Category: Fiction Factor

The big blue charter bus hissed and sighed as it eased to a stop in the huge parking lot at Myra’s Country Kitchen and Olde Town Store. The comfort food restaurant chain was a popular stop for travelers, and the one just off the interstate outside Memphis was where members of the Flowing Water Retirement Community were disembarking.

The group of 24 older adults had left Atlanta before dawn on their way to Branson, Missouri, for a quick getaway. Once there, they’d enjoy an evening of entertainment courtesy of Yakov Smirnoff, and partake of all the chicken and waffles they cared to eat (plus limitless refills of iced tea) during his live performance. The next day would be a “play day” where they were free to take advantage of everything the Ozark town had to offer.

Each year Flowing Water sponsored similar trips, all designed to give residents a chance to get a change of scenery. Not all took advantage of such junkets, though.

Carter Shelton had lived at the complex for the past three years. He was friendly – Carter greeted everyone with a smile – but in many ways he didn’t fit in.

Flowing Water provided daily lunches, exercise classes, movie nights – the activity director, Midge Masters, did a terrific job ensuring that the residents had access to more than just the comforts of home. It was, indeed, a good place to live.

Carter, however, kept mostly to himself and steered clear of group activities.

He had moved into a second floor apartment three years earlier, and spent most mornings walking the grounds, putting in earbuds and listening to hard rock music or podcasts about comic books.

While the rest of the residents – many in their late 70s and older – looked and dressed the part of “senior citizens,” Carter was partial to graphic T-shirts and bright-colored sneakers.

It wasn’t often you’d see a 75-year-old-man wearing a black, AC/DC tank top, silky basketball shorts and neon running shoes, but if you did, chances are it was Carter Shelton.

So, for Carter to agree to take a 650-mile road trip to see a 1980s-era comedian … well, it seemed out of character.

“Guys, we have about an hour for lunch and shopping, so don’t rush, but don’t dawdle,” Midge said as the group stepped off the bus and started making their way toward the entrance. “We ordered ahead and they’re expecting us, so we should all get our food pretty quick. We have tables set up in the meeting room. Be sure to check your number on the itinerary and the one on the table – that’s where you’ll sit.”

Carter hung back and carefully eyed the cars that were coming into the lot.

“Carter, you should probably go on in,” Madge said.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m just gonna wait on Betty.”

Although Midge had never engaged Carter in “deep” conversation, he often spoke of Betty, who he claimed to be an old flame from high school. He said his stay at Flowing Waters would be temporary and that she would “come pick me up one day.”

“You’re a long way from home, Carter,” Midge said. “And it’s been three years … don’t you think Betty would’ve come and gotten you by now?”

Carter smiled.

“Well,” he said, “she’s been busy, and we had to make sure the timing was right. During high school, while most of the kids went to the Gulf of Mexico for their senior trip, me and her drove up here to Memphis. Went to Beale Street, went to New Daisy Theatre and saw B.B. King – had the best time. B.B. ain’t with us anymore, but I suspect Beale Street is still Beale Street and there’s no place like the home of the Blues. Plus, there’s a rumor that Keith Richards is gonna play there tonight. She wouldn’t miss that.”

Midge had always enjoyed hearing Carter tell stories of his “wild” youth and adventures with Betty, but it was heartbreaking to think he had come all this way to meet someone who wasn’t going to show up.

Betty, his wife, had passed away, which was the reason he moved into Flowing Waters in the first place. Midge never brought up the subject, though; she didn’t feel it was her place.

“Carter,” she said. “Let’s just go inside. Here’s what I’ll do … I’ll leave your name with the hostess and if Betty shows up …”

“When …” Carter interjected.

“When Betty shows up, she’ll come inside and ask for you, won’t she? When she does, they’ll call your name and you can meet her up front. Deal?”

Carter nodded.

“OK,” he said. “But I’m sure she’ll be here soon. I texted her about an hour ago and she said she was on her way.”

Midge gave Carter a gentle pat on the back and just as she opened the door to the restaurant, a convertible pulled up – with the silver-haired driver waving with one hand and honking the horn with the other.

“There’s my ride!” shouted Carter, who jogged toward the silver Ford Mustang.

Midge fast-stepped behind Carter, who had already leaned over, kissed the driver, and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Midge, meet Betty,” Carter said as Midge looked on with surprise.

“Well,” Betty said, “I’m actually the ‘other’ Betty. I hooked up with a guy I met in college here in Memphis and this old reprobate ran off and got married to another woman named Betty. I guess he has a type. Anyway, now that he’s a widower and I’m a widow, it’s probably time we finished what we started back in high school.”

Carter strapped on his seatbelt and winked at Midge.

“She bought the gas, so I reckon I’ll have to buy the grass, just like the old days,” Carter said with a laugh. “Ya’ll have a fun time in Branson. Tell the gang we’ll see ‘em back in Atlanta – unless we don’t. The last time we were in Memphis we lost track of time.”

What was it Patton once said … “Fatigue makes cowards of us all?” Buddy could relate. After hours of battle, he had reached the point where victory no longer seemed to matter – nor did survival, really.

His own lack of sleep and the animal’s seemingly constant motion had finally worn him down. In this battle of man versus beast, the beast was winning – and had almost won. And that was fine because one way or another, this all had to end.

Before entering the arena, he had been warned. He was too old, too weak, too unprepared to take on something that was simply too, too much to handle. But in his mind, he knew he still had one more fight in him. Well, he thought he did, anyway.

After all, he had done this before – many times, in fact. And there had been myriad occasions when he was so exhausted he could barely hold his head up. Yet somehow, he endured. Day after day, night after night, he tried to break what appeared to be an unbreakable foe.

Had he thought of giving up?

Sure. Honorable or otherwise, sometimes defeat is inevitable.

But he never tapped out, and because he didn’t, his enemies of the past ultimately became his friends for life. And that’s why these battles were irresistible.

So, here he was again, sprawled on the ground and devoid of energy. Coming towards him was the creature – razor-sharp teeth glistening … its eyes bright with mischief. If the man just gave up, perhaps it would all be over.

Yet, he didn’t.

Instead, Buddy reached out with the rope, waved it wildly, and coerced the predator into clamping down on it.

The critter shook it vigorously, growled, and then collapsed.

Why?

The man had no clue.

It seemed to have boundless energy, only to stop briefly and abruptly start back again. Thus, Buddy knew the reprieve would be ever so brief.

The opportunity to take flight was there; he could run, he could hide – he could even race outside, get into his car, and drive away.

Instead, he crawled over to the puppy, kissed it on the head, and managed a smile.

Some things are always worth fighting for, no matter how tiring.

Any time Olympus Tyrrhena walked through the wide double-door of the shelter, his olfactory sense was hit with a chemical-like agent that – while often unsuccessful – was designed to mask odors. Still, for him it was a familiar and welcoming aroma, and one that accompanied a genuine feeling of excitement.

The smell meant there were cages, and cages meant there were animals in them, and those animals were always ready for adoption.

“My friend!” shouted the greeter, Tharsis Cimmeria. “So glad to see you again. We have some new arrivals I’m sure you’ll be interested in.”

“You always do, Tharsis,” Tyrrhena said. “Truthfully, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for today. Hopefully I’ll know it when I see it.”

The Noachis Shelter was the largest in what was once the West Coast of the United States. An old naval barracks that had been converted into an adoption center, it could house as many as 3,000 animals at one time. And it was almost always filled to capacity. It seemed that for every one that was taken away to its forever home, another five were corralled while running wild outside the facility. In a perfect world, all the adoptees would be carefully matched with the adopters, but in recent times officials at Noachis Shelter simply wanted to make sure business ran smoothly – and quickly.

If you had the resources to get an animal, the animal was yours with no questions asked.

“Now, the last time you were here you got Eddie, the male, right?” Cimmeria asked. “I remember him well … always banging against the cage and howling. Not a lot of our customers would take a chance on an animal like that. I hope he’s working out for you.”

Tyrrhena sighed.

“Unfortunately, I had to have him put down,” he said. “I gave him as much time as I could to adjust to his new surroundings, but he could never do it. He was extremely violent and very disruptive. I had to have him destroyed because I was afraid he was going to hurt the other animals, as well as himself. It’s a shame, but when you go through as many as I have in the last couple of years, you get used to it. Well … you never get used to it, but you learn to live with it. Anyway, that’s why I’m here today, to see if I can find one to replace the one I lost.”

With Cimmeria providing a loose follow, Tyrrhena walked down the aisles of the shelter and carefully eyed each individual cage. It was rare when one of the animals made eye contact with him, and when they did it was always fleeting. What he enjoyed most was seeing the ones who were curled up sleeping. Whether true or not, he believed those who were slumbering in the cages would be easier to tame.

Finally, Tyrrhena found what he was looking for. An animal with bushy red hair, and so new to the shelter he still had on his uniform.

“We call him Captain,” Cimmeria said. “We think he was in that group of resistance fighters we captured just last week, but we couldn’t find any identification on him. Now that we’ve all assumed humanoid form and characteristics, they don’t even know who to fight anymore. Soon we’ll have complete control of this hemisphere, so we’re going to need even more shelters.”

Two staffers quickly joined Cimmeria, who prepared to open the cage and quickly tie up Captain.

“So … are you going to keep him at your Earth dwelling or take him back to Mars?”

“By the looks of him, he’ll be more of a labor animal, so I’ll probably leave him here to work the fields,” Tyrrhena said. “Besides, Promethai would kill me if I brought another pet home.”