The Table, Part 6
Read Part 1,
then Read Part
2, then Read Part 3,
then Read Part 4,
then Read Part
5!
Neighbor Man looked at point on the floor just beyond his crossed
legs. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, ordering them in the same
kind of linear patterns his eyes were marking along the hardwood floor.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the slam of a car door brought us
both to our feet, to the door, two wild heads watching Noreen's black
Mercedes back out of her driveway, turn north, slowly tool toward the
main road. I squinted my eyes to see the couple in the backseat, but I
could only catch the long dark hair of a woman maybe my age, maybe a
little younger. She sat with a companion, both in heavy dark glasses,
and a white silk scarf with sparkled fringe covered her head. Neighbor
Man closed the door, and we both fell to the floor in spastic laughter.
I couldn't stop! I grabbed my stomach with my hands, lay on my back
gasping for air. Neighbor Man laughed too, a near silent sound, and his
face turned red as he grabbed air between guffaws.
"Bird Dude, this happens twice a week. Every week. I hear that
fucking Mercedes and I've got my damn nose plastered to the window.
I've seen so many fucking stars I've lost count. Dude, who was that?
Catherine Zeta Jones? Looked like her. The hair. Hold on. Let me get my
photo album. And let me get you a beer."
I closed my eyes as he stood and wandered to the kitchen, tried to
bring back the mysterious woman, my hands resting on the floor behind
me, my legs splayed out in front. It might have been Zeta Jones. She
held her head the right way, her hair matched, but I wasn't sure about
the nose. And the age. And was that her husband beside her? I didn't
see if the companion were man or woman. I rolled possibilities through
my mind. Demi Moore? Nah, not thin enough.
I heard Neighbor Man open a refrigerator, the clink of two bottles,
the yank of the opener. He returned to the living room, one hand
extended with a local micro-brew, the other holding another beer, a
leather-bound book stuffed under the armpit. I took a deep sip, watched
my new friend resume his yogi pose.
"Man,I don't know. I don't think the nose was right."
Neighbor Man nodded his head. "I think you might be right, Bird
Dude." The more he talked, the less big his head appeared to me and the
more I noticed a hint of an East Coast accent. His right sleeve fell
toward his shoulder as he raised his arm to scratch his head and I saw
a ring of tattooed fire around his bicep and an old fading white scar
along the back of his arm, reaching to his elbow. He handed me the
book.
"Dude, anyway. Come back any weekday. You might see Brad Pitt or
something." He yawned, leaned his back against the wall. The clown fish
rippled in the corner closest to us, and I watched it rise and dip,
rise and dip, as Neighbor Man pointed at me to open the album.
To Be Continued...
9:14:35 AM 
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