A Small Gift

"C'Mon Johnny, toss me that three quarters," Marshall said.

“Ok Marsh, hurry up man let’s get outta here." Little John replied.

    "Not till I got this screw loose, buddy."

      In his mouth, Marshall clenched down on a bowie knife. His tongue traversed the edge of the blade. He had gotten it from a dusty old man when he was just 16 years old. John tossed up the wrench. Marshall grabbed it with his free hand. That slightly gripped handle, coarse against his hand, chilled by the cold air. His breathe condensate around his face as he turned to the bolts. There were four of them in a diamond formation. On the box, a red warning label with a skull on it stared back at him. It had squiggly lines around its head. The image spoke silently… “Don’t even think about it, pal."

      Except he was thinking about it. He was gonna do it. Frankly, this would be no problem. Of all the Beware of Death signs he had seen, this was the most welcoming. Hell, the skull was smiling at him! The bolts were pretty loose too. Just one crank loosened them up. He got the first good enough to finish by hand, and he brought his sock hand up. Steve was his name, the best snake of them all. With Steve's mouth, he took out the screw and put it in a leather pouch on his hip.

“Hey, John! Hey, take a pic man.” Called Marshall.

“I’m good Marsh. This ladders got me tweakin, you sure it’ll hold?”

Marshall turned back to the box, muttering during a long exhale, “Nope.”

      This time it was gonna work. Oh, sure the last time a helpful neighbor came along asking what’s goin on. That was his first try. Turns out if you lean just to the left on your father's ladder that was built during the old testament, the damn thing unlocked and slid all the way down. The man was startled. He ran off saying he was getting help. Fuck that. Marshall had slid down, bear-hugging the pole. Those poles must be built with the flakiest wood of all time. He got three splinters the size of toothpicks in his arm, and one maybe a bit smaller than a pencil in his left bicep. Don’t go thinking that was the worst one though. Toothpicks look awfully small until they’re lodged inside your arm.

      So what was he doing up there? Well, for starters, he loved to watch people squirm. When the lights go out, everyone just has to talk about it.

“Did you lose power last night?” Mrs. Johnson will ask.

“Sure did!” Mrs. Smith will reply, with an upward inflection on the end of “did”. “I was in the basement cleaning out some of Joe's stuff and,” she’ll snap her fingers, “All black! I nearly screamed!”

“Oh me too! Yuh kept your fridge shut, right?” Mrs. Johnson will ask, furrowing her brow.

“Oh heavens yes! I told George if he opens that fridge and all my lunch meat goes bad, he’s goin to the store for more!”

And on and on and on talking about the terrifying event that got them going for a night.

      Of course, there are much easier ways to fuck with people, a plethora in fact, and most of them not involving a skull man. Scared money don’t make money though, amirite? Or something like that… anyways the point is he had a plan. He knew it would work too, cuz he had Little John to tag along. Johns a few cents short of a dollar, sure, but that man was put on this earth to be a good luck charm. His compass for things going south is uncontested.

      He loosened up the last nut and opened the box containing a few wires. He had to admit it was a little disappointing to find you could just cut all the cords and presto. Game over. Makes things a whole lot easier, of course, but just a bit less fun. He unclenched the comically large blade, careful only to hold the leather grip, and stabbed into the box. Hot sparks exploded onto his hand, and a loud, low-pitched hum descended over the night.

Ahhh, victory.

“Ok, come on man let’s get the fuck outta here.” Called Little John.

“Be right there chief.”

      He placed the blade back in his mouth, put both palms on the sides of the ladder, and split his feet to either side. He slid down like a Goddamn athlete. When he hit the ground, he grabbed the ladder with John and booked it.

      The plan was simple. Ditch the ladder at his Dad's place, John would go home, and that would be the end of it. At least, that would be the end of John's part. Marshall, on the other hand, had no intention of letting this night go to waste.

      His Dad’s was right down the block. He figured using his gear would be the best move. Even if someone asked if his ladder had been used, the guy might be surprised to know he still had the damn thing, let alone where he put it. If you don’t know where you put it, means you don’t know if it was used. Flawless. Are you beginning to realize the genius of all this? They hauled the ladder into his old man’s backyard and perched it against the side of the house.

“Aight, I gotta head out man.” Little John said.

“Go ahead Johnny, thanks for your help,” Marshall replied.

They clasped hands and pulled it into a short embrace. John pulled back and looked at Marshall.

“Sure thing man, anytime. You call me you ever need anything. Just be smart, ok?”

“Yeah, I gotchu man.”

“Lemme know how it goes. Talk to ya soon.”

      John grabbed his bike and rode off. He was dying to know what Marshall was up to, but they both knew he doesn’t really want to know. Curiosity killed the cat and all of that. The truth is if he knew what Marshall was up to, he’d want in. That’s a no-go for a guy like John. He was still clean, and they both knew it was best to keep one of them that way.

      Marshall slipped over his Dad’s fence and started the long walk. The crisp air drew skin tight across his face. All around him the streets were dark. No lights were on in any houses, except a few he could make out had faint, candle-lit glows. And it was quiet. The type of quiet mostly reserved for late-night walks on fresh snow. No one dared come outside. No one wanted to be cold. No one wanted to be in the dark. The street was his sanctuary tonight.

      He came upon his destination in minutes. He crouched and shuffled his way through some bushes. Just in time. The last car was pulling out of the parking lot. Silver Toyota Camry, of course.

      You see, during a blackout, certain restaurants have a policy that all refrigerated food must be thrown out. This was completely disregarding the fact that refrigerators keep everything cold for like 24 hours, more than enough time to get the lights back on. The raccoons got great eating those nights. Marshall wasn’t about to let the raccoons take the lion’s share.

      He unzipped his pack and pulled out four large Tupperware containers he had stolen from his mother. He approached the dumpster and threw open the lid. He reached his hands in and started digging. Inside, the air smelt of rotting eggs and everything felt like it was covered with a fine layer of dip spit. Probably was. Lying in the middle was a bag that smelled new enough. The bowie knife slid right through the plastic and out spilled roughly 1 ton of fresh fruit. Apples, oranges, bananas, you name it. He filled up each Tupperware container and then stuffed the rest of the spaces in the pack with strawberries. He ate one, relishing the initial burst of flavor. The taste of garbage lingered, however, like garlic after taste.

      He made his way down to the Mill Creek Bridge. That bridge was a no-go, filled with needles and stick-figure people. If you avoided that area, your chances of never being stabbed went through the roof. Marshall had no problem going there, though. They all knew him by now. That didn’t stop him from being on his toes, though. Never turn your back on a big cat, right?

“Ayy! Marsh! Yo watchu doin boy?”

      Thaddeus was visibly stoned out of his gourde, which is always an indication he’s in a good mood. It was still early enough that the place was only housing a few sleeping junkies. The place would be drawing a crowd by 2:00 AM.

“Yo Thad.” Called Marshall, “Come take a look. Got somethin for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Thaddeus stumbled over.

Marshall opened his bag and handed him one of the Tupperware containers.

“Damn, real shit?” Thaddeus was nothing less than inquisitive.

“Yup, real shit, fresh from the garbage. Go on, have some.”

      Thaddeus yanked out a mango and took as big a bite as his jaw would allow. He laid back, juice dripping off his chin, and had the biggest smile on his face.

“Damn… real shit.” This time not a question but confirmation.

“I got a lot more, aight? And this shit’s for everyone so don’t go eatin all of it.”

“Yeah yeah I gotchu.”

“I mean make sure everyone gets some of those oranges. Your ass looks like it got scurvy.”

“Fuck outta here.”

      Marshall looked down at Thad, smiling. He was eating the only fresh produce he’d had in weeks. He turned to walk away. About twenty feet away, Thad called out.

“Yo Marsh!”

“Yuh?”

“… thanks man.”

“You got it.”

      The walk back to his place from the bridge was about twenty minutes. Usually, he’d throw on some tunes and keep his head low. Most nights he’d go straight home. Most nights. Except tonight wasn’t like most nights. The air was brisk, the town was dark, and everyone was inside. And there was this little spot about five minutes from the bridge. You walk through some trees, and there’s this clearing totally out of sight, insulated. Cold. He walked through the trees and sat down on the edge. His feet dangled over the embankment. He lay down and looked up.

      He’d never been anywhere without light pollution. It’s supposed to be gorgeous. A blackout this small probably didn’t do anything, but for some reason, tonight those stars seemed just a little brighter. He lay there, staring at the expanse, and started counting.