The Lives We Lead
by Chad Camp
Horris had just finished his seventh game of solitaire. His clothes were still wet from his stroll home in the rain and small drops of water were pooling on the face of his cards as he shuffled them around in front of him. His games had been going well and he felt pleased with their organization. There hadn’t been a dead end game yet.
The day had been difficult. It had been raining when he left for work that morning and continued raining throughout the day. The world had seemed crammed together. He felt obtrusive in his skin, out of place and stretched. He had been looking forward to his afternoon games all day.
Taking a moment to admire his final product, Horris carefully swept up the finished stacks of cards and laid them back in the box. That was enough for now. Things had been put back into order just as they needed to be.
Horris left his apartment, picked up his notebook and moved into the stairwell. He ascended the steps slowly, eventually pulling himself up to the 10th floor landing with a wheeze. His eyes rolled back into his head for a moment as he fought to regain control over his body. He looked like a mountain, an unshaven, jiggling mountain in sweat pants and a Lakers T-shirt.
Wrapping several of his sausage fingers around the sticky hand railing, he pulled himself up several more steps and nearly collapsed through the door leading to the roof of the 8th Street and Elm apartment building.
Night was approaching but it was just the time of afternoon when the exhausted sun was below the horizon but not yet dead. It left a pink stain in a swath across the sky. He knew the color was pollution but that didn’t stop him from wanting it so bad his teeth hurt. Disasters could be so beautiful.
Waddling barefoot across the graveled roof, Horris stopped at the edge of the building and leaned forward, bringing his eyes over the ledge. The street below was mostly lifeless and sleeping. A red haired man and a woman were arguing about something, the carroty-orange street lights reflecting off the sequins in her dress as they went back and forth in the road. The “discussion” went on for several more minutes before the man snatched her up by the elbow and hauled her off down the side walk as if that was all there was to say about the matter. Her protest followed her off into the darkness.
He sat there listening to their faint calls echoing off of the buildings. He was unable to make out any phrases but that was Ok, he got the gist of it. He sat down and settled in over 8th Street like a gargoyle, opening his note book and beginning to write. The world breathed under him and he recorded it all. A man wandered off into an alley taunting at the moon. Two old hags scurried down the sidewalk, arm in arm, as if everyone in the world were chasing them. Several drunken teenagers screeched by in an old Chevy on their way to die in a ditch somewhere.
After a while, a car crept around the corner of 8th Street and stopped. It had small trails of smoke bellowing from its exhaust pipe. A woman climbed out of the passenger side and sat two high heeled feet onto the side walk. Horris recognized the woman from earlier, the sequins lady. She looked a little more put together now as she stood up out of the car and steadied herself. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she turned around to the car for a moment, bending over to talk into the window. After a few words, a hand reached over and violently slammed the door. The car moaned for a moment before peeling away, leaving the woman shaking her fist and cursing as it went.
As the car squealed out of sight, she calmly smoothed her dress and gently wiped her face, brushing a few strands of hair into place. There was something about her that made Horris wish he knew her name. She had wild, curly blond hair that exploded around her. There was something very honest about her face, it had a noble quality that made it seem like it had been carved out of stone. Several lines ran across her cheeks and forehead, scars of worry or hard times past. Her eyes were caked with pink makeup and her lips were plastic red. She frowned as she adjusted her dress some, pulling it up over milky white thighs. Composing herself, she moved to the edge of the street corner and purposefully placed one hand on her hip, waiting.
Horris thought this was a fine addition. He recorded each detail in his notebook, writing notes in the margins and trying his best to get everything exactly as he saw it.
