Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Well,” replied Lorna, in as soothing a tone as she was able to muster, “as I understand it, you’ve always kept him… on what you’d call, a pretty short leash! Again… as I understand it… he gives you, pretty much, his entire paycheck! And… I guess… you simply give him, an allowance! One that is not notable, for its… ah, for its… for its generosity!”

“What’s wrong with that? I’m not well, y’know! I need that money! And he’s just a… just a… well, he’s just a little boy, y’know! Well, maybe not a little boy, anymore! Not exactly, anyway! But, he’s… he’s awful immature… if you wanna know!”

“Immature?” scoffed Lorna. Her change of tone almost floored Sheila. “Listen, Mrs. Rutkowski,” the waitress pressed on, “maybe, it could be, because you’ve kept a… kept a pretty tight… well, a pretty tight lid, on him! Because, maybe, you’ve kept a kind of a tight… a pretty tight rein . . . a really tight rein, on him? Could that be it?”

“He’s not . . . not… well, he’s not . . .”

“Mrs. Rutkowski? Has it ever occurred to you, that a young man… even one as docile a young man, as Jason… that even he could, eventually, get tired of things? Of things… the way they are? The way they were? That it might be . . . that it just might be… that he, finally, just simply threw up his arms? Especially, if you’d had some sort of a flare-up, last week?”

“That’s… why, that’s ridiculous!”

“You may think so! You undoubtedly do! But, I don’t! Listen to me! I’ve watched your son! Watched him… over a pretty good period, of time! And I could see the spring being wound up! Being wound really tight! Really wound up! Really tight! As tight… as could be! If you ask me . . . which you haven’t . . . I don’t think that there was a helluva lot of room left! Not much more mainspring to tighten! Not… before the spring finally let loose! Before the thing eventually popped! Really popped! Exploded… all over the place!”

“Well,” groused the older woman, “even if that were true . . . where would he go? What would he do?”

“It’s by me! But, though he’s been kind of kept down . . . for all his life… he is a smart kid! He just might have come up… with some kind of really-brilliant ‘escape’ scheme! Something to set himself up! To establish himself… somewhere else! It might’ve been a spur of the moment deal! On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t! Like I said… he’s a really smart kid! Look, this whole thing . . . his disappearing like that… it could be the result, of something else! Something… that he’s been planning! Something that he’s had his finger on! Had his finger in! Has been working on… working out . . . for, possibly, a good long time! You never know!”

“But, what could he do? What can he do? What could he be planning? I mean, he doesn’t… he didn’t… he couldn’t have any damn money! None, y’know! None… to speak of, anyway!”

“Ah-HAH! There you are! I think you might’ve just hit the nail! Hit it… right on the head! Right there! Like I said, he’s really a smart kid! Maybe, if he could’ve put away, a dollar here . . . or, maybe, six-bits there . . . and done that, over a fairly long period of time???? Who knows . . . what his inventive little mind could’ve come up with?”

“Well, everyone around here seems to be blaming me . . . for his, you know… for his silly-assed running away!”

“No one’s blaming you, Mrs. Rutkowski!! Well, not actually blaming you! Not exactly! Listen, I don’t know… I have no way of ever hearing . . . what Manny, or Mister Clarkson, might’ve had to say to you. But, I think that the feeling around here . . . was that your son was awfully unhappy! Terribly unhappy! Unhappy… with his total, life!. Grossly unhappy… no matter whose fault it was! Or is! Or even… if it was, maybe, no one’s fault! I think we all felt… that Jason was a really troubled kid! Really troubled! We think that…”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Miss,” interrupted Sheila. “I need . . . i really need… that money!”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Rutkowski. But, I think that’s your problem! Right there! I don’t want to seem insensitive . . . well, maybe I do . . . but, if all you can see your son as, is… is… is just a piggybank, then there’s your problem! Right there! If he’s just simply a certain amount… a certain amount, of money . . . then, I think that there’s your answer! Right there!”

Sheila shot up from the stool! Then, she threw the remaining half—of her, by-then-lukewarm, cup, of complimentary coffee—into the face, of the totally-befuddled waitress! The gracious woman—who’d unceasingly befriended her son!

The fuming Sheila bolted—toward the door! But, before hurrying out, onto Michigan Avenue, she turned and shouted—at the top of her lungs, “Fuck you! Fuck you people! Fuck you all! Every damn one of you! Fuck you!”

Outside, the almost-frothing-at-the-mouth Sheila Rutkowski could not find a cab. She “gimped” her way west—along Michigan Avenue. Toward a convenience store—and the bank of six payphones, outside the place. She found herself hoping that neither Manny nor Mr. Clarkson had noticed her unintended agility—in reaching the door to the restaurant! Exiting the coffee shop—so quickly! She’d begun to limp—badly—once she’d regained presence of mind enough, to slip back “into role”! (As she’d gotten further and further away, from the eatery, of course, she’d returned to where her pace was considerably less gimpy!)

She fumbled in her purse for a quarter—and dialed up the cab company. The one which had plastered four colorful placards—on the back, of the aluminum-framed group of phones.

It took about 15 minutes—for the taxi to get there. Sheila—who had taken refuge, inside the store—didn’t see the vehicle at first. But, once she’d hurried to the waiting cab, she became concerned—once more—that someone “important” might have witnessed the unquestioned agility, that she’d displayed, in getting from the store to the car.

Sheila directed the