HARMONY

Part 11 "...joining the circus..."

Writers:  You will note that in order for a character to grow, that character must find himself in an "upside" and totally unfamiliar world.  Here we see Steve... 

Steve's shirt stuck to him and his tongue felt thick and filthy. Through his skull marched armies of wounded elephants looking for a place to die. Steve was afraid to open his eyes.

He brought his hands to his face and made sure all the parts were still there. Eyes, nose, mouth. Good. He squeezed his left eye closed and uncrusted his right. It may have been a school bus in the early 70s. Seats had been ripped out and replaced by garage sale couches, a few card tables and camping stove. The floor indistinguishably school bus black and the half windows, in various states of crocked, confirmed for Steve that he was on a field trip.

With painful movements, Steve brought himself to a seated position. Although he cursed the light, he blessed the quiet. A diner's sign came into focus and he suddenly he had just one thought—coffee.

Stumbling in, Steve swept past the 'wait to be seated sign' and dropped himself down at the counter. "Tall, hot, black," he said to the waitress.

"I may be all those things," she said. "But you need to pay first."

"Pay first?"

"Yep," said the short, round black waitress. "It's a buck fifty and I need to see cash on the counter."

With obvious annoyance, Steve dug into his pockets. Nothing. No money, no wallet. "What the hell?"

His scene of bewilderment alerted the manager. "I think you need to go," came a baritone voice from a man who loomed large in every way.

"I have a hundred thousand dollar credit line on my American Express platinum," Steve said. "I can afford a cup of coffee."

The manager leaned over the counter. Steve noted a myriad of dark freckles, a rather large nose mole and eyeballs buried in their sockets. "What you need is a buck fifty in pennies, dimes, nickels or quarters." The nostrils flared. "Or I'm seeing you to the door."

"Well," Steve said. "This is obviously a clear violation of my rights as a customer for a fair exchange of goods and services. I can assure you my team of lawyers will have a field day with your threats and ..."

"Get out," breathed the manager. "And have your team of lawyers get you back on your medication."

Steve stood up and looked at his clothes. He thinks I'm a homeless psycho freak. As he pushed on the men's room door, the manager caught his arm. "Oh no," he said. "You ain't gonna bathe in my sinks. Now get out and this is the last time I'm asking nicely."

"Bathe in your sinks?" Steve said. "I will certainly wash my hands after I use your restroom, but I would never use a public—"

The manager released his arm and cocked his head. "Are you crazy?"

"No," Steve said. "Just lost. What city is this?"

"Fresno."

"Fresno?" Steve looked desperately at his blackened fingers. "Can I please use your restroom? I really need to pee and wash my hands, and then I need to find the people I came here with and my wallet and call my wife and---"

The manager observed his soft hands, leather shoes and Rolex. "Go ahead, but I'm watching you."

Steve emerged with clean hands, a rinsed face and a clear head. He looked around the diner, first for the manager and then for Vance. Neither in sight—he went back to the bus.

His search yielded cigarette butts, beer bottle caps, and three pennies. When a condom stuck to his wrist, he jumped and shook his arm like he was being attacked by a snake.