|
Shocked back to life, the grizzled mouth opened with a howl, "Huh! Leave me alone ... No! What? Where are you!?"
I'm not in the habit of waking strangers, particularly street people bathed in the thick smell of dollar wine. But this was a unique situation, demanding unique solutions. Off early from my sheet metal construction job, I'd returned to my Boulder apartment mid-afternoon only to find an open window, an open refrigerator door and a peculiar man puddled up and snoring on our couch.
My first inclination was to let him sleep it off. Ejecting or even waking our mystery visitor could turn ugly. "He's not really there," I said to myself. "I'll go downstairs, take a nap of my own, wake up and remember to lock the windows next time."
But the cowardly plan had one major defect. It failed to account for how my roommates (one of whom was a tender, Connecticut girl named Suzanna) might react to our guest. Fearing a stint on the streets of my own, I decided to give the guy a shake.
Once he settled down, the puddle introduced himself as Rick. His slur, smell and wild eyes spoke to a heavy blotto, and the story came in small pieces as Rick dropped in and out of consciousness.
"Why are you here?" I asked him, trying to give off an aura of authority.
"A voice. It showed me in. It told me to come in," he assured me pointing toward a remote, empty corner of the room.
After introductions, Rick didn't really rub me one way or the other. But the clock was ticking and check-out time was rapidly approaching. "Listen Rick. We've got to get you out of here," I told him. "There's a girl living here, and if she sees you on her couch, we're both in deep."
Rick smiled, begged for a couple more winks and started to drop back into oblivion. His tired lids dropped at the same moment the door cracked open. Too late! Clad in short shorts and tank top, Suzanna was home after a long afternoon run with her chocolate lab. The lab, carefree and slobbering with fatigue, headed straight for Rick and started licking his greasy beard. The tired eyes jumped back to life.
"Ahhhh! A monkey!" he screamed, cowering in the folds of the couch.
Suzanna quickly appraised the situation and then surprised us both, flashing a wry and mildly sexy grin our way along with a welcoming and inquisitive "hello."
After a nervous instant, the fuse ignited and began to burn quickly. Rick quickly leaped from the couch, his belt hanging loosely around his waist. In response, the sexy grin vanished and Suzanna's hand fumbled for her mace key-ring. A little wiser in the art of macing, Rick stumbled and dodged before knocking the key-ring to the ground and wrapping Suzanna in his arms.
"Jus' a little peck. One kiss. C'mon baby."
Callused hands tickled Suzanna's neck and drunken, slow lips tried to catch up with an elusive but disturbed face. Caught up in the fever, the lab yipped and scratched his way back and forth across the linoleum. Desperate eyes sent a call for help my way.
As I elbowed my way in and pushed Rick's mass back toward the couch, Eau de Mad Dog dripped over me. Rick quickly retreated, before bowing his head in shame. The lab was still going nuts.
Hesitantly, he moved toward the door, mumbling apologetic words and eventually bidding us adios.
As the door clicked shut, Suzanna gasped, "Who in the hell was that!?"
My answer was limited to, "I don't know. Some guy named Rick."
Suzanna breathed a sigh of relief, looked at the open window, smelled the couch and then flashed me hard eyes.
Later that year, I was still getting hard eyes and had fallen on hard times. Somehow my good fortune had flipped, and I cruised the streets of Boulder as a former sheet metal apprentice and an aspiring but penniless writer. The temperatures seemed unusually cold during that dark season as I mixed occasional freelance articles with temp work and just barely covered rent.
Shortly after cutting the big monthly money order, I managed to wrangle a fiver out of Suzanna and stopped off at the corner market for some good, old-fashioned sustenance. Unfortunately, the register wasn't helping, and the cans of soup, bagel and apple were a bit steep for the Lincoln in my hand.
As I turned and started making the dreaded trip back into the aisles, a calm and steady voice answered. "Don't worry about it man. I got the difference," said the clean-shaven, upright clerk.
I looked the clerk in his winking eye and bowed my head in appreciation. "Thanks Rick, I appreciate the help."
- Will Sands
|
