SPIRITS OF THE LOST: A SHORT STORY

I was walking in the park one day; I think it was the sixth of May. As I moved along the path I saw an old guy sitting at the river’s edge in a beat up folding chair. He had a fish pole in one hand and a brown paper bag wrapped around a bottle in the other. His long gray hair was held down against a strong breeze by a ball cap that said Parkside RV’s on the front.

When I got up close to him I asked how they were biting and he said they weren’t but it didn’t matter. He offered me a drink from his bottle but I have a policy of not drinking anything I can’t identify. Besides I had just picked up a cup of coffee at the donut place around the corner. I sat down on a bench about five feet from his chair and watched him fish and drink in a deliberate but unrushed way.

He said that he had seen me walking in this park before. I said yes, I do it pretty often to try and get a little exercise for my old body. He laughed and told me that I don’t know nearly as much about being old as he did. I figured he was in his mid seventies and said so. He said he would be eighty one in a couple of months. And that started him on a monologue that I’ll try to recall and repeat in his own words. He said:

I’ve had a pretty comfortable life here in this skin. My growing up years were solid and my family was strong and good. But as I got into those late teenage times I wanted to be wilder and free. So I left that good home and hit the road eventually finding myself in Chicago. That town was booming because the War was winding down but industry and commerce weren’t. I got a job in factory putting little springs behind the buttons on car radios. Car radios were just starting to be added to the majority of models coming off the lines so we were busy. But at work I got involved with a couple of characters who wanted to make bigger money fast. In a bar on the East side we sat and planned how to take the payroll cash away from our employer. In those days cash in a little brown envelope was what we were handed on payday. Our plan was set for the next day and I went to sleep sedated by the beer I had during the meeting. It was during the night that I saw the form of a young man standing at the end of the bed in my little rented room. He was there, but not there. He was real but somehow unreal. When he spoke I was hearing a voice but it seemed somehow to already be in my head. And all he said was “Don’t do it. You’re getting close to being lost. You don’t want to be lost. Don’t do it, move on.” Then it was morning. I didn’t do that hold up on that day or any other. I packed my stuff and left town with my few possessions and my little packet of savings. And I didn’t look back.

It was a three day trip here to this city. I hitchhiked and walked, looked at the countryside and enjoyed the freedom I almost lost by heading down that darker path. When I got here I phoned home and talked to my Dad and Mom and told them I was going to try something new. Then I found a job at an auto factory. With my spring installing experience it was easy. But now I was installing big springs on the rear wheels of a couple hundred cars a day. It wasn’t long before I had a decent place to live and some good friends. Then I met a girl and she was the love of my life and we got married. We had some kids and I was doing pretty well taking care of my little family, working hard and moving up on the line. After about twelve years life was pretty easy and really predictable. But I had an office above the factory floor and the girls in the office made the days more interesting. Sometimes after our shift we would stop at the little tavern near the factory gate and have a couple of drinks. One of the girls seemed to think I was really interesting and funny. She laughed. She didn’t complain about the house or the bills or the kids. There was no pressure from her to be anything more than a nice guy with a good sense of humor. She asked if I’d like to spend a weekend at her place on the shore. And I told her I’d think about it, but it sounded like a real good idea. When I got home that night sleep didn’t come too easily but it came. And some time during that night I saw the form of a man at the end of the bed. He was there, but not there. He was real but somehow unreal. I thought I asked my wife if she saw him but she didn’t stir. When I heard the voice inside my head it seemed to be coming from the visitor but again my wife didn’t stir. All he said was “Don’t do it. You’ll be lost. You don’t want to be lost. Don’t do it.” The next day at work I pulled some strings and got moved to another shift. I saw that girl once in a while but I didn’t go to the shore, or talk with her anywhere alone again. I turned back to what is important and life got more interesting and fun again.

The kids grew up and moved out. We did pretty well and we retired and enjoyed that new part of our life. Grandkids and travel, sharing and exploring were the things that occupied us. Then my wife got sick. It was bad and it was fast and it was like I was erased. When all the rituals were done I sat home in the dark with a pistol on the table next to me and some strong drink in my hand. It wasn’t going to get better, I knew, and I didn’t want to stay any longer. And I as sat there somewhere between sleep and reality I saw an old man in front of me. He was there, but somehow not there. He was real but somehow unreal. And his old man voice only said “Don’t do it. You’ll be lost. She’s not lost and you don’t want to get lost. So don’t do it.” In the sunlight of the morning I woke up in that chair and I was alone. Still alone. So I called one of my kids and we talked. And later that day I took one of my grandkids to this park to fish.

So that’s the way it’s been for a few years now. I’m still feeling pretty good about being in this skin but it won’t last a whole lot longer. But thanks to those nights and those spirits of the lost, I didn’t get lost. And that was good.

The old guy didn’t say much more, but he again offered me a drink from his bottle. It turned out to be cola, flat and warm. I asked him why he kept a bottle of Coke wrapped up in a paper bag like it was some kind of booze. He said this was the bag it came in and the trash cans were all full. He said he didn’t want to be a damn litterbug, now did he.

Have a fine day.