The Stories We Heard

Prologue

The sign on the door read: “Knock if you have a story, free meal will be provided.” Austin stared at it, but not because it was an absurd sign; who would dare to invite a stranger into their home and offer them dinner? Austin stared at the sign because he had been searching for months for the location and now that he found it, all he could do was stare. It made his stomach lurch and his breath catch. His skin prickled with the memories, his blood pumping and his knees threatening to give out. Because of a sign.

It was made from construction paper, green of course, with white gel pen script and laminated to keep it dry when it rained. Dried rain streaks dusted the surface. It was a miracle that the Velcro that kept it firmly against the door hadn’t worn out yet.

Austin bit the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from crying.

Knock if you have a story.

Austin had many stories. He collected them, created them, wore them like a skin. He took bits and pieces of everything he knew and stuffed it into a flesh body as if he could make a person out of just words and phrases. Austin was less of a human and more of a story. His hand rose to meet the metal door, but he couldn’t....he couldn’t rap his knuckles against it. His own body rejected the idea.

He had spent his entire life doing whatever it took to survive. He ran, he stole, he tricked, and scammed and made promised he knew he couldn’t keep all to make it to the next day. When the situation changed he changed with it. Adapted.

His new bag rested on his shoulder like a vice reminding him of all that had happened. All that he had done to keep the stories from unraveling like a trick knot. Austin Johnstone was a trick knot, an illusion, but he thought he’d like to be someone real.

He had felt so empty for so long, wandering aimlessly across the borders, pretending he knew who he was and where he was going. Austin had been lost and tired before: it had lead him right to this door in the middle of the night a year ago. But he had never been empty like this before.

That meant that somehow, some way, he had been full.

He lowered his hand, fingers curled so tightly in a fist, he wasn’t sure he could pry them apart with a crowbar. He stepped back, falling into the shadow of the early morning sun. If he left now, no one would ever know he had been there.

In an hour, the sun would wake the first shift and the driver would start up the engine. Whoever woke next would start the coffee, and the cabin would wake to the rumbling of the tires and the hum of the radio. Before the next hour, the door would be gone and so would the sign.

Austin stood there, blinking back the burn behind his eyes, and wishing he could go back in time. He watched the sunrise by himself leaning against the bad paint job of the RV that started it all.

(538 words)