In The Absence Of Light (10 page)

“What’d you do in Chicago?”

“I moved people’s valuables when they sold or bought them, or when they just plain old wanted to relocate to the beach home or winter cottage, here in the US and abroad.”

“Musta been good business. Jessie’s cousin said you paid cash for the Anderson house.”

I laughed. “Nice to know small town news still moves fast.”

“Even faster now, thanks to cell phones. Otherwise it would take at least two days for the gossip to get around. Now, I practically get text alerts on the hour every hour.” Berry grinned.  “So why’d you quit your obviously successful shipping company?”

There was a tone to the question that made me wonder how much Jenny had told him. “Got tired of it.”

“Never knew a man who got tired of money.”

“It wasn’t the money. It was the people. I got into the business when a handshake was more binding than a three inch legal document.” When men did business and didn’t dig graves. “The tides changed and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—change with it.”

Berry nodded like he understood. “Well hopefully you find happiness here in Durstrand.”

The only place I had intentions of looking for happiness was that long stretch of virgin beach where the water was so blue you could see the treasures hidden just below the surf.  And yet the usual anticipation I felt when I rolled my fantasy future through my head didn’t happen.

It was only when I went back to thinking about Morgan my heart took on a subtle flutter.

I got in the truck. “Thanks for all your help.” And answers. I didn’t say it out loud, but I think he saw it in my eyes because his smile trembled.

“Any time.”

I started the truck and gave it some gas to warm it up. Berry walked over, and I rolled down the window.

“I meant what I said about being happy here. I think if you allow it, you’ll even find someone to love.”

********

The parking lot at Toolies was almost full. It was still early, even for a small town, so the dinner crowd hadn’t quite moved out and the drinking fans hadn’t moved in.

I pulled around the back where there was more parking. Morgan’s bike was propped up against the rear door. I exhaled a sigh of relief that I hadn’t realized I was holding.

The bar was full so I took up a booth that hadn’t been cleaned yet and pushed the dirty dishes to one side.  Then I plucked a few napkins from the dispenser and used them to clean up crumbs and spilled coffee.

A waitress walked up. “There are some clean booths over here.”

“This is fine.”

Her smile faltered. “Are you sure? We’re pretty backed up. It may be a few minutes before one of the busboys can clean it.”

I took ten dollars from my wallet and handed it to her. “Whenever is fine. Just make sure it’s Morgan.”

“You must be Grant.” With that, she walked away.

A family of five left and a familiar bar groupie wandered in with his girlfriend. They parked it at the counter.

A few booths up, two men with high-dollar haircuts and very nice suits stood to leave. Durstrand sat between Maysville and Alto. Both were a metropolis of corporate offices and high-end living. In just the few months I’d been here, traveling businessmen had become a frequent sight. And since Toolies was the only place offering fresh cooked food on the main stretch of highway, it was no surprise a lot of people stopped.

The two suits didn’t speak to anyone and left money on the table. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when they walked by. I turned, but they were already out the door and lost between the neon glow from the sign and the night.

Just two businessmen. That’s all.

The young people near the jukebox parted ways, clearing the view across the room. Morgan stood in the doorway to the kitchen, talking with my waitress. He didn’t appear to respond to what she said so I was surprised when he headed my way.

He cleaned the dishes with the efficiency achieved with practice but with careful precision found in people who took pride in their job. He stacked each plate, lined each glass along the edge, and filled them with silverware. When the plates were clear and the used napkins piled on the plates, he wiped down the table.

Morgan put the bin in the booth across from me and slid in next to it.

He removed his earbuds but didn’t lift his head. His wayward hand creeped up, and he tried to hold it down. After a moment of fighting, he gave up and flicked thoughts in my direction.

“Your feet doing better?”

His shoulder twitched.

“Did you let a doctor look at them?”

Morgan tipped his face up at the light and wiggled his fingers close to the bulb, making shadows on the table.  He chased them with his free hand.

I rested my arms on the table. “I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

He dropped his chin to his chest, and the curtain of blond waves slid into place.

“I feel like I should apologize, but I’m not sure how.”

The small jumps and stutters assaulting his muscles calmed, and his hands sank into his lap.

“I’m not going to lie to you. I wasn’t sure how to react. You know, to the tics. It threw me off. But I like you. A lot. And I think that messes with my head more than the… I’m sorry, you know. I’m sorry that I lack the ability to understand.” I scrubbed my face.

Morgan sat motionless.

“Will you say something? Anything? Even if it’s fuck off, I never want to see you again.” And if my heart broke, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

Morgan cocked his head to the side, turning it just enough to part his bangs. His gaze was distant. Or maybe he was staring into the parts of the world I’d never be able to see. Places most people would never be able to see.

Because they just weren’t gifted enough.

“Please, Morgan, I—”

“I get off work in half an hour.” He picked up his bin and went into the back.

The waitress reappeared with her ticket book in hand.  “Decide what you want?”

Had I?

I guess in thirty minutes I was going to find out.

********

I’m willing to bet, if I’d had a stopwatch, it would have ticked off the thirtieth minute just as Morgan opened the back door to Toolies.

He pushed his bike over to the truck. I got out and helped him put it on top of the wood and tie it down.

The poor lighting in the back parking lot eliminated any chance I had at catching a glimpse of his face, and left the rest of him shadowed in slaps of gray. Now that I knew how precious a gift it was for Morgan to meet my gaze, I was desperate to have him look at me.

I was even more desperate to touch him.

He said nothing, so I said nothing, and that nothing continued after I turned out on the main road and on Water’s Way.

When I slowed to look for his street, he said, “Keep driving.”

There were no street lamps this far out of town, only the occasional house with a front porch light. Sometimes they were close enough to the road to break the darkness, but mostly they just fed the shadows.

Several more miles down, there was only the headlights leading the way to nowhere and the dash lights to assure me we hadn’t fallen into an ink well.

The road narrowed, and the pavement ended.

What began as a county maintained road turned into a washed-out gravel strip, half hidden by waist-high dried grass. The untamed trees along the shoulder hung low enough for the branches to claw the roof of the truck. Those disappeared, and a pasture edged with barbed wire flanked us on both sides.

The gravel road ended at a cattle gate. It was open, and Morgan didn’t tell me to stop.

Creaks and groans rose and fell as we rolled over the lumpy earth. Grass brushed against the undercarriage. The perpetual sigh followed us another mile.

“Stop here,” Morgan said.

I did.

“Turn the truck off.”

I did.

“The lights.”

I hesitated.

“Please.”

I thought I knew what darkness was until the night swallowed us whole, leaving absolutely nothing. I hoped to see a few stars, but cloud cover had erased them.

The steering wheel in my hands assured me we hadn’t ceased to exist. “Is there a reason why we’re out here?”

Fabric whispered against fabric and the old vinyl seat squeaked. Morgan quit moving, and once again I was left to question whether or not I’d ever been real.

“When I was nine,” Morgan said, “I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Lori emptied out the extra bedroom and put a mirror on the wall. She even installed a railing that went all the way across the room.

“We had a small TV and a VCR, and she built a shelf in the corner to sit everything on. Every week she’d check out instructional tapes, and any movies with dancers from the library, and I’d watch them over and over.

“I followed the dancers on the video. I did everything they did. Just like they did. I practiced and I practiced.

“Lori saved up some money so I could take real lessons at a small private school in Alto. They made you do auditions to get in, and it was a thirty-mile drive one-way. Sometimes they’d run late, and you’d have to go home and come back. It took three trips before it was my turn.”

Morgan laughed a little. “I wasn’t even nervous because I’d watched those videos every day. I’d practiced every day. I knew the moves perfectly.

“I was the best.” Silence reigned until Morgan sighed. “But they denied my application before they even let me show them what I could do.”

“Why?”

“Because they couldn’t see me.”

I hated to admit my ignorance, but I didn’t have a choice. “I don’t understand.”

“The light is a funny thing, Grant. We think it shows us what we need to see, but in reality, it blinds us. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to see me.”

He was right. The light did blind people. I knew firsthand just how misleading it could be. Switch a few parts, tuck a masterpiece in a load of half-assed art, and people wouldn’t give it a second glance.

In Morgan’s case, the light had let me see the tics, the muscle spasms, and his strange movements, and I’d been distracted by them. The dark took it all away and left me sitting next to a person, not a behavior, a human being, not perceived defects. Someone insightful, quick-witted, determined, generous, kind, and armed with a wicked sense of humor.

Someone definitely smarter than me.

Someone I did not deserve.

I’d been so close to being like those dance instructors who threw away a once in a lifetime chance. But instead of leaving me to the mercy of the light, Morgan had led me into the darkness, where it had no more power over me.

How did you replay that kind of gift? How did you repent for being unable to see it?

I didn’t know, but I wanted to try.

“What’s your favorite color?” I said.

“Blue? You?”

“Yellow or green. It’s a toss-up.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?” Morgan said.

“I’m not particular. Depends on my mood really.”

“Me either. But I like to listen to classical when I work on my sculptures.”

“You sculpt?”

“Sorta.”

“How do you sorta sculpt?”

He laughed. “It’s hard to explain. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“I’d like that… I tried to draw when I was in high school, but it didn’t work out.”

“How come?”

“Well, for starters, I couldn’t draw.” I grinned even though he couldn’t see it. But I had a feeling he would know anyhow.

“I would definitely say that’d be a requirement.”

“I might have gotten better if I’d kept at it, but playing football was easier, and I got to stare at a lot of nice ass.”

“If art isn’t your thing, what is?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of hobbies do you have?”

I hadn’t really thought about it. “Right now it’s fixing the house. I’m pretty sure that’ll keep me occupied for a while.”

“And after?”

“I don’t know. I could get a dog.”

Morgan laughed again. It was my new favorite sound. “A dog isn’t a hobby.”

“Okay a boat.”

“Neither is a boat, unless you plan on building it.”

“Not unless I want it to sink.”

“Then you're zero to two, Grant. Better think fast.”

I tugged on my bottom lip. “Well, I could take up fishing.”

“Hmmm, yeah. That could work.”

“Do you fish?”

“Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. I’m too busy with work and my sculptures.”

“You’re definitely going to have to show them to me.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Did you learn to sculpt in college?”

“Never went.” Was that disappointment in his voice?