Argosy Junction

by Chautona Havig

  Though unnecessary, Matt read the sonnet once more, giving it all the feeling it deserved. “Since I left you, mine eye is…”

  “That was beautiful. I don’t know why exactly, but it was.”

  “It might be, “Matt, teased flicking a stray gum wrapper at her, “because Shakespeare was a literary genius.”

  “People can write whatever they imagine, but until someone makes it come alive when read or acted well, it’s just a bunch of words on a page.”

  “Oh, no it isn’t! Can’t you hear the words in your mind as you read them? Don’t you hear the rhythm of the words, the intonation of your voice in your mind as your eyes absorb each word?”

  “I was certain you were going to say caress and then I was going to whack you with the pillow.” Her voice mocked him, but her eyes told him she was impressed. “How did a guy from the inner city ever become such an aficionado of all things archaic and literate?”

  “I had a good teacher. Mrs. Hayward saw beneath the coarse talk, the indifferent air, and saw a kid who had a knack for reading and taught him to love the good stuff without making him look like a fool to the rest of the kids.”

  “I have to admit, you don’t look like a Shakespeare quoting man.”

  He couldn’t let that go. “So what does a Shakespearean lover look like?”

  She glanced over the pillow, hiding her smile from him. “Well, that first day when I watched you through the binoculars, I thought you looked like a drill sergeant.”

  Matt’s laughter erupted involuntarily. He struggled to quiet down, but Patience hardly stirred. “Drill sergeant huh? What about me made you think that?”

  “Well, your hair was shorter than—almost a buzz cut. And…” Lane looked at his hair as though for the first time. “Hey, is that why you cut it so short—your curls?”

  “Not really.” Matt ran his fingers through his hair. “It is getting long again, isn’t it?”

  “Curling on your collar. It’s cute.”

  “Cute. Great. I’ll make time for a cut soon.”

  Lane leaned to the right to get a better look before she shook her head. “It looks great. Short was good too, but there’s something charming about a couple of curls around the collar.”

  “Charming is better than cute,” he admitted as he felt his neck growing red, “but I think I’ll opt for the less is more approach to hair, thank you very much.”

  “Do you let it get longer in winter for warmth? The boys do. Jude has little curls at the back of his neck that all the girls are going to love if he ever escapes from Argosy Junction and the Brethren girls.” Just the word on her lips, made Lane grimace.

  “It doesn’t curl in winter so I let it get a little longer. Basically, when it annoys me, it comes off. The curls annoy so they come off. I try to get it really short when I get it cut though—saves time and money in going back every six or so weeks.”

  He wanted to return to the sergeant discussion and leave the hair out of it. “So my butch looked like a military do eh? I should have worn my ARMY shirt.”

  “Well, that and your shoulders…” Once she’d started, he could see that Lane didn’t know how to retrace her direction.

  “My shoulders?”

  “Well, you just looked like you could hold your own with a bunch of recruits. You know, pound them into the ground if they needed it.”

  Matt wisely chose to let her off the hook. Any moment the conversation was going to take a turn and embarrass him; he could do without that. “I still can’t believe you left me there all alone with those evil sheep.”

  “Those sheep are singing ballads of the city boy who stole their wool.”

  “At least, “Matt joked laughing, “they aren’t singing of the city boy who preached to his flock with lines from Shakespeare and Lowell.”

  “Lowell? Who is he?”

  Without preamble, Matt began quoting the poem that had inspired him that afternoon.

  “Of all the myriad moods of mind

  That through the soul come thronging,

  Which one was e’er so dear, so kind,

  So beautiful as Longing?

  The thing we long for, that we are

  For one transcendent moment,

  Before the Present poor and bare

  Can make its sneering comment… “

  “The beauty of longing?” Lane’s skepticism was evident. “I mean, it sounds wonderful and everything, but is longing truly beautiful?”

  “Your birthday is coming… you long for the traditions, the celebration… a special dessert or gift…” He smiled as he spoke realizing that she’d never understand how very different their birthday celebrations must be. “Isn’t a significant portion of the enjoyment found in the anticipation—the longing?”

  “You write like you talk, Matt. Your letters were like having you there with us and yet more of you somehow. I mean you told us you were from the inner city and we had such stereotypical ideas about you. We expected tattoos, loud music, and using words that sounded foreign to us like we see in Spokane sometimes.”

  “Are you complaining?” To his relief, the moment he whispered the words, she shook her head decisively.

  They lay, each on their stomach facing one another, and talked for hours. Occasionally, one or the other would roll onto their back while thinking of something, but moments later, they’d roll back to their stomach and continue the conversation.

  Around one a.m., Matt noticed the time. “Oh man, Lane, I’m sorry! I’ve gotta go. The sub— oh it’s closed. Well I’d better call a cab.”

  “Take our car. We won’t need it until you come back anyway.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t, Lane. It wouldn’t be safe in my neighborhood. They’d have it gone before I woke up tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  Matt took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m from the wrong side of the tracks, Lane. I don’t live in one of those cute little suburban neighborhoods with picket fences and children playing in safe yards. I live where there are no houses, only huge apartment buildings, and dirty streets full of delinquent children and occasionally a drug dealer on the corner. Remember, inner city?” After a thorough examination of his fingernails, he raised his eyes again to meet hers. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come tomorrow. You know that, right?”

  Lane met his gaze and held it with her own. “Why wouldn’t I want to come? I want to meet your parents. You’ll be there. You grew up there so it can’t be all bad and—” She hesitated.

  “And what?”

  “And you’ll be there. I can rescue you from ferocious sheep, which I’m allergic to I might add, but you can protect me from anything here. You’ll be there so we’ll be safe. Period.”

  A strand of hair fell forward and pooled on the bedspread between them. Matt toyed with it for a moment, curling the end a round his finger. His eyes never left hers. On an impulse, he prayed he’d not regret, he tugged the hair pulling her head slightly toward his and kissed her forehead.

  “Thank you, Lane,” he whispered. “That is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  He slid off the bed, her hair slowly uncoiling from his finger as he did until it pooled once more on the bed. “Goodnight. I’ll call you around ten, okay?”

  Lane followed him to the door and waved at him as he stepped into the elevator before shutting the door behind her. As always happened in deeply emotional times, she slipped into her old habit of prayer. Unlike recent years, this time she allowed the thought to materialize and form in her heart. “Lord, what am I going to do?”

  Nine

  The line outside the bookstore was obscenely long. Matt couldn’t believe that one children’s book could garner such a following until an employee stepped outside the door and announced that they needed two lines. “Those here for Alexa Hartfield, please form a line on this side of the door. Those here for Sandcastle Tales, please stay where you are. Both authors will be arriving momentarily.”
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  Most of the line transferred to the other side of the doors and filed down the sidewalk. Matt watched with interest. “Alexa Hartfield is going to be here! I hope Patience gets to see her.”

  “Have you ever seen her?” Lane scanned the cars as they passed, wondering if the famous author was inside any of them.

  “Once. We went to the lake for the Fourth of July a couple years back and had to get gas in Fairbury before we came home. She was walking home from the outdoor concert, and Mom stopped to get her autograph. Miss Hartfield gave Mom her book signed. I’ll show you later.”

  Lane looked around her waiting expectantly. Matt noticed and nudged her elbow. “Want me to go wait in her line? This one will go faster, and you can come join me, or you can go wait, and I’ll take Patience.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  He nudged her out of line. “Go ahead. Patience and I will—hey look. There she is. Better get in line.”

  The crowd started chattering louder and a few cheers rose as Alexa Hartfield stepped from the limousine. Matt thought the picture was incongruous. Miss Hartfield wore a long old-fashioned gown that looked like it was from one of those Jane Austen movies his Aunt Judy loved. She should be stepping from a carriage, not a sleek white luxury car.

  Patience gasped and cried, “Oooh! Pretty!” oblivious to the amused smiles around her.

  Alexa heard it and walked toward Patience as she untied her bonnet ribbons and removed the hat. “Hello. What is your name?”

  A man stood outside the car door glancing at his watch impatiently as Alexa chatted with Patience. Matt watched the scene amused. Alexa Hartfield seemed oblivious to the irritation she caused; however, after a minute’s conversation, she pointed to the man and said, “See that man over there?”

  Patience nodded earnestly. “With the sunglasses and the grumpy face?”

  Giggling conspiratorially, Alexa nodded. “That’s the one, the grumpy-looking man by the car.” She emphasized grumpy in a loud voice making the crowd laugh. “He’s here to make sure I don’t get side tracked with adorable little girls from Montana, so I have to go inside, but it was very nice to meet you, and thank you for the compliment. This dress is one of my very favorites.”

  Matt and Patience were hustled into the store once a woman wearing denim overalls, with braids, and a striped boat neck shirt arrived ready to read the first chapter of her book. Matt grabbed a copy of the book from a nearby stack and sat with the children as the author butchered the words of her own story. Patience looked at him ruefully. “Is the book this bad?” she whispered into Matt’s ear.

  Matt was reading along and found the story delightful. “No,” he whispered back. “It looks fun. She’s almost done.”

  The children all around them were fidgeting, whispering, and wriggling in their seats, eager for the torture to end. Sensing that she’d lost her audience, the author tossed any attempt at expressive reading and rushed through the end of the chapter ending with an artificial smile saying, “And you’ll have to finish the rest of the book for yourselves!”

  Patience turned to find Lane but Matt handed her the book. “Ask her to sign it. She really did write a good story. It’ll make her feel better. She knows she didn’t read well.”

  The appeal to Patience’s compassion was the only urge the child needed. She bounced to the author’s table and was first in line. “Will you sign this? I can’t wait to read it. I’m sure it’s a really good story. Matt looked at it while you were reading, and he says I’ll like it!”

  Though her words were innocuous enough, Patience’s full meaning rang out through the store. The author, rather than being offended, laughed, leaned forward, and whispered in a loud stage whisper, “I’m not a very good reader, am I? I told my publisher that I shouldn’t read, but they didn’t listen.”

  “Well that was silly of them. You should have had Matt read for you. He’s a great reader. He read mushy poems to my sister last night.”

  Eyes wide with surprise, Matt’s face turned crimson as those standing nearby erupted in amused laughter. Smiling his thanks to the author, he pulled Patience away to find Lane. “What was that about Patience?”

  “I just thought you should read instead of her. You’re a better reader.”

  Matt tried again. “I mean about announcing that I read poetry to Lane last night. How’d you find out about that?”

  “I heard you. She was reading it this morning. She doesn’t read it as well as you do either. Maybe you should be a professional reader.”

  Alexa Hartfield’s line was long, but Lane was almost to the front by the time they found her. Before Matt could say a word, Patience waved her book. “Look what Matt got for me! She can’t read very well, but she says she writes better than she reads. She even wrote in it for me.”

  “That’s called an autograph. Can I see?” Lane took the book and read the inscription, confusion growing on her face. “What on earth?”

  Matt read over her shoulder and colored again. Patience noticed and pointed it out to Lane. “I think it’s too hot in here. He keeps getting red. Can we go outside until you’re done? Will you pay for my book?”

  As the eager little helper dragged him from the bookstore, Matt shrugged and said, “Someone wasn’t as sleepy as she seemed last night.”

  Lane reread the inscription once more trying to make sense of Matt’s words “To Patience, I promise there isn’t anything mushy in here. Your friend, Anne Parker.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Awed by the multi-Cineplex that showed over twenty movies at any given time, Patience stumbled through the lobby, wove through the line, stuttered her order to the bored teenager who scooped up the popcorn and doused it with butter-flavored oil, and then bounced her way up the steps to almost the very back of the theater. She wriggled in the seat, stood, sat, stood again, and then discovered the arms between the seats moved out of the way.

  “Why do the arms go up? You could spill your drink on the guy behind you if you forgot you had it and moved the arm out of the way.”

  Lane eyed Matt with a look that clearly said, “Get me out of this one.”

  In a stroke of genius, Matt whispered in Patience’s ear, “Well, mostly it’s for really large people. This way they don’t have to squeeze into the seats.” Casually, he pushed them up and reclined into the corner of the one on his right and said, “It also makes it more like a regular couch.”

  Satisfied with the simple explanation, Patience turned her attention to the projector in the back window. The huge speakers, the advertisements running on the screen, and the people filing in to watch the movie were new and thrilling for her. Matt saw the entire cinema experience through new eyes. By the time the first preview started, Patience was beside herself with excitement.

  Lane and Matt stared at each other in horror as the images flicked across the screen. What Matt filtered through his adult eyes and discarded was new and fascinating or frightening for Patience. Lane couldn’t understand why a G rated movie had sexual innuendos, exploding cars, and grotesque aliens in the previews.

  Matt was desperate to get Patience’s wide eyes from the screen until their movie began. “Hey look Patience, see the projector flickering up there?”

  Patience turned and watched the images in the little box overhead while the previews finished. Then, much to everyone’s embarrassment, Patience exclaimed in surprise, “They’re kissing back there!”

  Lane glanced back and saw two teenagers wrapped around each other, swapping spit in a most vulgar way. She threw the annoyed couple a freezing look and said louder than necessary, “And I thought this was supposed to be a G rated film.”

  Matt coughed trying to avoid laughing outright. The girl made a snide comment, and before Matt or Lane could respond, a large burly man two seats over, growled, “Take your make-out session elsewhere before I call the management.”

  The kids might have argued, but an usher started up the side aisle with a flashlight. Both teens stood and scurried down the steps
and out the door. Before Patience could ask what happened, the movie began.

  Instantly they were transported into the imaginary world of kings, queens, and magical forests. George MacDonald’s Lost Princess was swept from the palace under the dark cloak and through the forest, and Patience was swept into another world with her. It was more enjoyable for Matt to watch Patience enjoy the movie, than it was to watch it himself.

  The child watched the entire film in full animation. When the little girls threw a fit or whined her face screwed up into an expression of distaste. When frightened, her eyes grew wide and afraid. When the girls learned their lessons, Patience nodded sagely, and at the end, she hugged herself as the little girls rushed to meet their parents once more.

  “Can we watch it again?” she cried as the credits rolled.

  “We’ll try to come again before you go home.”

  “Promise?” Blue eyes gazed up at him, full of earnestness.

  “I promise.”

  They left the Cineplex and took a taxi to the mission where Matt’s church ran a shelter for the homeless. The huge old hotel had been subdivided into rooms that could hold hundreds of people. The business card passes that Matt and many others from his church and surrounding churches passed to local indigents, gave instant admittance to anyone who had one. They tried to fill eighty percent of the shelter every night with people holding cards before allowing those who lined up out front to enter. They required no proof of need, and sometimes people took advantage of a free room in a large city, but the mission chose to allow non-carded guests on a first come, first served basis.

  Matt showed Lane and Patience the dining area, the kitchens, and the tiny rooms on the first floor. A single flower in each room fascinated Lane. “Why flowers?”

  “One of the ladies at our church is an elderly woman—very wealthy. She provides the flowers. She says that the homeless need beauty too.”

  They left with fifty cards for Patience to disburse along the way to Matt’s house. Kayla, the director, made Patience promise to give away all the cards. “We’ll give Matt more for you tomorrow at church if you give away all of your cards tonight.”