'Til Death Do Us Part (13 page)

“
Okay you can check now,
”
h
e said with a waving of his hand.

What I saw
just about took my breath away. T
he city
looked like you would envision H
ell. The sky was lit up a blazing red, dust and ashes moved down the street in tidal waves.
“
We can
’
t stay here,
”
I said
,
not able to tear my eyes away from the inferno I was gazing upon.

“
Fire, fire on the mountain
,
”
John the Tripper sang the Dead tune as he was staring out the window next to me.

“
John
,
you need to get whatever you think is important
and we need to get out of here,
”
I said. H
e was too lost in the vision before him to even take note I had not called him by his proper name.

“
Get u
p, get out, get out of the door
,
”
he said still in a sing-
song mode.

Good
,
I thought
,
he
’
s on the same page
. At least that is what I thought
until I realized he was still singing the song.
“
John!
”
I said grabbing him by the shoulders.
“
We need to get the fuck out of here!
”
I yelled, small flecks of spittle hitting him in the face, he didn
’
t seem concerned.

“
I know that, does John
,
though?
”
h
e asked.

“
Probably not. Grab whatever you think is importan
t and can help,
”
I added
. W
ho knew what he thought was important
. F
or all I knew
,
he would start ripping out the copper piping down in his basement.
“
Do you have a car?
”

“
A car? No
,
”
h
e answered, I could physically witness his thought process as he was trying to go through the catalog of his possessions.

My heart sank. I
t was going to suck trying to get out of the city ahead of the zombies and the fire.

“
I
’
ve got a van
,
though.
”

I almost kissed him, until I began to wonder if maybe he was using it as a planter in the backyard or something equally as useless.
“
Keys?
”

“
In the ignition,
”
h
e said
,
turning back towards the fire.
“
I was always losi
ng them and
that seemed like the safest place.

“
It runs then?
”
I asked, still keeping my fingers crossed.

“
In the garage,
”
h
e said pointing.
“
I grew up a few streets away from here before I became a roadie. I loved being on the road, but there was always a part of me that wanted to come home.
”
Tears were forming in his eyes.
“
I heard that you can never go home
, but that isn
’
t true. I did, ma
rried my high school sweetheart…
she still held a flame for me after all those years I was away. We took some cooking classes because we liked to eat well when we got the eats.
”
He smile
d
sideways as he reminisced.
“
Come to find out
,
I was something of a
protégé
in the kitchen
and ended
up teachi
ng the class the following year.
S
tephanie
never got any better
,
but she attended just to stay close to me.
”
He didn
’
t clarify
,
but I figured S
tephani
e was his wife
.
“
We were married for seven of the greatest years of my life.
”

“
I
’
m sorry, John the Tripper
,
I am. What happened?
”

“
She went to
Washington
.
”

“
What?
”
I figured she had
contracted
some rare blood disease and died in his arms.

“
She got a job offer.
She
wanted me to move with her, but I had finally come home and I didn
’
t want to leave again.
”

I wanted to berate him for letting the love of his life get away from him, but it was
his life to live as he saw fit.
Who
the hel
l was I to tell him differently?
Shit
,
I was just some bald guy wearing a poncho and a tin foil hat. I would have been shunned by bums in Detroit.
“
I
’
m sorry
,”
was all I could muster.
”

“
For what?
”
h
e asked
,
looking at me. I truly think he forgot the entire thread of the conversation we were just having.

“
Ah...nothing. Do you have any shoes I could wear?
”
I aske
d as I looked down at my yellow-
rimmed tube socks.

“
You going somewhere? I sure could use some mushrooms.
”

“
For cooking or eating?
”

“
Both, what else would I do with them.
”

“
I was thinking you meant the
psychedelic
kind.
”

“
Oh no
,
those taste like
shit.
I make sheet acid.
”

“
Forget I asked. John
,
I need some shoes if you have them
,
and you need to go pack some shit up
.
W
e need to get out of here.
”

“
Why would I pack shit up?
”
h
e asked.

“
Figure of speech.
”

“
You make no sense
, man,
”
h
e told me as he headed up his stairs. I really hope it wasn
’
t for a nap.

“
Well this is a first,
”
I said to the empty room.
“
I
’
m not the craziest one in attendance.
”

“
What size foot do you have?
”
John the Tripper yelled down.

“
Ten!
”
I yelled back up.

“
I
’
m an eight
. C
an you fit in those?
”

“
When I was twelve maybe.
”

“
Well can you or can
’
t you then?
”
h
e yelled down.

I think I would be better off with socks rather than trying to cram my feet into a shoe
two
sizes too small.

“
You could wear a pair of S
tephanie
’
s that she left behind!
”

“
I don
’
t think that
’
s going to work.
”

“
She was a women
’
s
thirteen
!
”
h
e added.

“
What are they canoes?
”
I asked softly, I didn
’
t think he would have heard me.

“
She had a condition.
”

“
Amazonian?
”

“
A women
’
s
thirteen
is about a men
’
s
eleven-and-a-half.
You
want them?
”

“
Sure
,
bring some extra socks.
”
Now I just had to get over my phobia of putting on someone else
’
s shoes. Hadn
’
t been bowling in over
twenty-five
years after I
once figured out how many nasty-
ass feet those things had been donned on. And that little squirt of disinfectant
deodorant
that the
‘
shoe technician
’
put in there would do little to overwhelm the hardy microbes that must be b
reeding vigorously in that germ-
rich soup of toe fungus and foot jam. How
’
s that sound for appealing?
Might as well dip your feet in dirty toilet water.

I was still rubbing the unseen germs off of me when
John came back down the stairs. H
e was carrying an armload of socks and quite possibly the brightest pink sneakers I had ever seen in my life. I mean they looked as if they were potentially battery powered.

“
You
’
re kidding right? Please?
”
I begged.

“
I like socks.
”

“
No the sneakers.
”

“
No
,
S
tephanie
left a bunch of stuff behind. We
’
re still married.
She
vis
its about once every two months…
she
’
s late this time though.
”

My mouth opened, he had once again surprised me. I moved on to something I understood.

“
Can you shut those off?
”
I asked
,
shielding my eyes from the brightness.

“
You
’
re a funny bastard!
”
h
e said
,
handing over the shoes and some socks.

“
I wasn
’
t trying to be funny,
”
I said sadly as I went over to the couch to put on my new digs.

John went over to another table in the far corner of t
he room. H
e retrieved a large folder that looked thick with paperwork.

“
I don
’
t think you
’
re going to n
eed to file taxes any time soon,
”
I said
, looking up happily.
The
sneakers were ugly as hell
,
but with the added pair of socks
, they fit pretty well.
Plus,
I had the bonus of being able to walk on water if the need arose.

“
I
’
ve never filed taxes,
”
h
e said.

“
You
’
re kind of my hero right now,
”
I told him as I stood
,
surprised at how well S
tephanie
’
s footwear felt.