by Craig Davis
***
Poncey perched once again upon his Diner stool, disconsolate with his pie. He had come to lying in a pool of saliva, a large lump on the back of his head and a smaller one on the front. Slowly he’d peeled his cheek from the tile and sat in a daze, legs stretched out in front of him, every part of him aching. All at once he’d realized in a panic his box of treasure, his box of treasure was nowhere to be found, his box of treasure was gone. Every possibility that had danced elusively within his imagination a moment before now boiled down to old, comfortable habits. He headed to the Diner.
“I was rich, Mavis, and now every cent is gone. I didn’t know what to do with it, it felt like it was goin’ to kill me, but I sure do want it back now.”
“Yessir, sweetie, I heard all about it yesterday. Ever’one in town did.”
“It doesn’t make sense – I was happy, then I was afraid, then I was miserable, and now I’m even more miserable.”
“That’s the way of life, sugar. You think you got it, then it’s gone. But, at least there’s always pie, right?”
Poncey felt like any moment his head would lose its balance, and his eyes focused somewhere beyond his plate as he poked at the pastry with his fork. “I was poor, I was rich, now I’m poor again, and either way I don’t know what to do. I guess I’ll just finish breakin’ up that concrete for you. At least I’ve still got a job.”
“What, didn’t you see, hon? After word got out ’bout them coins, ever’body in town came out lookin’ for more!”
Poncey glanced up, silent and sullen. Mavis poured herself a cup of coffee, steam veiling her like an oracle along with the smoke of her cigarette.
“Didn’t find nothin’, but they sure got that ce-ment busted up. No job left for you to do.”
Mavis let the information soak in.
“Yessir, sweetie, I had ever’body in Skullbone workin’ for l’il’ ol’ me. ’Cept for one fella who was rich, an’ one who was gonna be.”
