The Curse of Flight

by R. G. Hendrickson

  “You know, I’ve lived my whole life in this house.” Mike said. “Seen a lot of sunrises on Frenchman Mountain. They don’t call it that anymore. Now it’s Sunrise. There is a Sunrise Mountain on the north side of Frenchman, but now they both go by Sunrise.”

  The rays soaked in and lulled Josh’s eye closed. Mike’s rambling usually didn’t bother him. Sometimes it helped him sleep. Today no, but the sun soothed.

  Mike pattered on. “Before the city covered the desert, the mountains seemed like the end of the world. An eye can size up the city. It can count the blocks but not the grains of sand. Infinite, they fade to nowhere. When power lines and traffic lights marked the distance, the world grew smaller.”

  He had no idea what Mike was talking about. It didn’t matter. He’d have enough sun soon, almost time for bed.

  Mike slouched an elbow on the fence post. “You know, I’ve never understood why people buy dirt. When you buy it, you don’t know where it’s been. Mine comes from here, and I know what’s in it. Everything in the compost pile, all the trimmings from the yard and some vegetable scraps from the kitchen, eggshells, and coffee grinds.”

  This wasn’t the first time Josh had heard about the dirt while trying to get some sun and rest in his own backyard. Mike was so proud of that dirt. His was the best garden on the block. Anything grew in that soil, darker and deeper than back in Canada. Josh’s eyes opened to branches of fig and apricot trees hanging over the fence. “What’s the point?”

  “The point?” He usually didn’t, but Mike smiled. “I consider you a friend, Josh. I care about what happens to you. So, I’m going to risk offense by saying this. You’re lonely.”

  “I’m not.”

  “If you weren’t lonely, you wouldn’t be out here talking to me every morning. You’d have a boyfriend.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Maybe you should do something about that.”

  “Maybe I don’t need one.”

  “Why not?”

  Josh wrapped himself in the towel. “Maybe I have a reason.”

  “I was lonely too when I was young. There were always a lot of reasons. I didn’t know until later that none of them really mattered. Now I’m a lonely old man. The point is: you don’t have to be.”

  “Whatever.” He’d heard enough. “I’m going to bed.” He picked up his clothes and boots.

  Mike’s head dropped below the fence. “Night then.”

  The pile of clothes fell in the hamper by the washer. He carried the boots and phone through the kitchen and grabbed an apple. Crisp, it crunched through the living room and down the hall to his bedroom. Boots dropped to the floor. The mattress bounced under his weight, and he tossed the core on the bedside bureau. Tear-shaped seeds scattered.

  Pulling up Steve’s number on the phone, he paused. Cold outside when they first met, cool the second time, now the weather warmed, getting hot. He still wanted to buy a rental property. Why wait?

  Steve struck him as comment dit-on, how does one say, smitten? Unless he’d imagined it, surely, he hadn’t. Were such a thing possible for a guy like Steve?

  Maybe they would get along. Steve’s angry outburst at least showed he cared, not mad long. If nothing else, he might make a good realtor.

  A more handsome man Josh had rarely seen, not that it mattered for his purpose. He would take a bulldog over a poodle if it behaved better. No clear choice, Steve was a Rottweiler and his training questionable. Not the only realtor in town, perhaps they should best not mix business with pleasure.

  He would see Steve anyway at Dan and Genie’s dinner. Still on the fence, he called to his friend down the hall.

  “What’s it going to be?”

  “Go for it,” the Diavel said.

  He placed the call. What would come of it, no one knew.

  Chapter 11

  Josh signed in at the front desk. He put down the pen and turned to go to the room. The hall smelled of antiseptic and like it needed more.

  A burly man in blue scrubs walked up. “You need to wait a minute. Someone wants to talk to you. Have a seat.” The man pointed to chairs in the lobby.

  No way. If something were wrong, Josh wasn’t going to wait. He kept on walking toward his uncle’s door.

  The man grabbed him by the arm from behind. “Sir, have a seat in the lobby.”

  Josh jerked away and turned to face him. Christina, the nurse, who his uncle mistook for an angel, came up and stood between them. She placed her hand on Josh’s shoulder. His apprehension must have shown. She patted his back and guided him to the sofa, where they sat in the lobby. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. I have some routine questions.”

  He breathed again.

  “Your uncle spoke of some things that didn’t make sense. We’re assessing his condition. As you know, this facility isn’t prepared for dementia patients.”

  The breath escaped his lungs, and an emptiness came over him. “He’s sharp. If not for the stroke, he’d be home.”

  She opened her book. “He alarmed an orderly. Your uncle became agitated and thrashed around. It’s hard on him you know, being bedridden. He went on and on, something about a curse. Has he said anything irrational to you? This is just an assessment to establish a benchmark.”

  “He’s superstitious. That’s all.” Josh couldn’t believe his uncle talked about it to a stranger. It wasn’t like him. Maybe something really was wrong.

  She scribbled in a folder. “I see. Since he never mentioned it before, it surprised us. So that we know what to expect, can you describe this superstition?”

  Josh’s leg twitched. He pulled at his hair and had a hard time sitting still. They already knew. He might as well say it.

  He’d never talked about it before with anyone outside the family, and barely with them. It felt weird. He didn’t know if he could.

  She patted his hand again. “If you don’t mind.”

  He managed to form a syllable. “Uh.” His voice came out. He didn’t know whether it would. “You know, we’re circus performers on the trapeze. There’s a superstition in our family that if one of us has sexual relations on a day we perform, he’ll fall. That’s it.”

  She made a note in her file. “Then it’s not new?”

  “No, not at all. It’s old, very.” He twisted his hair.

  She sat with the pen primed. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  He fidgeted. Good grief. Wasn’t that enough? “Not that I can think of.”

  She clicked the pen shut. “Will you tell us if you notice any change in him? We’ll monitor his condition.”

  “Sure. So, will I.”

  “Thank you.” She stood. “You can see him now.”

  He didn’t waste any time getting away from her. Though she was nice enough, the confrontation gave him the creeps. He shook it off on his way down the hall past the man in the blue scrubs, and the usual residents nodded at him from their wheelchairs.

  At the door, he knocked and stuck in his head. “Uncle Alfonso, are you awake?” A sharp voice greeted him.

  “Why did you tell them?”

  Oh shit, now what. “I didn’t. They already knew.” He went to the uncomfortable chair by the head of the bed and sat.

  His uncle looked away and huffed. “I said nothing, Josué. You should have known better than to tell them.”

  He hadn’t of course. The only way they could have found out was from his uncle, who must have said something, maybe without realizing it. Further discussion was pointless. “Okay, someone told them. It wasn’t me. They asked about it. I said it was true. I’m sorry.”

  His uncle raised his chin high, and his head fell back in the pillow. The old man’s bony shoulders no longer propped up tents in his nightshirt, and they sank in the mattress. “We all make mistakes.” His uncle’s arthritic finger pointed at him. “Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” So much for his plan to tell Steve about the curse. It wouldn’t work out anyway. “I found t
he ring. It wasn’t where you said it was.”

  “Good boy. I knew you would. Let me see it.”

  He took the ring off his finger and handed it over.

  “You must wear it. Doesn’t it fit?”

  “It fits.”

  “Then wear it.”

  “I was.” He put it back on.

  “Good luck will come to you.” The old man held Josh’s hand and examined the ring.

  Josh pulled away. “Why do I have to wear it now all of a sudden? I never wore it before.”

  “You’ve heard the music.”

  “I thought you said it was a warning.” Josh rested his forehead on his hand. “What kind of luck is that?”

  “Better than none. The ring will protect you.”

  Josh’s hand absentmindedly grasped the hair at his temple and twisted. “I wonder what it says. There’s a linguist at the university. I looked him up and sent an email.”

  His uncle’s eyes widened.

  He knew what the old man was thinking. “Don’t worry. I didn’t mention the curse. The professor told me to send him pictures of the inscription. So, I did. He couldn’t read the writing but thought he knew who might, someone who would be interested to see it.”

  His uncle hacked. “Don’t take it off again.”

  Josh’s hand dropped from his hair, and he twirled the ring on his finger. “Why is it lucky?”

  Music rose from nowhere. Before he could tell if it were real, it faded. Maybe his imagination, as it spun, a golden light rose from the ring and flashed in his eye.

  His uncle grunted. “They were acrobats on horseback in those days, when the first Dalenzo, our infamous ancestor, received the curse. He fell, and the horse trampled him.” The old man’s breath deepened, and eyelids drooped. “Our forebearer, before his final act, took off the ring and passed it down with these instructions. Wear it when you look for love, or bad luck will follow.”

  Josh stopped spinning the band and reached for his hair. “But why?”

  “No one knows. Now it’s yours.” His uncle’s eyes closed. With a little snort and a snore, the old man slept.

  Josh clutched the gold on his finger. Tomorrow he was meeting Steve to see a house. If not for the curse, he might look forward to it. Steve would never understand. How could he?

  Chapter 12

  Steve punched in the code on the lockbox. It slid open, and he pulled out the house key. It fit. The front door unlocked, and he turned to the street for Josh. Late. Maybe he wouldn’t show up.

  Steve didn’t know what to think, but had a hunch. The call yesterday might have surprised him but not really. There was something there. Moths circled the porchlight. One fluttered in his face. He brushed it away.

  His fingers slipped between his shirttails to the navel. He stroked its flat surface, barely an indentation. Good that day, if it got deeper, then he knew he’d eaten too much and needed more time at the gym. It wasn’t easy maintaining his physique for the show, and it got harder every year.

  The afternoon had been hot, but tonight the air felt nice, cooler. No shower after the gig, he stiffed his armpit. Not bad. When was the last time he showed a listing at midnight? Oh yeah, the condo on the North Strip. Still hadn’t sold it. Shit.

  It felt awkward when Josh made the appointment. Maybe he changed his mind since then and wouldn’t show. Something Josh said stuck with Steve. It wasn’t a date. Josh said it twice. Something wasn’t right with that. Why did he need to say it wasn’t a date, if it wasn’t a date?

  A motorcycle pulled up in the driveway. It was him. The half helmet came off and that wavy hair fell around his face. The shape of his lips, Steve’s own pouted at their sight.

  Josh engaged the kickstand and dismounted the bike. As he walked up, Steve’s eyes got happy.

  Josh glanced at him and looked away. “This isn’t a date.”

  Steve’s smile dropped. Uh oh. What had he done to warrant that comment? “I know. You told me. We’re looking at the house.” Steve pushed the door open and gestured Josh in. When Josh walked by, Steve’s heart did flip-flops.

  A single lamp lit the room from the center on the empty floor. This was his job, but Steve didn’t feel like doing it. A date would be more fun. “How was your show?”

  Josh stood with his hand on his hip and wrinkled his nose. He examined the bare walls. “Fine. Busy. Yours?”

  Steve’s was packed. The Romance Writers of America conference came to town. They made a lively audience, especially when he took off his clothes. “Wild group tonight. It’s weird doing this so late. I hope the neighbors don’t call the police.”

  Josh squinted. “Why would they do that? Isn’t it allowed? I sleep days.”

  “Yeah sure. It’s kind of unusual though. It could look like a break-in, not that there’s anything to steal. I picked this place because it’s vacant. That cuts down the choices.”

  “It’s all right.” Josh knocked on one of the walls. “I understand.”

  Time to do his spiel, Steve assumed his realtor voice, like a gameshow host. “Three bedrooms. Bath and a half. Fifteen hundred square feet, built 1951, Westleigh neighborhood. Short walk to University Medical Center. Interns make good tenants. Let me show you around.”

  The bare bulb lit Josh’s face from below, but it didn’t make him ghoulish, mysterious maybe. He’d look good in any lighting and from any angle from Steve’s perspective. Gesturing to the kitchen, Steve’s heart flip-flopped again when Josh passed by.

  Following him through the kitchen door, Steve switched on the lights. His eyes drifted down to Josh’s perky ass, before it turned away, and the head above swung around. Busted. No. Josh smiled. He must not have noticed. If he did, he didn’t seem to mind.

  Josh ran a finger across the counter. “This house is like mine, but they’ve done a lot of work here. Built in appliances. Granite countertops. Island in the center. Only what one might find beneath the walls worries me.”

  “We can look at something newer.” Steve’s phone rang in his pocket. It was Chris’s ringtone. What did he want? Steve declined the call to voicemail. He hadn’t heard from his ex in weeks, and now out of the blue every night he called Steve. What was up with that? A booty call was out of the question, not so easy in a different time zone.

  Josh stared at it. “Are you sure you don’t want to take that. I don’t mind.”

  “It’s okay.” The voicemail beeped.

  Josh gestured to it with a smirk. “Sounds important.”

  What did he mean by that? Shit. The ringtone. Did he know it? He couldn’t. The song was too old, a hit from way before they were born. The only reason he knew it himself was because of Bond. He was going to change the tone but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Let’s look at the bedrooms before we go.”

  “Might as well.” Josh shrugged.

  Steve led the way past the lamp in the living room where shadows walked the walls. He turned back now and again. Josh followed him down the hall to the largest bedroom. With luck, a flip to the switch by the door lit a ceiling fixture.

  Steve stepped in. If he had to, he could have carried the lamp from the living room. Glad he didn’t. “Here it is.” Such as it was. Not much there, another door led to the full bath beside the closet. He hated selling empty houses, so unlived in.

  Josh poked around the four corners, opened and closed the closet doors, and stuck his head in the bathroom. “Nice. It’s original. Pink porcelain.”

  Steve detected a smile in Josh’s voice, and on turning around, Josh’s face confirmed it. From their discussions, it was no surprise Josh liked that mid-century modern stuff. Now he wanted newer construction and worried about the plumbing and wiring. It figured. People changed their minds all the time or didn’t know what they wanted in the first place. Mid-century modern but new. Great. Another high-maintenance client. “Only the best for you!”

  “I like this, but for a rental, I’m thinking less maintenance. Maybe a new place with a warranty. I’m always fixing things
at my house. I don’t have time for that.” Josh twisted his hair.

  “Yeah, I get it. Unfortunately, model homes in new developments aren’t open at midnight, but maybe we can look at some newer resales. Things will break anyway. Have you considered a property manager? I’m in the business.”

  “Oh no. Too expensive. I think I’ve seen enough here.”

  Josh’s eyes were low. They weren’t looking Steve in the face. Steve’s eyes wanted to follow, but he didn’t let them. Did Josh just give him the once over? Sure, seemed like it. “I have something else you might like to see.”

  “Something newer? When?”

  “Tonight, if you want.”

  Josh’s hand rose to his head and grasped a hand of hair. “It’s getting kind of late. Tomorrow?”

  “Same time? I’ll pick you up.”

  “That’s not necessary. Just text me the address.”

  “I drive all my clients. You’re on the way.”

  Josh pulled a strand. “Maybe some other time. I’m going somewhere after.”

  Steve’s intuition told him this was going nowhere fast. He shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself. Let’s go.”

  On the way out, Steve hit the switch by the bedroom door. The light shut off, and he walked down the dark hall. Almost to the living room, he couldn’t hear Josh behind him and glanced back. Josh’s eyes didn’t meet his at first but jolted up. Steve’s hope revived, and he paused for a moment in his tracks. He just got checked out. Didn’t he? Maybe this was a date after all. Why not just come out and say it? Games weren’t Steve’s style. What was there to hide?

  Whatever. Steve passed by the shadows on the living room wall. One thing for sure, the first move wasn’t going to be his. Burned once was enough.

  He flipped the switch by the front door as he opened it, and the floor lamp turned off. Moths waited by the patio light. He stepped into them. Josh walked past him on the way to the bike, but Steve’s heart didn’t flutter this time. He brushed away an insect. This one could have been a bee.

  Josh waved from his bike. “See you tomorrow.”

  Steve’s hand returned the gesture instinctively, but he held back from flipping Josh off. Steve waited on the patio until the bike disappeared down the street.