Darcy smirked and
decided she needed to tend to her other customers. She would call the Sheriff
when Connie came to relieve her shift soon. Winking at Scout, she grabbed her
tablet and peered at the Mable sisters. They seemed satisfied with their
half-eaten muffins, and their coffee was steaming and full. With a surprise,
she thought she might have heard the bell ring. She rubbed her ears and decided
she needed to get extra sleep tonight. Tomorrow was another double.
She made her way
over to the stranger, who had been looking over a menu for going on a quarter
of an hour. Mussed hair stuck out from a large, boney forehead. As Darcy
approached, bulging eyes peeped out from the menu held in front of him like a
newspaper.
“Yew pick someth’n
yet?” she readied a stubby pencil over the pad.
“I still think’n,”
he creaked with a smile. “Ain’t figgered on nuth’n yet.”
“Well ya been at
it goin’ on quarter an hour, by now! Yew gotta pick someth’n or ya gotta
high-tail it on outta here!” Darcy moved her hands to rest on her wide hips.
The man winced and desperately scanned the menu in front him. After a second,
his protruding eyes bent innocently into sad flaps. His body curled like a
writhing leech covered in salt.
“Ain’t got no
money, darl’n. Jus’ need a minute er two under th’ fan, if’n you don’t mind?”
“Thas’ it,” she
pointed toward the door. “Get out!”
“Wait just a
minute, lady,” a tiny voice proclaimed from behind Darcy. Scout walked around
the waitress and sat across from the man. The booth was tough and brandish with
rusty springs spewing out of a useless cushion. She threw extra pennies onto
the table, a clamored crash of sporadic percussion. “I’m pay’n for this here
gentleman’s soda. Now you get and fetch him one.”
Darcy boiled red
with fury at the little juvenile. How dare she use that tone with her? She’s
old enough to be her mother, twice over! Slowly forcing herself to retain her
calm, she slid the pennies into her hand and idled over to the kitchen area.
“Well, thank ye,
missy,” the man stuck out his hand. It was calloused and as dirty as Scout’s.
“No problem,
mister,” she took it and shook. The man giggled at her tough grip. “What’s yer
name?”
“Casy,” he replied
with a grin that stretched the skin on his face. It almost made Scout cringe;
she was reminded of Halloween. “Name’s Jim Casy. Not from these here parts. An’
you?”
“J.C.,” Scout
beamed. “Like the good ol’ Jesus Christ, uh?”
Casy chuckled,
“Hee, thas’ right. Ol’ J.C. How ‘bout you?”
“Name’s Scout. I’m
from up tha road a bit. North to Maycomb.
I’m try’n ta make my way to Highway 84 and then outta state.”
“Why’s that, Miss
Scout?”
Darcy slammed a
bottle on the table. Scout turned up her nose. The waitress marched to the
Mable table to refill some coffee. Scout heard the bell over the front door
chime. See it wasn’t me, she muffled
to herself.
“Aw, jus’ a lotta
stuff goin’ on there. My daddy was real stressed like crazy and my brother jus’
got attacked not too long ago and been act’n diff’rent ever since. Gotta get
outta there, you know? Head out and find me some adventure like The Rover Boys. You ever read them
books?”
“Jus’ th’ good
book, Miss Scout. And ain’t read’n that no more, neither.”
“Why’s that, J.C.?
You a heathen?”
“Nah, ain’t like
that. Ain’t no heathen. Use’ ta be Reverend Jim Casy. Seems I lost my call. A
whole lotta idears I gotta figger out for meself, knowhatta mean?”
“How so?” Scout
scratched her head.
“Well, it’s hard
times, Miss Scout. I haven’t seen much of tha sperit in people no more. I
figger I’d jus’ be Jim Casy fer awhile, drop the Reverend part. Go out inta the
country, like tha real J.C. goin’ out in tha wilderness, see? Figger I’d go see
more of tha country, seein’ if I can find more of tha sperit anywheres. Seein
if I can find ma call’n again. Seein if I can find me some hope in tha people.
It’s hard times, Miss Scout. It’s hard times.”
“Yup,” Scout found
herself swaying her feet back and forth. “I been hav’n hard times too,
J.C. Trust me, I know.”
“How so, Miss
Scout?” Casy leaned forward, his large eyes squinting with interest.
“I been through a lot, J.C. I seen the darker
side of people. And they’re mean! They
don’t care about nobody but themselves. Especially white folks!”
“Yeah, ‘specially
white folks,” Casy agreed.
The doorbell
jangled.
Suddenly, Scout
and Casy were jolted with a deplorable squeal! Spinning around, Scout saw Darcy
behind the counter wailing. She reminded Scout of her cousin Francis, when she
split her knuckle on his two front teeth. He cried like a newborn baby. That there was one of those good moments
that comes, thought Scout.
Darcy was pointing
at the front door as her cries reverberated throughout the paltry diner. Before
she knew it, Scout noticed that Casy had already made his way to her side. He
was diligently attempting to comfort the frantic waitress.
“Whas wrong,
ma’am? Whas goin’ on? Why ya holler’n like all infernal’s bust loose?”
“A ph-phantom,”
she howled. Her pitiful eyes were red with water. “At th-tha door! It-it was
there!”
Scout immediately
jumped to the occasion. She felt that she had had personal experience dealing
with spooks. Things are usually not what they appear to be, especially when it
comes to ghosts. Darcy was shivering with fright. Casy rubbed her shoulders to
calm her.
“Now, now, Miss,”
he soothed. “Ain’t no phantoms ridin’ ‘round these parts. You jus’ calm
yerself, now.”
“That’s right,
lady,” Scout chimed in. “Ain’t no such thing. Sometimes you gotta look at
someth’n through another set o’ eyes to see it. But, I learned there ain’t no
such thing.”
Darcy flailed them
away and was overwrought with terror. “Yew don’t understand! It-it was stand’n
right there! At tha door! All in white! And then jus’ disappeared! Right in
front o’ me! I swear to holy JE-sus!”
Casy looked over
to Scout inquisitively. Scout returned the same curious look. Casy nodded to
her and motioned Darcy to a nearby seat. “Now jus’ sit right here and relax
yerself,” he padded the chair before assisting her to lie still. “We’ll take
ourselves a gander and make sure there ain’t no ghouls runn’n ‘round here.”
Rocking back and
forth, Darcy closed her eyes and began repeating the Lord’s Prayer in a hoarse
mantra. Scout pulled on Casy’s jeans, eager to investigate the cause of the
commotion. Curiosity crept on them with an itch. As they exited the diner, Casy
peripherally caught the Mable sisters still chatting away over half-eaten
muffins. They were seemingly unaware of any turbulence in their environment.
The front lot of
the diner was empty, and the cicadas’ din was growing ever louder. Scout and
Casy examined the two automobiles that were parked and found no evidence of a
racket. The lamppost’s promenade created a hoedown of shadows that mingled in
and out of the surrounding woods. Scout moved closer to Casy and grabbed his
hand. She suggested they check around the side of the building, where the post
was planted. A little jittery himself, Casy attached himself to Scout. They
wobbled around like a bowling pin aching to fall.
Under the post
they saw a man. He was finely dressed in a white suit, with a white vest
underneath, and a white tie. He was a handsome man, with a delicate aesthetic
that both Casy and Scout found somewhat appealing. His hands were tucked neatly
into his front pockets and he was slouching comfortably, as if waiting for a
friend to pick him up for some festivity.
“Good evening,” he
said. “Pleasant night, isn’t it?”
“Yessir,” Casy
found himself agreeing.
“A bit warm, but
nice.”
“What you doin’
scarin’ the ladies in there, mister?” Scout growled, though clutched to Casy,
hanging from a cliff of mystery.
The man smiled an
elegant smile, white teeth shining as bright as his suit. Brighter than any
pair of teeth either of them had ever seen. “Well, one was scared, at least,”
he said, referring to Darcy and the Mable sisters’ lack of response. The
subject did not seem to phase him. Casy could not decide if the man was
delighted by the company they provided, or if they were more of a distraction.
But, a distraction from what? “So, tell me, old sport, where do they host all
the good parties around here?” he asked.
Casy and Scout
were both bewildered by this question. Who was this man in fancy clothes out in
the middle of farm country with no escort? Was he dropped off? Where was he
going? What was this absurd situation?
“You alright
fella?” Casy asked, inching away from Scout and toward the stranger. “You
feel’n right wit’ yerself?”
“Are you a
preacher, old sport?” the man asked. Casy was thrown asunder by this new
question. Scout watched him falter back a pace or two. She felt a lump rise in
her throat.
“How’d you know
that, fella?” Casy cautioned. “Mind you, I used
ta be preacher. Like I was explain’n ta Miss Scout here, I lost my call’n.
Ain’t got it in me no more. You need yerself some help, son?”
The man cocked his
head in humble laughter.
“You say that
you’re no longer a preacher, but you go around making sure everybody is okay
and calling them ‘son’. Looks to me like you still have a bit of it in you.
What do you say?”
“I say you are
full of it, mister,” Scout blurted. She surprised herself with a sudden surge
of courage shooting through her spine. She let go of Casy’s hand and pounced
forward to the man. He lowered his head as she approached his feet. “Now just
because you have yourself a bit of money doesn’t mean you can come down here
out of the city and harass us little folk!”
She pointed her
finger and the man waved his hands in a defensive gesture. “You got me wrong,
little miss,” he asserted. “I’m looking for somebody. I thought she might have
been inside, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Just a jittery old waitress!”
“Who ya look’n
fer?” Casy asked.
“A dream, old
sport. A green dream.”
“Now there you go
talk’n riddles and stuff,” Scout stomped her foot. “Why can’t you just tell us
straight what your problem is. You stupid, or something?”
“You been hitt’n
tha whiskey?” Casy questioned.
“No, no. Don’t you
all understand? Don’t you see what I’m getting at? I’m trying to find
something, you see. I’ve been at it for awhile, looking everywhere.”
“You said she,” Scout suggested.
“Excuse me?” the
man asked, interrupted in his train of thought.
“She’s right,”
Casy raised a knobby hand in explanation. “You were talk’n ‘bout a female,
right before. You jus’ said so yerself, that she might ‘a been inside.”
The man blinked.
He was dumbfounded. For a moment he lost his composure, rubbing the back of his
neck. He seemed not to understand the commentary demonstrated by the two. Then,
lifting his eyes with a child-like impeccability, he began to mutter in a quiet
tone: “It’s strange, isn’t it, old sport? Everybody has got to have something
to go after, don’t they? Just got too!
It all seems senseless, like a rabbit hole of nonsense. But, through the bedlam
and the confusion, you just have to pick something and go for it. Then you just
have to keep on going. You can’t stop. Because even if . . . even if you don’t
get it . . .”
“ . . . you see it
through no matter what,” Scout finished. She was astonished, as if she had just
discovered a lost treasure. A lost relative, maybe. Casy turned over to her in
similar wonder. She blushed, semi-embarrassed. “Atticus said something like
that once.”
“Atticus?” Casy
asked.
“My pa,” she
answered. She hugged herself, beginning to question her logic for journeying
away from home. As well, she found herself starting to miss Atticus and
Calpurnia . . . and even Jem. Her stomach began to ache.
“That’s absolutely
right, little miss,” the man smiled. His eyes twinkled in the strobe
fluorescence. “What a delightful little girl you are!”
“I think I want to
go home now,” Scout crouched into Casy’s jacket. Casy patted her with ease.
“Aw, there now.
We’ll git ya home, Miss Scout. If’n ever’s tha next thing I do, we’ll git ya
home.” He looked up to the man under the lamp, who was still grinning at the
intelligence of the little girl. “Mister, you gotta ride ‘round here? This
girl’s jus’ a few miles north ta Maycomb. If’n we pull t’gether, we can git her
home, I’ll bet.”
“That’s good
thinking. That is how you get things done, old sport. If I just had the
resources I used to, I’d be able to find her a car. And find her, too.”
“Who’s that,
mister? She have’n auto?”
“It’s no use,” the
man began to turn, ready to walk away. “You just keep going and going. I’ve
been going, and I can’t remember how long? How long is too long? It’s all just
like a dream, a green dream anymore. I don’t really know what else to do. Where
do you think she went?”
“What’s that? Tha
dream?”
“Ah, the dream,”
the man guffawed. Casy shivered as the man’s image began to slowly dissipate.
“The dream is futile, old sport. It’s futile . . . “ And with that, right where
he stood, the man had disappeared completely. Scout hugged Casy tightly. She
felt she had seen such horrors before, or at least some equal to such. Casy
prayed quietly to himself. He prayed and prayed some more, the spectral
experience that was before him resounding in his consciousness like a crowbar
beating against concrete. The longer he prayed, the more he felt disparate to
any essence of spirit and the more connected he felt to Scout, this girl
clinging to him for dear life. This girl, who communed with this phantom as if
it was just another child, was whom he should be praying to. This connection .
. . this experience . . . this is hopeful, he thought to himself. An experience
shared, it is better to go through it with somebody else than alone. Casy gave
her a gentle squeeze and released her.
“Well, how ‘bout
that?”
“Was he bad,
J.C.?” Scout wondered. She was suddenly concerned about her damnation, considering
she has now communed with what she could only assume was the dead. “Was that an
evil spirit?”
“Nah, Miss Scout.
He wasn’t bad. Jus’ confused . . . a lil’ lost. But then, aren’t we all jus’
lil’ lost? Sometimes it takes a feller thas’ jus’ as confused ta turn ‘round
‘nother feller. Is tha way it works, ever’ once in awhile.”
Scout seemed
relieved with his answer.
“Let’s find
yerself a ride,” he smiled his Halloween smile. “I figger Miss Darcy in there’d
find some s’mpathy ‘nough ta take ya home. She’s not all’s bad as makes out ta
be! Hee!”
Scout giggled a
little. “What about you, J.C.? You need a place to stay? I’m sure Atticus
wouldn’t mind a bit, provided Calpurnia doesn’t have herself a conniption!”
“Nah, thas’
perfectly fine, Miss Scout! I got me still some think’n ta do, an’ I need ta
make way back ta Oklahoma. Seems maybe I need’s ta stick to my own, get back
with my people. Bring a bit o’ what I learn in tha wilderness back ta home.
Know whatta mean?”
“I guess so,”
Scout led Casy back into the Roadside,
skipping the whole way. “Let’s go scare that Darcy lady to high-heaven!”
The sun had barely
an inch of red along the tree line, peeking at the spectacle below. The air
still beat down with insufferable incalescence. The cicadas continued their
serenade, oblivious to anything else going on in the world. Oblivious to the
people scared of other people. Events happen, things come and go along the
highway. But they still keep singing no matter what.
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