Elaine M DeGroot

An excerpt from my story, The Box.

 

"A name is usually the first thing we learn about a person. Why didn't that happen in this case?" The detective drilled Jason with a doubtful stare.

 

"What can I say? Baldy took an instant dislike to me." A napkin soaked up blood from his cut lip.

 

"Any idea why?"

 

"I don't have a clue. The clowns entered the bar, and Baldy called out my name. All my friends stared at me, so I admitted who I was. Then he punched me."

 

"Your response of a beating that landed Baldy in the hospital seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?"

 

A shrug answered the detective's question.

 

"After climbing my way through the good old boys' network within my department to earn my gold badge, a simple bar fight is not worth my time or effort. Since everyone here supports your story, I won't bring you in, but you'd better stay available in case something comes up later."

 

"This town is my home, so I'm not going anywhere."

 

The detective sent one last glare at Jason before storming out of the Brass Ring. The blue and white flickering lights disappeared, returning the interior to its normal dim lighting.

 

"One more beer for the road, Les."

 

The bartender, who also owned the dismal establishment, shook his head.

 

"Your mom should have had her dinner over an hour ago. Here's your order. The kitchen kept it hot for you. Go home and feed your mom." Two bags plopped on the bar.

 

"Fine. Hold the beer and give me my tab."

 

Minutes later, he walked out of the Brass Ring with a bag in each hand.

 

***

 

The back door squeaked when Jason pushed it open. Need to oil the hinges, he thought.

 

"Is that you, Jason?" A feeble voice came from the front of the house, barely discernible over the blare of the TV.

 

"Yeah, Mom. Dinner is courtesy of Les tonight."

 

"Did you bring his ribs and sauerkraut?"

 

"Sorry, meatloaf was the special."

 

The contents of each bag landed on individual plates, and he carried them into the living room.

 

Sitting in a recliner, his mom appeared smaller than the day before. With her favorite game show playing on TV, her full attention settled on the flickering image. An oxygen tank sat beside the chair. A thin hose trailed from the tank; it split in two at her chest, and the halves ran behind her ears to her nose.

 

A tray held a stack of magazines within her reach. Once the magazines were removed, he had room for a plate and silverware.

 

"Here you go, Mom," he said and maneuvered the tray in front of her.

 

"Goodness gracious. The food smells delicious, but you gave me too much."

 

"Eat what you can, and I'll save the leftovers for another day."

 

"Are you eating?"

 

"Yes, ma'am." After setting a napkin on her lap, he settled on the couch with his plate on the coffee table.

 

"What happened to your lip?"

 

"Bashed it at work. Don't worry about it."

 

"Two men stopped by this afternoon asking for you," she said between mouthfuls.

 

"Did they leave their names?"

 

"Nope. They said they'd find you at the Brass Ring."

 

"Was one short, bald, and stuttered?"

 

"Yes, so they found you?"

 

"In a way. Did they say why they were looking for me?"

 

"Something about a package that was misdirected to you."

 

"Hmm. An unexpected box showed up at the shop today..."