written by Daniel Powell
“Tomorrow, huh?”
Lima sat, silent, unsated. The world had plopped a platter befitting a king. But still, empty. Something was missing.
Her arm.
But something ELSE was missing. She looked into her rearview mirror, preparing to back out from her spot on the square, but she paused. She didn’t see her eyes. They were brown, dim, solemn, as hers often were, but they darted back and forth in a nervousness that she felt foreign to. She tried to catch the glimpses connecting 1 to 1 with hers but her mind addled and focal points rattled. She couldn’t catch a clear view of the eyes in the mirror. As they darted she started to feel hot. An immense heat. Frustrations a fumarole. Burning. STEAMING. Grabbing the mirror to steady the gaze with no avail.
Until she finally shut her eyes and SCREAMED! She felt her eyes imprint into her eyelids like a pinpoint hammer slamming brail, but when she rubbed her eyes she could understand nothing. It’s not her writing. It hadn’t been. The mission. Ellis. It was Craigs codeword that subdued her that struck the chord.
It has never been her. Everything she did was always somebody else’s plan.
Even a dream she thought hers. Alan Jackson. His image sprawled across her shut eyes like a sunbeam drive in. Projector set to burn the image. Cars honking in a cacophony of deadstop traffic. Her muse, her inspiration was a shepherd and she the herd. She had realized that every song she had written wasn’t for her, but it was for him. It was always under the assumption that she wanted him to be proud of her. Songs she wrote she realized were not for her.
Nothing was.
Her eyes opened.
She looked into the rearview mirror, preparing to back out from her spot on the square. Moving her car into reverse with her one arm and then back on the wheel. She slowly starts to back out.
“Ms!”
The voice made Lima slam onto the breaks. She didn’t see anybody in the rearview. She rolled her window down to take a more pervasive look.
Stain. Nicholas Stain. Standing right in front of her car. With a rambunctious self-seriousness.
“I saw you with that butterknife. Had me a little confused, cause from where I’m standing, I could have sworn you were…”
Don’t say it.
“Unarmed”
Worthless.
“Ha, yeah, I guess it got lost in the shuffle, huh?” Lima leaned out the window. She put on a quick shiver to show the man she was cold, hoping this would entice him not to waste her time. She wasn’t cold. She had never felt hotter.
“Musta, musta. Hyeck hyeck! I didn’t know you were back in town, Lima. How’s Mama?”
“Oh, she’s uh,” another shiver, “She’s good, she’s good. Stayed home with Paddington tonight. Somebody knocked on our door too hard so he got a headache, you know how it is. Always something, right?”
“Always something.”
He smiled.
“Well, I’ll tell my Mama you were asking about her, alright?”
She looked into the rearview mirror, preparing to back out from her spot on the square. This dawdling old man can wait. Indefinitely, for all Lima cared. This time as soon as she saw that it was clear she was planning to slam on the gas. Perhaps to send Nicholas a message. Perhaps to blow off steam. Perhaps because it’s the closest thing to running she could muster.
“I’ve heard the songs, Lima.”
Lima pauses, letting out a sigh as the sound of a three shift change puts the stick uncomfortably into park. She leans out the window once more. Eyes abruptly affixed to the man.
“Oh yeah?”
“Of course.”
“And how were they?”
His jolly eyes showed a violent white. Bright and cold. Cheeks rosy like a bloodied battle.
“Empty.”
Her heart sank. She had never cared about his opinion. She never cared about him. This was just more proof. More proof that even this old Stain held more power over her than she ever held over herself. This man was nobody, so why could this hurt so much? She shivered.
“Well, they’re telling me it’s gonna be in the commercials after I sing at the ECCE SELS tomorrow, so it can’t be that empty, haha!” she put on a tremendous smile to show the man she was thrilled, hoping this would entice him not to waste her time.
The man smiled. Hair in dancing curls as the wind blows, flickering in front of his eyes, but never once did he blink. He gave a slow, long nod.
“I’m sure they’re going to really enjoy it!”
“Thank you! See, that means a lot!” Lima with a relieved sigh slowly begins to roll up her window, gazing back into the rearview mirror.
“My only hope is that you will too.”
Lima’s head, almost without her consent, darts back in his direction. She took a few looks back and forth before realizing that he was gone. Even with all of the lights in the town showing brightly, there wasn’t a trace of the man. The clock in the square struck 9 times, but between each strike felt a lifetime of thoughts.
Lima stepped out of her car to see if she could catch a glimpse of where he might have gone, but there was nothing. Nothing. Except her prosthetic arm, lying on the ground where the man once stood. Stretched out, palm down, almost as if it beckoned her. A handshake with a granddad you haven’t seen in ages or the stretched out arm of a hug with your grandmother. It was there. She was there.
She picked herself up and promptly reattached her arm. She slowly entered her vehicle, still giving cautious glances to see if Nicholas was still there, finding no signs. She sat, silent, but now… Smiling.
“Lima, I think it’s time for a new song.”
She looked into the rearview mirror, preparing to back out from her spot on the square.
Newnan Time with Harold 