After Travis finishes breakfast, he showers and dresses and steps out on the front stoop. Just as he does, he sees the Flod walking toward him. At first it appears that she might actually walk past him. She shuffle-steps at the edge of the stoop though. Travis gets out a cigarette and lights it and watches the Flod’s shoes out of the corner of his eye. From the motion of the sneakers, he sees her indecision.

“Well now, this ain’t right,” she says.

Travis smiles at the Flod’s neon fuschia jogging pants. There are several unidentifiable stains dotting them in various places from ankle to knee. “What’s that?” Travis asks her.

“I don’ wanna’ go out in the rain.”

“Yeah,” Travis sighs, looking to Mary Jane sitting forlornly in the wet.

There is another long pause and shuffle of feet as Travis throws his cigarette out into the rain.

Shaking her head, “Ain’t right.”

“You can always take the day off,” Travis offers. She has three weeks of vacation saved up, he thinks.

“I got three weeks of vacation saved up,” the Flod says, scratching her elbow, but not looking at Travis. “I ain’t missed a day since January.” She thrusts her pointer finger upraised out into the air. “Not one,” she says as though Travis were debating it.

“Well, there you go then. You can stay home,” Travis offers.

The Flod only looks perplexed. She looks at Travis belligerently. “What would they do with all them old people?”

Travis almost grimaces, already knowing the inevitable punchline.

But it’s not funny to her today; it’s inquisitive, puzzling, and she stands another minute longer in reverie?—while Travis holds his tongue, not really tempted to take the conversation further.

“I better go,” the Flod says. “Don’t wanna’ be late.”

“Nope. Don’t get too wet,” Travis offers.

“I’ll pro’ly get wet.”

“Right.”

With the forward motion of cold molasses, the Flod makes her way to the car, making no attempt to cover herself from the rain. She pauses as she gets in and looks at Travis over the roof and then at his motorcycle and back to him. “I guess you ain’t goin’ nowhere!” she says and makes a face as though she were about to laugh, but freezes in a grimace, her missing tooth bared.

“Not unless I want to get wet,” Travis calls back.

“Huh,” she says, seeming disappointed and gets in her car. It sags quietly in the rain, then starts off with the squeal of a loose belt somewhere in the engine.

Travis rubs his short hair and says, “I gotta’ do somethin’ about my neighbor karma.”

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: motorcycle, rain, the Flod, time off, Travis Fleeting, unidentifiable stains