Back to the old grind.
Well. I should've known things were going too well here to last.
I was walking into town on Friday evening, just minding my own business. I was so wrapped up in whatever I was thinking about that I would've walked right past him had he not spoken.
"Hey, peanut."
Rube was sitting there on a bus stop bench, a folded Fandom Hightimes on his lap and a cup of coffee from the Perkolator sitting beside him. I was too surprised to say anything at first; the look on his face was enough to shut me up.
"I'd ask how school was going," he began, picking up the newspaper and waving it at me. "But your little editorial speaks for itself."
"What are you doing here?" I finally managed to demand. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and sat next to him on the bench.
"I got a letter here." he said almost cheerfully, pulling one from his pocket. I recognized the school's letterhead. "Can't a parent visit his child, see how she's faring in her new environs?"
"You're not my dad," I ground out.
"Better that than your AA advisor, eh?" he said with a smile.
I groaned. "Just spit it out, Rube. Are you taking me back to Seattle or not?"
"No," he replied. "But I am here to check on you, peanut. And to give you this."
I stared in horror at the Post-It note he held out. "I thought I was, I don't know, on hiatus or something." I protested. "You can't make me do this here."
"Can and will." he said firmly. "Death doesn't do holidays."
I took the little yellow note. "M. Ramirez, 487 Heron St., 8:57pm" it read in Rube's neat block letters. I sighed. "I need to get a map of this town."
Rube unceremoniously thrust one under my nose, and looked rather smug about it. I snatched it from his hands irritably and shoved it in my back jeans pocket. He chuckled at me, taking a drink from his coffee cup.
"How're Mason and Daisy?" I asked him after a moment of silent fuming. "They haven't burned down our house yet, have they?"
"They're fine," Rube said, rubbing his nose absently. "Mason's a fuck-up, as always; Daisy is Daisy. I'm more worried about you. How're you doing, really?"
I shrugged, frowing. "I'm getting involved, like you said I should."
"I can see that," he said, tapping the Hightimes in his lap. "I didn't realize this school condoned using such language in print."
I turned slightly to smirk at him. "The Administration firmly believes in our First Amendment rights."
"Is that so?" Rube smiled back. "As long as you aren't drawing undue attention to yourself."
I winced. "I sorta, um, was nominated for Homecoming Queen a few weeks ago."
He seemed to find this hilarious, and spent at least a solid minute laughing out loud. "Oh, peanut," he sighed, swiping at tears of mirth. "Please tell me they crowned you."
I scowled. "No, they didn't," I grumbled. "Someone else won, which is just fine by me."
"You're not even a little sad?" he asked, nudging my knee with his own.
"No." I snapped. "Not even a little. It was humiliating enough being nominated."
"Ah, well," he said, sounding regretful. "I would've liked to see that. Our George wearing a tiara and a frilly dress."
"It wasn't frilly," I said reproachfully. "It sparkled, but it didn't -- frill."
Rube laughed again and stood. He stretched slightly before offering me his hand. I took it after only a moment's hesitation, and he helped me to my feet.
"Looks like you've got a job to do, peanut," he said, all seriousness. "I expect you know what to do."
"Whatever." I grumbled. "I suppose it's too much to hope this Post-It will be my last for a while?"
He raised a brow. "Yes, it is. This town is like any other; people die, and they need your help to move on to wherever it is they're going. You won't see me again for a while, but I'll be back."
"Who'll give me my Post-Its?" I asked, confused. "I haven't heard from the local -- division."
"Don't you worry about that." he said firmly. "They'll get to you."
Then he gave me a pat on the shoulder, said goodbye, and started walking towards the park. I watched him leave, and sat back down on the bench for awhile, staring at the Post-It. I don't know what all I thought about, now. Only that my life would never be ordinary, that I had a job to do against my will. And when I looked at my watch I realized I only had twenty minutes left to do it.
So, I took out the map Rube gave me and went about finding M. Ramirez, due to expire somewhere around 487 Heron St. South Heron St., as it turns out.
This job really doesn't get any easier. Damn Rand McNally.
I was walking into town on Friday evening, just minding my own business. I was so wrapped up in whatever I was thinking about that I would've walked right past him had he not spoken.
"Hey, peanut."
Rube was sitting there on a bus stop bench, a folded Fandom Hightimes on his lap and a cup of coffee from the Perkolator sitting beside him. I was too surprised to say anything at first; the look on his face was enough to shut me up.
"I'd ask how school was going," he began, picking up the newspaper and waving it at me. "But your little editorial speaks for itself."
"What are you doing here?" I finally managed to demand. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and sat next to him on the bench.
"I got a letter here." he said almost cheerfully, pulling one from his pocket. I recognized the school's letterhead. "Can't a parent visit his child, see how she's faring in her new environs?"
"You're not my dad," I ground out.
"Better that than your AA advisor, eh?" he said with a smile.
I groaned. "Just spit it out, Rube. Are you taking me back to Seattle or not?"
"No," he replied. "But I am here to check on you, peanut. And to give you this."
I stared in horror at the Post-It note he held out. "I thought I was, I don't know, on hiatus or something." I protested. "You can't make me do this here."
"Can and will." he said firmly. "Death doesn't do holidays."
I took the little yellow note. "M. Ramirez, 487 Heron St., 8:57pm" it read in Rube's neat block letters. I sighed. "I need to get a map of this town."
Rube unceremoniously thrust one under my nose, and looked rather smug about it. I snatched it from his hands irritably and shoved it in my back jeans pocket. He chuckled at me, taking a drink from his coffee cup.
"How're Mason and Daisy?" I asked him after a moment of silent fuming. "They haven't burned down our house yet, have they?"
"They're fine," Rube said, rubbing his nose absently. "Mason's a fuck-up, as always; Daisy is Daisy. I'm more worried about you. How're you doing, really?"
I shrugged, frowing. "I'm getting involved, like you said I should."
"I can see that," he said, tapping the Hightimes in his lap. "I didn't realize this school condoned using such language in print."
I turned slightly to smirk at him. "The Administration firmly believes in our First Amendment rights."
"Is that so?" Rube smiled back. "As long as you aren't drawing undue attention to yourself."
I winced. "I sorta, um, was nominated for Homecoming Queen a few weeks ago."
He seemed to find this hilarious, and spent at least a solid minute laughing out loud. "Oh, peanut," he sighed, swiping at tears of mirth. "Please tell me they crowned you."
I scowled. "No, they didn't," I grumbled. "Someone else won, which is just fine by me."
"You're not even a little sad?" he asked, nudging my knee with his own.
"No." I snapped. "Not even a little. It was humiliating enough being nominated."
"Ah, well," he said, sounding regretful. "I would've liked to see that. Our George wearing a tiara and a frilly dress."
"It wasn't frilly," I said reproachfully. "It sparkled, but it didn't -- frill."
Rube laughed again and stood. He stretched slightly before offering me his hand. I took it after only a moment's hesitation, and he helped me to my feet.
"Looks like you've got a job to do, peanut," he said, all seriousness. "I expect you know what to do."
"Whatever." I grumbled. "I suppose it's too much to hope this Post-It will be my last for a while?"
He raised a brow. "Yes, it is. This town is like any other; people die, and they need your help to move on to wherever it is they're going. You won't see me again for a while, but I'll be back."
"Who'll give me my Post-Its?" I asked, confused. "I haven't heard from the local -- division."
"Don't you worry about that." he said firmly. "They'll get to you."
Then he gave me a pat on the shoulder, said goodbye, and started walking towards the park. I watched him leave, and sat back down on the bench for awhile, staring at the Post-It. I don't know what all I thought about, now. Only that my life would never be ordinary, that I had a job to do against my will. And when I looked at my watch I realized I only had twenty minutes left to do it.
So, I took out the map Rube gave me and went about finding M. Ramirez, due to expire somewhere around 487 Heron St. South Heron St., as it turns out.
This job really doesn't get any easier. Damn Rand McNally.