Rock Island Line by David Rhodes (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

read anything; people from all over the building brought scrawled letters to him). By the noon bell there was no possibility of working on. He went to his supervisor, Mr. Anderson.

“I’d like to have the afternoon off, Mr. Anderson.”

“Oh, you would, hmmm? Naturally, I would too. Tell me . . . uh, Jason, what seems to be the trouble?”

“No trouble. I’d just like the afternoon off. I’m not getting much done.”

“Some days are slow, some aren’t. Do your best. Nobody asks more than that.”

“I can’t work any more.”

“Listen, Jason, you’ve got to be more specific. What’s the matter, prostate trouble? Infection? Weak liver? Ha ha.”

There was a long period of no talking while July looked at the floor.

“What I’d really like to do is quit.”

“Quit for good?”

“Yes.”

“Better think it over.”

“I have.”

Anderson shrugged his shoulders. “Up to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Nothing to me. We’ll mail your check to you.”

“Fine.”

“Goodbye, and thanks.”

“Nothing to me.”

He grabbed his coat and walked out of the building, feeling as he stepped outside a hundred pounds lighter. His feet barely touched the steps. The corners of a smile crept up into his cheeks, and as fast as he could walk he set off for Mal’s apartment.

“July! What are you doing here?”

“Nothing . . . I expected you not to be here. I thought I’d ruffle through your jewelry box.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you. Come on in and don’t stand around in the hall. I just got back from school. Why aren’t you at work? Is this some kind of holiday?”

“No. I quit my job.”

Mal sat down on the sofa and July sat beside her. She could hear the emotion in his voice and, not knowing what to say, sat quietly until he would find a way to tell her what was obviously burning away inside of him.

“I was thinking,” he began, but stopped, folded his hands and started again. “I’ve decided to go back home.” Then a pleased smile came to his face.

“This is very strange. My doorbell rings at one thirty in the afternoon. It’s my beloved July. He’s not at work. He says he’s quit work. Then he says he’s going home after just getting here.”

“Oh no!” he said, bursting into laughter. “Is that what you thought! Back to my room! Oh no, I’m going back home. Back to Iowa. Back to Sharon Center!”

“Where?”

“Forgive me. My head’s swirling. See, I was at work sorting, and all of a sudden I thought, ‘I’ll sort no more’—no, forget that. There’s so much I haven’t told you. But it’s all right now. Everything’ll be all right. It’s so simple. See, we’ll go together, you and me, tonight, as soon as we can get on a train. We can be there in less than twenty hours. We’ll just leave a forwarding address at the post office—General Delivery, Iowa City—and we’ll take off!”

Mal couldn’t sit still. She got up and walked to the kitchen, turned and came back.

“To Iowa?”

“ Yes.”

“Where’s that? Isn’t that in the Midwest?”

“ Yes. Hurry! Get your things together. I’ll go down to the post office and call the station. No! We can call from here.”

“Wait a minute. You expect me to just pick up and go with you? Just jump and follow you off somewhere? You really expect me to do that? This is where I live. This is my home. I’m not going chasing off to somewhere . . . You can’t ask me to do that. You’re testing me. I won’t. I have my own life.”

July looked as though he’d been struck in the face. “ You must understand. See, I’m not trying to test you. That never occurred to me. I’m going. Today. I’m going.”

“Be reasonable, July. This isn’t something that can be decided like that. It takes time. There’s—”

“But I’m going.” He got up. “More than anything in the world I want you to come with me. But even if you don’t, I’m going. I have to. I don’t belong here. I came here to run away. I have to go back. My parents died in an automobile accident when I was ten. Something important went out of my life then, but I can get it back. I want you to come with me. I want you to be with me when I finally become a whole person.”

“I can’t.”

“Mal—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But I thought we—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then . . .” A tear came to his eye and he abruptly turned away to the door. “I’ll be going,” he said, and left.

The first thing he thought when he stepped from the building onto the street was that he’d run back into it, ring her bell, dash up the stairs, into her arms and forget the whole thing. I’ll call down to the post office, tell them it was all a mistake, and tomorrow everything’ll be back the way it was. Everybody’s allowed to have some bad ideas. He looked up the eleven stories to her window, thinking to see her.

But the window was empty. The truth of his situation revealed itself: he was abandoned. She hadn’t chosen against what he’d planned. She’d chosen against him. It was inevitable. There was nothing of July Montgomery that would ever be anything to another person.

It was this very apartment building, he realized, that I came to when I first arrived. I was turned away then and I’m turned away now. He began walking toward the bus stop, caught a busand went back to the roominghouse. Within a few minutes he packed in a shopping bag everything he cared to take with him: one change of clothes, a piece of cheese, his Bible and pictures, a pistol, a diamond on a white gold chain, a ring of keys. With these and a coat flung over his shoulder, his cat Butch and a little less than one week’s wages, he set off for the train station.

“One way to Iowa City, please.”

“You don’t plan on taking that cat, do you?”

“No, why?”

“Because there’s no pets allowed, that’s why.”

“He belongs to my