Concord - Sporatic Scenes

          “You should have taken it, you know. I know it’s materialistic. I know the destruction of humanity when I see it, but none the less, we could have used that money. Charity’s a virtue right? Sure money is material, but come on, to deny charity is to contradict human morals and everything that makes us who we are. Empathy, Logan, is not material.” The last dying rays of the sun reflected off the hood of the Mercury as the two continued along the beaten roads of the southern hills. The forest’s spilling the organic litter and debris of an endless Georgia summer upon the road. Tiny beads of moisture were collecting on the sides of Marcus’s head, as he turned towards Logan, expecting a reaction to his brief commentary.
          “You’re right,” Logan stretched his arm out the window and let the stub of his cigarette drop to the pavement in a splash of orange fireworks, “it is a contradiction of human morals. In a society based upon these morals, empathy,” He glanced towards Marcus as his arm dropped along the window sill, “is regarded as one of the highest and most respected virtues. Now I can’t say I don’t agree with empathy, the concept has certain validity, but when a society is taught that charity, unearned and unnecessary, is a virtue, then it becomes charity only for the sake of being virtuous. Hell, I coulda asked that guy for his leg and his wife, and at the mention of empathy, he woulda done it, only to be virtuous . . . in his mind anyways. Now if he would have known the circumstances, the critical reasons that must back up any charitable act, and made an honest judgment based upon that information, then I would have accepted his charity. If I had accepted that money I would be just as bad in taking it as that guy was for offering it.” His fingers traced the thin metal lining of the window, showing his frustration with the subject. They could have used the money, he knew it, and he tried to think of new opportunities to earn to cash as he mentally tallied the remaining change in his pockets. He glanced at the dashboard; the gauge said they were alright on gas and oil for at least two days, that’s one less thing to worry about . . . for now.
          Marcus had spotted Logan’s frustration, and stared ahead, hoping to gain some ground in the argument by keeping his composure. His eye’s betrayed him, the dark brown ovals glinted just slightly too much, and told of the rage and determination brewing within. Marcus could never understand, not completely, not the way Logan did. Marcus needed definitions, limits, and boundaries. He couldn’t survive in Logan’s mind of abstraction and intrinsic knowledge. Logan knew he had won, he had done it a million times, and he thought back over the usual methods of Marcus’s defeat. He’ll break, he thought; a minute, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter, he’ll break eventually.
          To nobody’s surprise, ten minutes later, Marcus blurted his final defeat. Logan knew he had been brooding the whole time, turning the argument over and over in his mind, searching for a rebuttal that never came. Logan had covered his every move, and Marcus knew his own defeat.
          “Alright, you’ve made your point. Let’s drop the whole thing, we’ve been at it all day with these morals and virtues, and I just want to enjoy the ride.” Marcus leaned forward and clicked on the radio. He sat for a second, unsure of his feelings towards the melody, and then turned the radio off and slumped back into the seat.
          “You know, you get used to the sounds of the road, the little things, you know? I mean, the radio’s good for awhile, but I can’t take a whole day on the road in two and a half minute doses of diversion. After awhile, you just want to hear the road, the wind, the little sounds you didn’t notice at first. I’d have the whole day like that; it is better then trying to distract yourself from the boredom all day with those damn songs. It’s not boring, once you get used to it, that’s what you meant when we set off isn’t it, when you said distractions are only illusions, built upon the lie that it is better to be distracted than deal with the moment.” Marcus smiled and let his arm hang out the window, letting the rushing air have control of its movement, like a scrap of paper tumbling across a city street. Logan glanced in his direction, and with a silent approval eased back into his own position, stretching his legs and arching his back.
          The day had been spent in constant debate of all topics of relevancy to the matter of their venture. Logan’s expectations of Marcus had dropped towards hopeless for a brief period, but now his beliefs had risen once again. There is a speck of understanding in that man, Logan thought to himself, one, at least. The forest slowly filtered down into low brush and iron tinted soils, and he was glad that the sun had gone down. The timing of the drive had been perfect today, the cover of the forest during the day, and the remaining heat of the earth after sundown. This was becoming a skill, he thought, and thoughts of Indians and other natives of the earth entered into his mind. This is the forgotten knowledge, he thought, lost in its modern day uselessness. This is what mattered back then, this was life or death knowledge, out on the open deserts and on the soul searching journeys, the simple task of managing hot and cold, using, and avoiding the sun. He chuckled inwardly at this thought; things sure were simpler in those days, if they ever really existed. He knew the nature of his overly active mind, and was very well aware that all of this was complete speculation, based on no fact he had ever heard, no statistic, only his own observation. Why can’t it still be like that, why can’t all those things still matter? His thought was cut short by the sudden appearance of flashing lights ahead in the distance, a meal had been long overdue,
          “Bout time for a full plate and some coffee, you think?” he glanced towards Marcus, who had remained in silent introspection since his prior revelation. br           “Yea, I could use a stretch.” The car drifted into the lot and the motor cut, the day had gone well, Marcus reflected, aside from all the arguments, and even those were beneficial in the long run. He was starting to understand Logan and his theories, and he liked that feeling of mutual agreement, even if it did take all day to get to that point. The two men slowly lifted themselves up off of the dusty mint-green interior and kicked their legs out in dull thuds upon the soft dirt parking lot. The thick smell of grease hung in the air, and both men suddenly realized their long neglected appetites.

* * *

          “Thank you, ma’am,” Logan flipped a penny into the center of the table. The waitress had automatically brought them the arbitrary cup of coffee that is to be expected from the types who frequent the establishment. Logan winked at the woman as she turned away and headed towards the kitchen, calling the order aloud to the cooks. The pungent aroma of all the foods cooked upon the uncleaned grill throughout the day hung in the air, thick, and overpowering. Marcus noticed the sudden pangs of hunger in his clenched stomach, and hunched himself over the table towards Logan.
          “Nice of her to have the coffee ready like that,” he tested the particular blend, “She’s cute, I think. How old do you suppose she is?”
          Logan shrugged and glanced towards the waitress, who was currently handing change to another man at the register.
          “Not sure,” Logan replied, “She looks like a young girl, the kind who’d run away from home to end up working in a place like this, but I’m not sure. She’s been here awhile, that’s obvious, and she must be older than she looks to have enough smarts to have that coffee so quick.”
          “I’d say nineteen, maybe a year or two off. I agree with you on that runaway idea, but I don’t know, she looks like she likes it here, like she planned on doing this her whole life. Those runaway types always seem disappointed, with their life you know, they fake their smiles and make the usual small talk, but you can tell they’re faking it, trying too hard. This girl though, she doesn’t have that despair, that hopelessness; this girl wants to be here.” He quieted his voice as the waitress came near, coffee pot in hand. Logan reached down into his pocket and pulled out another penny, adding it to the collection already upon the table.
          “What’s that, with the pennies? You going to put one of them down every time she comes near, that’s gas money you know.”
          “It’s her tip. This girl had coffee for us the second we walked in, and she just earned another point for that pre-emptive refill. This girl knows her job, that’s for sure. I had about one sip left in there, and I knew it was getting cold. She was right on time with that, and that, to me, is something worth rewarding. Especially taking into account that it’s pretty busy right now, and we’re sitting out of her way. That’s a quality employee, that’s what earns a tip. Every time she does something above the level of the adequate waitress, she earns a penny. If she leaves me here with this cup of coffee for two hours without a fill, I’ll take a penny back, it’s a fair system.” Logan brought his fresh cup to his lips and sipped the jet black liquid.
          “Alright, I can see the reasoning there, but who’s to say that this girl is really working her hardest, what if she’s just that good without trying. You’re giving this girl money because you think she’s putting in some extra effort, but what if she’s not, this girl’s going to clean out your wallet with what she considers a normal job, hell, for all you know she’s having an off-day as far as waitressing goes. If you sit here long enough, giving her a penny for every cup of coffee she pours, we’re not going to be able to afford the meal. And with the time it takes you to drink a cup, I can’t imagine it very difficult to keep you filled up. I can see the penny for the initial preparedness, but leave it at that.”
          “I don’t care if this is a mediocre job for her. To me, this is great service, and that gets her a penny.” He eyed the waitress from across the room, still questioning her age, and wondering why he took so much interest in the matter. Her eyes looked young, yet, held that great sense of knowledge found only in older women. Her body was slim, yet developed, and her skin had the bright glow of a teenager.
          “Twenty-four,” Logan questioned his peculiar interest in the girl, he knew quite well that all women around that age look about the same, but for some reason this girl deserved special consideration, “she’s got to be twenty-four.”
          Marcus turned in his seat, also inspecting the girl.
          “You really think that old? No, she’s still a girl. Look, her face is too bright, that girl hasn’t been touched by age yet; she can’t even be twenty.”
          “Twenty-four . . . I bet you a penny of the tip.”
          “Fair enough.”
          “Alright, next time she comes over we’ll settle this, now until then let me see your matches.” Marcus drew a small book of matches from his breast pocket and slid it towards Logan, who had already begun rolling a cigarette upon the table.

* * *

“What story are you living?” Aida raised her blackened eyes and looked honestly across the bed.
          “The one where I’m already dead.” Logan exhaled his sentence in a strong voice, as he spread himself over the mattress and started towards the ceiling. His thoughts sprawling out throughout the room like the side-stream of his cigarettes. Long he lay, thinking, staring, breathing, as Aida lay idle along side his stretched body. She watched him as he smoked, his chest undulating like waves upon a vast ocean, until her thoughts washed her into the escape of sleep.
          The sun crept into the room early in the morning; the storm had passed by in the night, leaving only the smell of ozone and puddles along the sidewalks. Aida opened her eyes and breathed the sweet morning air, fully enjoying the moment before the prior night crept back into her memory. Logan stood at the open window, breathing the last mists of the churning sea as it settled into the morning sun. He spoke, as Aida lay wrapped within the sheets, aware of her silent arousal from sleep.
          “You sleep like a child dreaming of rolling hills and unexplored forests.” He neared the sill of the window and perched his arms upon the damp frame.
          “Have you slept?” Aida’s voice showing no predisposition other than an honest inquiry.
          “I must search for my rest; I cannot so easily be drawn away from the world, as you.”


* * *

          “It’s not where, and why isn’t in question.” Logan sat back into the deep chair, sending his smoke straight into the hanging bulb above the table. His look told nothing to Marcus who sat upon the edge of his stool, gaping at Logan’s every collected movement.
          “The hell it isn’t. You don’t know why you’re here and you goddamn know it. Quit preaching your endless sermon and for Christ sake quit acting like you don’t give a damn. You have no clue where you are, and not an idea why you’re there, but there you are, calmly blowing your smoke rings like it was all planned out.” Marcus sat back upon his stool and arched his back, his eyes flaring as his tongue spat the words across the table. Logan sat still, his face distinctly listening, yet the words had no effect on his relaxed pose at the table. His face revealed nothing, and manner was calm.
          “God damn it Logan!” Marcus slammed his fist on the table, “You know I’m right and you know you can’t play this off forever. I know you Logan. You can fool everybody else but me, and even if you do convince all those people of whatever the hell your point is you’ll never convince me, because I see you Logan. I see you for what you really are: a worthless bum, with nothing to go on but your endless sermons and your unreachable ends. You can’t deceive me with your speeches. What then Logan? What happens when they begin to know everything I know? You know you’re nothing more than what you started out as, and you’ll never be anything more. You’ll break, you will. When you realize the game's up and you’ve bluffed and lost your last hand; then what will you do. Well don’t come to me Logan, don’t come to me with your apologies and your long explanations because I won’t listen, and I won’t fall for it again. You’ll be sorry, oh I’m sure of that, but you won’t find anybody to forgive you and you know it!”
          “Any more coffee?” Logan eyed the woman behind the counter as he motioned towards his empty mug. He had sat listening to Marcus calmly, as if it was just another news broadcast or radio program, and offered no rebuttal to Marcus’s claims. The waitress filled his mug and Logan rolled a cigarette. His callous fingers gently molded the wiry strands of tobacco into the paper.
          “Logan, listen to me.” Marcus dropped shoulders and slouched onto the table. “Logan, are you there? God, when I talk to you don’t even respond. This is serious Logan, and all you care about is a fresh cup of coffee. I don’t get it. I try, I really do. I just don’t get it, do you hear me?” Logan lowered his mug and placed it upon the table.
          “Do you really think that I sit here ignoring every word you say?” Logan responded with no particular conviction. “What do you want of me? Do you want me to say that you’re right? You’re right Marcus. Are you happy? I don’t have any idea where I’m headed, and I don’t care about any particular whys. There’s no finish line, there’s no paycheck, there’s no point. Are you happy now?”
          “It won’t work on me and you know that, you can’t convince me to believe you this time so just stop now. I won’t go on like this, you and all your . . .”
          “Marcus,” Logan exhaled his smoke slowly after his abrupt interruption, “what are you fighting for? I’m not forcing you to stay with me; I’m not forcing you to do anything. I do what I do for myself, and no one else. I don’t know what you want me to do for you, but I know I can’t, and wouldn’t, do it. You can try to convince me all day that I’m wrong, or you can enjoy your coffee which you haven’t touched, which one seems more beneficial to you?”
Marcus took brought his neglected coffee to his lips, and quickly spat the sip back into the mug.           “Gone cold,” he glanced around for a waitress but could not find one, and replaced the mug on the side of the table. “Make me spoil a good cup of coffee by getting me all worked up like that.” His mouth pursed into a small grin as he looked up at Logan, and then quickly retorted to his previous disposition. “Logan can’t you laugh just once?”
          “What’s funny; that’s a good cup of coffee you wasted.”
          “Do you ever relax?”
          “Do you know the meaning of that word?” Logan stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and casually looked about the diner.
          “Alright, enough of this, lets just get the on the road.” Marcus rose and emptied his pockets upon the table.
          “I’ll cover the coffee, I owe you from yesterday.” Logan nodded as he slowly stood, stretching his arms high above his head. The waitress at the counter wished them a good morning and they slowly faded away down the road towards the sunrise.