Chuck writes about the lies of fantasies

Recovery Fox

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The hiss of air startled Cory as the door sprung open to the alien environment outside.  A pungent odor, vaguely reminiscent of freshly cut grass mingled with the heavy sweetness of nocturnal blossoms, awakened Cory’s senses and cleared his mind as if an invisible hand had placed an ammonia capsule under his nose.  He stepped from the bus into the brisk, night air and walked toward the glittering store front directly ahead.  Cory gazed into the window covered by a steel curtain mesh that was meant to keep thieves from breaking the glass and stealing the luxurious items on display.  Behind the security curtain, he saw a graceful, beautiful, disembodied hand carved from what he guessed must be ivory, or maybe even alabaster.  On one of the fingers was an enormous engagement ring set with one large diamond encircled by several smaller ones.  The setting made him think of a Roman goddess surrounded by doting maidens.  Beth had seen the ring on her way to work last week and had brought Cory to show him the beautiful display only yesterday. 

“I’m going to save enough money to buy that ring,” thought Cory.  “Then, one day soon I’ll take Beth for a night out at our favorite restaurant.  There, in the ambiance of soft music and dim lights, I’ll take her hand in mine, look deeply into her eyes, place the ring on her finger and ask her to be my wife.”

He imagined Beth drawing his hand gently to her lips, kissing it softly and promising him that she would be his forever.  He opened his eyes and whispered under his breath,   “Ah, yes.  It will be perfect.”

Cory peered intently into the window.  The lifeless hand began to take on human form and movement.  He imagined it begin to caress him softly and sensuously, arousing his inner-most passions.  He longed for the touch that would release the building tensions inside him.  He dreamed of the day when he and Beth would be one; a union he knew would free him from the constant swirl of emotion deep inside.

Cory continued down the street, pausing briefly as he gazed into other windows.  One framed a grouping of family portraits, now yellowed and curling around the edges.  His attention was drawn to the picture of the father that had long since plummeted to the floor.  The broken glass caused by the fall had ripped the canvas and left a large gaping gash across the face of the man, forever disfiguring him.  The mother and four small children were left to stare bleakly at each other from their skewed perches. 

In the unkempt display window of an old pawn shop, a small, vintage accordion hung precariously by a rotting leather loop.  Cory had no way of knowing that years before, the decaying instrument had been traded for a few coins spent on a whim of fancy.  The old accordion was never redeemed by its rightful owner; so the once proud center of joy and gaiety at family gatherings was now reduced to a tattered remnant of the past.  It was doubtful any music would ever again emanate from its aging throat.  However, Cory wondered about the fun he might have had, had he been able to play the instrument and produce its joyful music.  He imagined small children begging to play their favorite tunes while they sang and danced around the parlor.  How he wished that he might have been a part of such gleeful family moments.  He could remember none in his own life.

Cory turned the corner.  He felt prodding and pushing as if he were being lead by an unseen hand.  A tug turned him one way, a push another.  After continuing for several blocks, he felt the concealed force release its relentless grip.  Ahead of him lay an illuminated corridor of brightly flashing lights that offered the promise of warmth and companionship; something for which Cory so anxiously longed this night.  He turned and gazed at the window directly in front of him.  It was covered with a metal grating similar to the first window he had seen at the outset of his quest earlier in the evening.

Inside the display window, multi-colored lights flickered and flashed garishly, then glittered like fake gemstones.  As he peered at the glossy images displayed haphazardly in the window, he found himself pulled toward the entrance.  He opened the door and walked toward a small, glassed-in counter near the front of the store.  Behind the partition sat a fat, middle-aged man smoking a cigar.  He wore a dark, multi-colored shirt that had been neither washed nor ironed in the recent past.  The man’s hair was pushed to one side in an attempt to hide several patches of premature baldness.  Cory reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill and held it out.  The man opened a small slot in the front of the glass cage, stretched out his rough, tobacco-stained hand, took the money and exchanged it for a roll of gold-colored tokens.  Cory was struck by the acrid odor of the man’s body odor streaming through the small portal.  By the intensity of the smell, it was evident that he hadn’t bathed in several days.

The man grunted, “Have fun, but don’t mess up the place.  I just finished mopping the damn floor for the second time tonight.”

Cory noticed an old mop popped against the wall behind the glass cage.  It was jammed carelessly into a bucket of filthy water that had been used for the two earlier “cleanings” and would undoubtedly be used again to mop up before the man closed the shop later that night.

Once again, Cory began to feel the invisible hand prodding him toward, and then down a dimly lighted corridor.  When he reached the end of the passageway, he could just see the outlines of a black curtain, which he parted to enter a small booth.  Cory’s eyes were still adjusting to the dark as he felt around for the small wooden bench that was attached to the back wall of the booth.  He turned and sat down.  The booth reeked of harsh cleaning solution, a remnant from the recent mopping. 

Cory took several tokens out of his pocket with one hand while feeling with his other for the coin slot directly to his front.  When he found it, he placed the tokens into the receptacle.  A small screen immediately jumped to life and began dancing with colorful images that promised forbidden love and the meeting of suppressed desires.  Cory became entranced by the screen and watched as hands caressed, touched and probed.  How he longed for someone to touch him like that; though he knew, but would not admit to himself, that it would never come to him through that cold glass window that separated fantasy from reality.  He leaned back, closed his eyes momentarily and relished the feeling that while he was inside this vestibule of wood, metal, glass and plastic that held him encapsulated, he felt safe and warm - shielded from the harsh realities of the world outside.

Soon, the alluring images began to dim.  Cory did not want it so, but he felt their enticement wane.  Even as the pictures continued to dance across the screen, he longed for more intense intimacy and pleasure.  The unseen hand returned and pulled Cory from his little sanctuary and guided him the end of another corridor.  With his eyes now more accustomed to the dark, he immediately saw the small slot next to a door.  He reached into his pocket, pulled out four of his treasured tokens and inserted them into the slot.  Like the note from a distant trumpet announcing that a prisoner was to be brought before a Roman judge, a distinctive click announced to Cory that he was now permitted to enter the enclosed chamber.  He grasped the door handle, turned it and slowly pushed the portal open.

In front of Cory lay a small room in which a lone chair was juxtaposed squarely in front of a full-length curtain.  The faded tapestry covered a large glass partition and remained closed, keeping the contents of the window hidden until additional payment was made.  As he sat down, Cory only briefly glanced at the faded images of ancient Roman gods and partially clad nymphs on the material.  If he had chosen to look more closely, he may have noticed that the aging drapery was tattered and torn, and covered with small spots of filth from many years of use and abuse.  But, it was not the old curtain that interested him. 

Cory reached over and slipped several tokens into a slot on the wall.  Scratchy, static-filled music began to play from a hidden speaker that had long since fallen into disrepair.  Slowly, the curtain parted revealing a woman clad only in cheap, bargain store lingerie.  Her countenance betrayed years of disillusionment, neglect and, perhaps, abuse.  But, Cory did not look at her face as she swayed and moved to the mesmerizing throb of the haunting melody.  He watched her hands as they began to skillfully remove pieces of clothing and, then, to sensuously caress and probe her own body.  Cory became entranced by what he saw and by the distant, yet, all too familiar tones which promised relief from the passions and tension now building to a fevered pitch deep inside him.  Cory closed his eyes and found himself being transported to a world of deep, dark fantasy; a world that only he knew, one that he never shared with anyone else.  This world had always given him release, even, if only for a few moments.

The hiss of air startled Cory as the door opened to a harshly familiar scene.  

“Hey,” bellowed the bus driver.  “You got any money to ride the bus tonight, or do I have to let you ride for free like most other nights?  You’re going to get me fired one of these days.”

Cory reached into his pocket and pulled out three quarters and a token.

“I’ll be damned, for once you saved out almost enough to get you home.  Gimme the three quarters; but, you keep that damn token.  I don’t want my wife finding it when she washes my pants like she did the last one you gave me.”

The man slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a tarnished quarter and announced, “I found this on the floor earlier; so between the two of us, you’re good to go this time, Buddy.”

Before the door closed on the distant world behind him, Cory heard the old town clock chime in the distance.  The deep, remorseful tones reminded him of a line from a poem he had once read:

“Silly clock, why do you cry out?  Time is no more, you have no hands...”

 

Chuck L.

4/2/02