The Harland Highway - GARDEN HOSE STORY - PART 3

Episode Date: September 30, 2016

This is the 3rd segment of Harland's short story about a man who travels back in time every time he drinks from a water hose. Enjoy PREMIUM MEMBERS! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The next day at work, Brett could not focus. He kept on thinking about the kiss by the bonfire, about his best friend, Scotty Dorfman, who he hadn't seen her talk to in nearly 25 years. Brett sat at his desk and stared at his computer screen. Facebook, he thought out loud. Furiously, Brett searched through 20 Scotty Dorfman profiles until finally he came across a Scotty with the same shit-kicking grin that was Scotty's trademark.

There was no denying it was him. Brett clicked on his profile, and sure enough, there was some old photos of Scotty in his younger years, always smiling, always happy. But the current photos were not as kind. Brett sunk back in his chair as he viewed the current versions of his childhood friend. Scotty was grossly overweight His once black, wavy hair Now gone from the top

And scant remains on the sides over his ears Scotty did not look healthy Brett looked down at his own emerging gut And pinched it with his free hand He was nowhere near Scotty's girth But Brett realized fully That he had not been responsible with his own body That he had an essence let himself go

Suddenly Brett was depressed He was looking at himself the way he had never wanted to see himself. Just another human being running the rat race, letting time wear him down as it did to so many others. Brett went to close his computer, but at the last second, changed his mind. He decided to message Gotti. Just say hello. Let him know he was alive. Unsure of even what to say, Brett kept it simple and typed,

Hey, Dufus, remember me? It's Brett, your best. friend from a million years ago. How you've been? Brett. It seemed like an eternity before Brett clicked the send button, but he did, not sure where this would lead, whether he would even get a response. Either way, the deed was done. The message was out there. At lunch, Brett bought a tuna sandwich at the food court next door to his office building. Out back was a courtyard with flowers, grass, and a small fountain. Brett liked to sit there and eat, but people watch even more. It was a calm setting and it relaxed him.

The sun shining on his face always made him feel warm all over. The flow of different people walking to and fro, always pushing his imagination, wondering who they were and what they did. Halfway through his sandwich, Brett noticed something across the courtyard that on any other day would have not been of any interest, but in the light of recent events, he now could, he now couldn't have been more interested. The groundskeeper was spraying water on some of the flowers and shrubs that lined the small footpath. Somehow it mesmerized Brett. The foamy white water spurting from the hose was as enticing to him as a moth to a flame. Almost involuntarily he rose from his seat, leaving his lunch behind and wandering over to the groundskeeper. Brett stopped

and just watched for a few minutes, the water dousing the rose petals, leaving behind small beads of liquid on the bright green leaves. Not unnoticed by the groundskeeper, he halted his watering duties momentarily to address Brett. Hello, sir, how are you today? Brett didn't answer, his gaze still fixed on the spouting water hose. Beautiful day, sir, is it not? Brett, realizing someone was talking to him, snapped back to attention. Uh, uh, yes, yes, a wonderful day. The two just stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Brett broke the silence with an unusual request.

Um, would it be okay if I took a quick drink of water, um, from the hose? The groundskeeper looked a little surprised, looked at Brett, then up at the sun, then back at Brett. Of course, signor, the sun, it catches up on you. He nodded and smiled as he. handed the hose to breath. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Brett felt the water coursing through the hose as he wrapped his hand around it. He brought it up to his mouth and almost instantly, like before, he was transported somewhere far away. Tommy's father's station wagon creeped to a slow stop right in front of Brett's house. All the lights were off save for the yellow bug light

on the porch. Tommy put the car and park can you believe it brett i actually got to put this hand on one of tanya reese's boobs wow tommy held up his right hand towards brett the fingers curled into a cup shape tanya fucking reese buddy brett tilted his head back and laughed ha it was through her sweater scottie it technically doesn't count oh what are you fucking kidding come on man don't take this away from me dude in school would die to do what I did. I should charge dudes just to stiff my hand. Five bucks to snort Tanya Reese's left titty. Five bucks. You are out of control, Tommy. The two of them laughed until they were exhausted. Then, with hardly any breath left inside of them,

wait, speaking of tail, who is the smoking blonde you were all cuddled up to? Brett was hesitant to answer. The moment he had spent with Sherry was so very special and so intimate. He didn't want to violate it by sharing it with anyone, especially Tommy Dorfman, who he knew would make a joke about it. But Tommy was his best friend, and Brett knew it was Buddy Code that you always had to tell what you had done with a girl. With the laughter subsided, Brett took a breath and assembled his thoughts. Okay, her name is Sherry Kilbourne. She's a grade below us. Mrs. Sanderson's class. We've seen each other around a few times and just, I don't know, you know, connected.

Connected? Buddy, you were crawling down her throat, man. Brett grinned embarrassedly, but proud at the same time. Yeah, I did, he stammered. So? So what? Brett pretended he didn't know what Tommy wanted. So Tommy persisted.

I asked her to the person. prom, Brett said nervously. What? Are you? You asked her to the prom? Tommy shocked caused Brett to shift uncomfortably in his seat. What?

Tommy stared at Brett, and a smile crept across his face. That is big, buddy. Really big. The fucking prom? There's just something about her, Tommy. I don't know. It just kind of came out.

Tommy gripped the steering wheel and stared silently through the front windshield down the empty street. A buddy silence filled the car. I'd better get inside. It's late. Brett broke the quiet. Don't say anything to anyone, okay, Tommy? I don't want everyone asking a bunch of stupid questions.

And yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Brett, relax. It's me, Tommy. They stared at each other for a moment before Tommy continued. You know what? Good for you, buddy. Good for you. Thanks, Tommy. if I could have done it without sipping on that scotch. Tommy smiled and pushed Brett out the passenger side door. Go on, get out of here, Romeo. I'll see you tomorrow. Brett rolled out the

door and shut it softly behind him. The station wagon pulled away and Brett stood alone on the quiet street. After a quick straightening of his hair and blasting a mouthful of his breath into his palm to see if it still smelled like booze, he walked up the lawn and into his house. In the front hallway, Brent carefully closed the heavy wooden door behind him. Sometimes the latch clicked so hard it could be heard from upstairs. He slowly maneuvered the door into place, and the click was as soft as a bobby pin dropping on the floor. The house was dark as Brett turned and walked towards the stairs.

As he passed by the living room, he glanced sideways, only realizing once he had already mounted the first stair that something was out of place. Something caught his eye, an obscure shape, or maybe even a shadow. Slowly, Brett backed up and allowed his vision to search through the dark for the anomaly that he had detected.

And then, over in the far corner, next to the curtain on the living room window, he could see the silhouette of hair backlit by the glow of the street light. Someone was sitting there, alone, in the shadows. mom brett said his voice filled with uncertainty there was no answer as brett cautiously stepped into the living room and moved closer mom is that you leave me alone honey go to bed his mother's voice was soft and unsteady what are you doing up alone where's dad brett had now closed the gap between the stairs and his mother he reached for the nearby lamp don't turn that on brett leave me a alone, but it was too late. Brett had never known his mother to be up at this hour, let alone

sulking in the darkness in the living room. Brett's fingers pinched the light switch under the shade and he turned it on. The small wadage bulb lit up, still enough to make both of them flinch. When Brett's eyes adjusted, he was face to face with his mother, the frail, delicate woman that she was. Brett's mouth dropped open in shock, if he was. not horror. His mother stared back at him expressionless. Her left eye clouded with blood. Her cheek bruised and purple. A stream of dry blood hardened and cracked stemming from the corner of her mouth. Breadden held deeply, loudly, just short of screaming. He felt a pain rippled through his chest in his heart. He grabbed his chestplate just below his throat and took several steps back.

sir, signor, are you okay, sir? The voice of the groundskeeper was loud in Brett's ear. He could feel his firm grip on his shoulder. Sir, do you need some help, signor? Brett stepped back and stared into the groundkeeper's face. He could only imagine what he must be thinking, staring back into Brett's horrified eyes. Brett coughed and spit out some of the water he had been drinking.

What, yeah, yes, yes, yes, I'm, fine, Brett insisted unsuccessfully. The water just went down the wrong pipe. It must have swallowed too much. Brett forced a fake smile to the groundskeeper to make him think he was okay. Visibly startled the groundskeeper grasped the garden hose and tried to pull it from Brett's hand. He was surprised by Brett's reluctance to release his grip. Signor, the hose, please. The groundskeeper tugged again, and this time the hose came loose. Brett took a few steps backwards and shook his head sideways at the groundskeeper. Still confused, the groundskeeper cocked his head sideways,

unsure of Brett's strange behavior. Brett kept stepping backwards before turning and breaking into a full-on run. He dashed across the park, his tie flapping up into his face with each desperate stride. It almost looked like he was running away from something. Maybe he was. Eventually, Brett stopped. He had to. He was completely out of breath, spent. He held onto the side of a medium-sized maple tree and gasped for air. His brow sweaty, his cheeks flush. His lungs burned and his chest hurt as oxygen heaved in and out of his open mouth like a fish on dry land. Brett was pretty sure he was close to vomiting as he hunched over and tried to recuperate. It would be a full 20 minutes before Brett could clear his head, compose himself, and head back to his office.

Sitting behind his imitation wood desk, Brett could not concentrate. He realized this wasn't just daydreams or flashbacks. Something was going on, something bigger. His drinks from the garden hose were too real, as if he was. was there, living in the past, alive in moments that he had already lived. But why was he going back to select moments, he asked himself? Why the bonfire? Why the horrible night when he found his battered mother skulking in the shadows of the living room? Before Brett could answer any of those questions, a Facebook message popped up on his computer. Brett glanced at it without interest.

Hey, stupid, it's Scotty. But upon seeing it was his old child's friend getting back to him. Brett abandoned all other thoughts and focused his full attention on the computer screen. He typed back excitedly, hey, you old mutt, where the hell are you? What are you doing these days? Been a long time. Brett hit the send button, certain that Scotty would message back instantly. It was only after an hour past that Brett realized that a swift response from Scotty was not to come. At least not yet. At dinner that night, Sherry could see that Brett was a million miles away, disconnected from her and the family. Brett, is everything okay? She asked softly. Brett took a moment to respond. What? Oh yeah, just thinking about some work stuff. Sherry looked at

them doubtfully and cleared away the dessert dishes. Kids, go play in the living room while Daddy and I have a coffee. The kids weren't about to argue their mother's instructions. Playing in the living room is exactly what they wanted to hear. As Nathan and Kelly darted down the hall, Shelly sat down across from Brett and placed her hands on the table. Are you sure you're okay, baby? I know things got a little heavy in the bedroom the other day, but maybe I should be more... No, Brett cut her off. Everything you said was fine. It was right. Sherry sat back in her chair, somewhat astonished with his remarks. She hadn't heard her husband be so forthcoming like this before.

She took a moment before formulating her next sentence. Maybe it was overdue, Brett blurted out. Sherry looked at him, her heart softening slightly, almost as if he had just handed her a gift. She was witnessing a side of Brett she wasn't familiar with. After a few more moments of silence, Sherry decided to take advantage of this emotional sharing, before Brett had a chance to put his defenses up again.

Why were you crying yesterday, Brett? What? he answered defensively. Sherry didn't want him to feel he was being attacked and risk him closing up on him. So she rephrased the question so that it wasn't so direct. When I walked in on you yesterday, you were sitting on the bed with your hands on your face. You seemed very upset, and I was wondering,

my father. I was crying about my father. Oh, Brett, Sherry said lovingly, knowing full well the angst that surrounded Brett and his father. I never did say goodbye to him. I knew he was dying, but I never went to see him. Brett could feel his emotions welling up inside. Sherry knew how sensitive this was to Brett, and she got up, circled the table, and went and sat beside him. She placed a hand on his thigh. It was a long time ago, baby. A lot of things happened. You did what your heart told you. Brett turned and stared at her deeply. What if my heart was wrong? Sherry swallowed, completely unprepared for that answer. Brett, don't do this to yourself, baby. It was a long time ago. You were young. Brett hung his head and nodded slightly. Sherry continued to rub his thigh

comfortingly. After a few minutes of silence, Brent looked up and stared in her eyes. Do you still love me, Sherry? Sherry was blindsided. She had no idea a question like this would come out of her husband. She was 100% unprepared for it. She stared at him like a deer in headlights. She searched his face, but even more, she searched for an answer, an answer that should have been instantaneous, automatic. She should have blurted out, Of course I love you! But instead, she couldn't find the words.

Brett stared at her intensely, his face expressionless, cold and as empty as Sherry's non-answer. Without waiting for her to speak, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He looked at her as if he was broken. I don't know if I blame you. Sherry slumped in her chair.

chair as Brett walked away, down the hall and out the front door. Sherry remained seated. She did not go after him.