A Short Walk

Gary, from the town of Gary in Indiana, closed his apartment door behind him. He walked to the first floor, having just put on shorts and a t-shirt. Getting the mail was no special occasion, and he treated it as such (not that he had fancier clothes to choose from if he wanted). After trudging down the brown and gray staircase, he got to the first floor and opened his mailbox, slotted between six others for the building inhabitants.

Inside the steel box in the wall were two envelopes. Gary opened the first, with his brother’s name scribbled in pen on the outside. Inside, $20 beckoned with possibility, along with a birthday card addressed to Gary for his birthday, which was today.

Gary smiled at it, his first pleasure after coming home earlier from work. As the evening light washed the room, Gary fingered the second envelope, the font on the outside printed and bold.

Not wanting to open the bill and see what it would cost him, Gary put it back inside for now. He leaned against the wall as he thought of what to do.

Gary, from and living in Gary, had received well wishes from his family but none from his friends. That didn’t bother him, since Gary hadn’t told his friends his birthday date. Not like he had the money to throw some nice event anyway. With the envelope in hand, Gary wondered how to treat himself for his birthday. Might be enough for a nice dinner at the local pub, but not much else.

Unsure, Gary stuffed the envelope in a pocket and walked outside to where he did his best thinking.

Gary didn’t choose which direction to go down, instead stepping on the sidewalk and letting his mind wander. For most people who wanted to go somewhere, this was a terrible strategy. For a very small amount of people, this aimlessness was the only way to get where they wanted to go, to that place.

The plan worked. After a while Gary realized he’d stepped to the other side. Things that tend to litter streets and neighborhoods; cars, people, animals, plants, actual litter, had all disappeared. This was no longer quite reality, but rather the way Gary imagined things.

Gary’s favorite change of crossing over here wasn’t the silence though, instead it was the clothes.

No longer in shorts and a t-shirt, Gary strode the empty streets in jeans and a red-leather jacket. In real life, Gary didn’t have the money or confidence to pull that hardcore fashion off. But here it happened. Such was the logic of that strange place divorced from reality.

Gary ended up at his destination. In the real world, this church was run down and it’s stained glass windows were shattered. That hadn’t stopped Gary and his friends from hanging out there as kids though. Sometimes Gary missed his childhood friends, most of whom had moved away. Maybe they could have called each other and kept up. But they hadn’t.

Now in that place, the church, fueled by Gary’s imagination, was pristine and resplendent with colored light. Gary pushed aside the wide double doors and sat down at a pew. Now taking out the envelope from a leather pocket, the drifter had to admit he still didn’t know what to do with the money.

A shuffle sounded from outside, like if a giant broom had sweeped the street. Gary didn’t startle at the noise, by now he knew that place oversaw drifters and travelers from all over. Most weren’t native to Earth. Once, a massive serpent made of purple stars had passed by, distorting that place to resemble it’s home.

But now the source of the sounds paused outside the church, two grey paws as big as the doors pushed the entrance open. A large blue eye peered inside. “Oh, hello. I found it strange how much detail this church has, since most stuff around here is a bit blurry. Mind if I come in?”

“Go ahead.” said Gary. Per the loose laws of reality that governed that place, the wolf shrunk to be able to fit inside the church. She trotted past the empty pews and jumped up next to Gary. With her past and memories now influencing the church, paint faded and cracks appeared in the wall. The disrepair wasn’t the type that afflicted the real church in Gary, that of abandonment. Instead, this disrepair echoed that of an old but in use building that didn’t have a budget big enough to repair it.

Gary took a stab in the dark. “Are you human?”

“Yeah. My name is Francesca, from Ecuador. Is this near the United States, or did I end up somewhere near Mexico?”

“You hear me speaking in spanish, I take it?”

“Yup. So… not Mexico?”

“No. You’re in Gary, Indiana. Or at least, my view of it.”

“Gary, Indiana. Is that some obscure country from Asia?”

“It’s in the US. Ah well. What brings you around here?”

“Money.” said Francesa. “I have a bit of a problem.”

“Join the club. Sorry, go on.”

“My parent’s anniversary is today. They sa- Right, I should mention I’m a kid and live in Jipijapa.” She studied Gary’s confused face. “I guess you know Jipijapa as well as I know Gary. Oh right, what’s your name?”

“Gary.”

“No, your name, not where you’re fro-”

“It’s Gary. Could you just continue?”

“Sure. It’s my parent’s anniversary today. They can’t afford something nice to do, and the pocket change I get from my waitress job isn’t enough to help. I use that money usually to get snacks and bribe my way to fame in school. But it’s just… not enough money to help where it really counts.”

“Hm. Bribes?”

“Snacks for the kids, pocket money for the teachers. Bribes. I run that school. But anyway, what do you think?”

Gary felt around for the envelope and reminisced. Once, his parents had made glazed ham for his birthday. Gary had invited a few kids over. Later, Gay had learned his parents had dipped into their savings to make the birthday special. Or maybe not special, but closer to what one would normally thought of as a birthday. Balloons and cake and a magician in a backyard.

“How much would you need to treat your parents?”

“Just $6 for both, that includes a deluxe meal and desert with drinks.”

“Just $6?”

“I only make $1 an hour as a waitress. I’m just 12. The waitress is a side job on weekend nights.”

“Hm.” Gary pondered the price difference of how much food cost outside Indiana and the States. “Alright then.” His choice of how to spend his birthday made (he’d invite friends over tomorrow) he stood up. “Francesca, lead the way.”

“My nickname’s Franny, use that. And you want to go to Jipijapa?” She remembered the smoke from her town’s bus terminal and the skinny dogs that walked freely through the streets. That memory stood in contrast to her imagination of a country filled with suburban clean houses and silver watches.

“I just got a gift,” said Gary, “So I’m treating your family and whoever else is at the restaurant.”

“That’s… really?”

“Yup. Lead the way.”

Franny nodded and jumped off the pew, turning to the church’s door. “Thank you.”

The two walked along the streets of imaginary Gary. Neither found it strange when, over the course of a 100 steps, Gary shifted into the compacted neighborhoods of Jipijapa. Streets went up and down over the hills, the streets were smaller and the buildings packed together with a couple floors each. Most were businesses that housed their owners on the second floor. From one moment to the next, they stepped out of that place into the real Jipijapa, marked by the appearence of people and spanish written across the street signs.

Gary, for his part, took the mototaxis in stride, ferrying people along the streets. What did make him stop was a storefront with cheap mannequins clothed and a sign with the United States flag over it. It seemed to be a store advertising clothes brought from the States, but it still puzzled Gary.

“What is that store about?” asked Gary.

“¿Que pasa? Ya estamos cerca de mi casa, no te preocupes..” For the first time, the two regarded each other outside of that place. Gary had his regular clothes again, but now it was nighttime. Though Gary didn’t know if that place had distorted time or if the time difference between Gary and Jipijapa had taken effect.

Franny, now in shorts and a t-shirt and lanky, walked with the confidence of the animal she’d appeared as. It showed how she could be running the racket at her school that she did. “Bueno, mira eso. Ya no nos entendemos. Ay bueno. Sigueme y esperemos este idea funciona.”

Gary shrugged his worry off and smiled. “Well, I guess I don’t need to know a language to have a good time.”

Despite that bold declaration, he struggled when the menu’s restaurant didn’t include any pictures. Instead, he was stuck pointing at other people’s plates until Franny figured it out and told the owner (who also served as the waiter) what Gary wanted. And for the bold declaration Gary had wanted to give about treating the entire restaurant to eat, only a few diners knew english and understood it, though they spread it to their fellow diners. That pleased them, not just because of the treat, but to know that the guy who’d pointed earlier at other tables was actually decent.

The small open-air restaurant on the first floor of a building rejoiced, shoving aside plastic chairs and foldable tables to embrace Gary (who Franny had introduced to everyone, including her parents, as a hitchhiker tourist who’d wanted to spend a good night out.)

So everyone celebrated and Gary ended the night satisfied that he had, after all, had a good birthday.