The New Normals Chapter 5

It wasn’t entirely a surprise to Kit that his car didn’t start. That 1998 Suzuki had seen better days and he knew it. The sun rose slowly but it felt like only moments before the night’s bitter cold was replaced by an oppressive heat.

“Good thing we got the body out of the car first, ey?”

Roland didn’t seem to mind the predicament much.

Kit hadn’t expected to make it this far even. He’d decided months before that his car was more trouble than it was worth, but he was happy for a place to store his miscellaneous assortment of belongings nonetheless. He’d also been vaguely looking forward to the moment when his odometer hit 200,000. This was an unceremonious thing to look forward to and he knew it.

Roland leaned against the hood of the car as Kit grew increasingly curious about just how far his odometer had actually made it before the end of its long journey. When his curiosity reached a boiling point, he leaned into the car. But It wasn’t the choking heat or the second degree burn he nearly got from grazing the metal of his seatbelt that made him immediately regret his decision. He looked at the odometer. 199,999 miles. This bothered Kit more than it should have.

“Shame we couldn’t throw a little party for it,” Roland said sardonically. Kit hadn’t noticed Roland creep up behind him. The wind had stopped entirely but the sand still muted each of their footsteps. The day was still.

“Although I suppose we still can,”

Kit smiled. As much as he resisted it, he was really beginning to like Roland.

“… You don’t think we’ll be upsetting anybody by rounding up, do you?”

“No I suppose not,” Kit humored him.

Kit had never cared much for alcohol, but the three-quarters full bottle of Tequila rolling around in his trunk suddenly sang louder than it had in its entire time confined there. Kit hadn’t given the alcohol a second moment’s thought since he’d left Nashville. He’d visited a friend there; while his visit wasn’t entirely welcome, Ciro was adamant about not letting Kit leave without at least the bottle.

Kit pulled the bottle from his trunk with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He hadn’t expected to drink any more of it. But suddenly, drinking a bottle of Tequila with a new friend on the hood of a broken down car in the middle of the Mojave desert felt opportune, almost fortuitous. They sat there under the hot sun and allowed the day to wear on.

“…So with the tour-guide bloodied and half-swallowed, we figured best thing for us to do was just fend for ourselves and follow the river out of there… we crafted a raft outta bamboo but admittedly that sorta thing doesn’t work quite as well as in the movies. Couldn’t keep the damn thing tied together. Got us a couple miles before we figured we’d just make it the rest of the way on foot. Anyways, told em not to trust the guide, something real fishy about the overly-prepared type.” Roland’s speech was slurred but dignified. With a few shots in him now Kit was struggling to keep up.

“See that?” said Kit suddenly.

“What?”

“That itty bitty lil’ dot over there, ya seein’ it to?”

“Oh yeah, I guess I do.”

“Does it seem like it’s getting bigger?”

“Hmm…”

Roland looked carefully into the distance and squinted.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Think it’s getting bigger.”

“You sure?”

“Don’t remember seeing it a few minutes ago… and now that dot is looking more like a speck.”

“I guess I see what you mean,” said Roland curiously.

“Hello!”

His voice carried over the deserted landscape and echoed back with an eery delay.

Roland hadn’t expected a reply, but Kit continued eyeing the speck suspiciously.

“Now the speck is a full-fledged blob, pretty sure it’s gettin’ closer.” Kit went to fetch the pair of binoculars from the back seat of his car.

“Ya know, I think you might be right,” admitted Roland.

“Should we approach it?”

“If it’s really getting bigger then I don’t think we’ll need to…”

Kit looked left and right and then acquiesced. There was very little on either side of them besides a road that seemed to stretch into the horizon in both directions. And on that road not one single car had driven past them all day as they sat there drinking in lazy suspension.

Kit looked through his binoculars.

“Is that a wig he’s wearing?”

“Mind if I take a look?”

Kit handed him the binoculars.

“Why do you assume it’s a he? And no it’s most definitely a hat”

“A hat?”

“Yeah, all yellow — like — like the one the man in Curious George wears.”

“Odd.”

Roland rested the binoculars at his side and Kit quickly grabbed them and opted to go in for another look too.

“Is he waving to us?”

“Was definitely making some kinda movement.”

“He’s flailing his arms around I think.”

The figure was still so far in the distance it was difficult for either of them to make out features, even with binoculars. The more closely Kit examined, the more the road ahead seemed to wobble with illusory streaks of moisture. Heat danced within the air. But since there was no air to speak of, instead it swayed with suspended abandon.

A couple minutes went by.

“You don’t think it could just be a mirage,” said Kit, hovering somewhere between a statement and a question.

“I think it is getting bigger. You were right about that much. Almost positive about the hat, too.”

“If I were a little thirstier I’d say for sure it was a mirage,” Kit said, taking a swig of the water that was getting warmer by the minute. Ordinarily he would have minded this, but it still felt like a reprieve from the Jose Cuervo now sitting happily in Roland’s lap.

The figure was beginning to grow nearer, its arms still moving furiously with it.

“Ey Kit, I think you were right, look at the beard on this guy.” Roland was looking through the binoculars again.

“Is he clothed?” asked Kit, squinty-eyed and with a hint of concern.

“He’s got the hat at least… wait! I see boots!”

The man was moving rapidly, but it was hard to tell.

“He’s speed walking.”

“Huh.”

The figure displaced dust with each step he took, but still moved inaudibly.

“I think those are snake skin boots…” said Kit, still squinting.

“No they’re crocodile scales, look at the sheen.”

“Clearly looks like he has somewhere to be…”

The man continued trudging forward.

“Ey, he’s even got shorts!

“You sure about that?”

“They’re awfully short, but think so!”

Kit swiped his binoculars back from Roland.

“A bit too skin-toned if you ask me…”

He was wearing shorts that were somewhere in between what might be worn by a male cross country runner in 1960 and what would most definitely be worn by a modern cheerleader.

“That’s gotta be intentional…” said Kit, a cynical look on his face. The man held in his hand what appeared to be an avocado. He was only feet away now, but still made no noise on the sand beneath him. He was sweating profusely.

“Nice day for a walk?” asked Roland happily.

While the man did stop walking, he hadn’t seemed to notice either of them yet. Roland repeated the question.

“Nice day for a walk?” he asked seriously, his air of friendliness having subsided marginally.

“Thrice I say… a hawk!” the man shot back suddenly with a whimsical but dramatic jump. He landed clumsily with a finger pointed directly toward the sky. He looked unsteady on his feet. Roland humored him and looked at what the man was pointing toward — a large bird seemed to have appeared rather suddenly overhead.

“Ey Kit, he wasn’t kidding about the hawk,” Roland commented, laughing to himself now.

“Huh… isn’t that strange.”

“Deranged am I, but only till whales swim in the sky.”

He spoke matter-of-factly but his face still oozed sweat and confusion.

“Come again?” Asked Roland.

“It’s the end of the world I hear. Whistling winds — it must be growing near!”

He made another sudden movement, cackled slightly, and gave his avocado a little shake. It rattled. What appeared as an avocado was actually a maraca. This did little to quell Kit’s and Roland’s growing suspicions about the stranger who now looked vacantly at both of them, quietly hyperventilating to himself. The man hadn’t exactly done himself any favors with his rhyming doomsday prophecy either. Kit and Roland looked at each other.

“Do you need… water?” asked Roland. The man must have heard him; his eyes quickly darted to meet Roland’s, his bug-eyed stare deeply disquieting. But he continued only to hyperventilate. While his breathing imparted dire urgency, his demeanor remained bizarrely calm and aloof. Sweat continued streaming down his face. The beads trickled down into his beard and meandered along its wiry hairs until they fell from him like a leaking faucet.

Roland held up Kit’s warming bottle of water and gestured, “Share?”

The man looked back with bewilderment, still breathing heavily. It was a look, though, that suggested unyielding rejection rather than confusion.

“A cascade… A masquerade…” he labored, an unusual emphasis on each of the words. Kit thought he heard him follow up with another hushed cackle.

“Beggars can’t be choosers…” Roland uttered under his breath, looking peeved. He sighed before looking within and returned promptly with more patience.

“No… wuhh-terr,” continued Roland, as though now speaking to a child.

“Think his rhymes are getting a little stale…” said Kit.

“…don’t overwork him now…” he continued.

“Be nice, it could just be an odd dialect,” said Roland without actually believing it himself. He shot a look toward the man. Roland hoped he might grab hold of the metaphorical olive branch he held out. But the man didn’t seem interested in self-redemption. Instead he continued standing there, deep-breathing. The gears of his mind looked like they were turning so rapidly that smoke might emerge from his ears. He was clearly firing on all cylinders. Suddenly, it was as though a light bulb emerged over his head.

The man looked toward Roland as clarity began to surface on his face. “What do you think our fate is? Sadder than a policeman in an oasis?”

And at this, he resumed his speed walk, apparently resolved to become a dot once again.

“Did he just?”

“He — ” stammered Roland.

“He couldn’t have known…”

Roland tried to reassure himself. Even to Kit this attempt looked unsuccessful, though.

“You don’t think we have anything to worry about do you?” asked Kit. The interaction forced him to sober up moderately.

“I just don’t see how he could have any idea…”

“You’re sure no one could have seen?”

“It was pouring rain when it happened — and there was no one in the desert… I doubt it.”

“But then — “

“I don’t really know either…”