It was in these spare moments, caught on private roads and private thoughts that Boyd would look out past the windshield and contemplate worth. The money he’d get for strippin’ the old truck of its exoskeleton and sellin’ it for scrap. How if he dug up the roots of ditch trees and gathered their humble growth within burlap he might be able to sell it to Mike at the hardware store. Claw at the dirt itself and sift through for fools gold to settle in seeped oil to pass as it’s greater ore. How maybe he could tear apart his surroundings and make money from nothing instead of having to go back down to the choked world of tar ink and coated lung.
He had tried the agency, gone as far to rouse up a couple of turned felons up in northern counties, pull from them ways to make earnest living among a pool thick with unrest. Give their good ‘ol buddy Boyd a slice of what ever legitimate business they had managed to raise in his absence. Though as it came to turn, predictions fell into ardent truth. The agency was in no position to be hiring out men of his branding when there were more honest citizens to provide to, and his compatriots of a earlier time? Well, their resurgence into the world of entrepreneurship was about as honest as a three dollar bill.
With a final set date a mere overturn of a couple moons Boyd had swallowed whatever remaining pride he had and drove with reluctance through the decapitated mountains. Transport trucks and heavy artillery a welcoming committee as he signed off to Black Pike Mining Corp to relive history all over again. Reinstate the lines for which he was never interested in walking on in the first place if given half a chance.
Arriving at the crossroads leading directly back to his fostering home the engine churned to a stall underfoot. A deathly wheeze from the engine attempting to hibernate at the lack of activity. Truck kicking off its own plating in a hiss of heated fluid meant that Boyd knew he only had so long to realign himself before the car had surrendered completely to death and he was forced to walk the next four miles. Taking hold of the wheel the aperture of Boyd’s focus waned as he laid his forehead against the protrusion of knuckle, eyes closing as he drafted a new disposition to be displayed for Ava. Cut away the morose blur of self pity and depression, restitch it into a line of relieved positivity that for all intents and purposes worked better at maintaining a peaceful horizon. Show her that her sacrifice was not without effect. A job was a job after all, pressure of an inflamed situation alleviated for the time being.
Turning the ignition the beast howled in protest by gurgling a dirty amount of noise before waking up once more. Clutch born and shifted Boyd made sure to check his reflection in the mirror before allowing gas to flow, give a quick swipe of eyes to the rings in hallow sockets. Force the smile and brighten the charcoal that collected therein, tired stained flesh reworked before he offered up the news. Finally ready the entire structure rolled in reverse before bucking forward with a hitch, finding bearing only once a coasting speed had been reached.
Guided by the only electric bulb among a night of natural celestial gas Boyd found his way back home, her home, his new place of solace.
Evening spring air caressed heated posy cheeks as rickety hinges swung screen door open. Ava’s day had been long and exhausting. Between dealing with finicky, poorly tipping clients at the salon and her less than pleasant boss left her frustrated since the moment she’d clocked out. Arriving home, her initial aptitude was to clean, but with Boyd around it seemed there was barely anything for her to keep organized. Instead, she made herself a little something to eat. Creamy Cajun Pasta leftovers were neatly packed in the fridge for her kin, it wasn’t much, but the nagging itch sway about the kitchen and cook for someone other than herself overtook reason. Proceeding sustencence, remainder of afternoon was dedicated to scouring for dirty laundry. Having unearthed Boyd’s belongings in large, plastic trash bags, she hadn’t bothered sifting through his chattels. Instead she settled for machine washing her own, lilliputian load along with towels and bed linens. While she refused to cater to Boyd, Ava found little ways to make his stay in her dwellings comfortable without overexertion.
Frame fell into relaxed pose as aching back recessed against white wicker banquette. This month’s edition of Rolling Stone plummeted to lap, threatening to tip and fall while culling lighter embedded in pocket. Digits curled around its plastic exterior circumference and wedged dull berm beneath steel bottle cap. Slender wrist flicked with leverage and the cover loosely descended to palm in a fizzle pop. Since Boyd’s home intrusion, she cut back on her heavy drinking which undoubtedly contributed to her suppressed, irritable state. Southern Comfort still sat entrapped in her liquor cabinet and each time she passed its mahogany cell, she struggled to ignore its beaconing call for freedom. Refusing submission into alcohol as solution, she indulged in an ice cold soda instead. Glass lip kissed warm, parched tiers and saccharine carbonation replenished the senses. Azures aimlessly shifted to retreating Coca-Cola, oculars tracing the alabaster and crimson artwork which hadn’t changed much since she’d been a kid. A half-smirk etched porcelain features and she set crystalline receptacle aside, trading it for her pack of smokes. Another vice she eventually wanted to retire, but was not yet ready to diffract from.
Tucking loosely curled, golden strands behind her ear, she nestled unlit cigarette between slightly parted lips. Tiny blaze flickered over neatly rolled stem and lungs drew in, distending with the fog of deadly chemicals. Long limbs crossed at the knee, and index finger flipped magazine cover open, revealing numbered contents. Disinterested in skimming through each title, she went about anagramming, cruising through each of the pages one by one until an article cultivated interest. Eventually, she settled on a particular piece centered on the war between hard working, lower class folks and the government’s reluctance to raise minimum wage. The overall statistics disgusted her, at $7.25 an hour, a large percentage of the population was struggling to survive off of less than $16,000 a year; a population which she edged belonging to. Producing ten dollars an hour, plus tips in remuneration was not nearly enough income to live comfortably, and according to the editorial column, minimum wage should’ve scaled to twenty dollars with economic growth. Flipping glossed leaflet in discomfort, the fragrance of perfume graced her senses. Flowery advertisement gravitated to visage for further observation and upper lip curled in distaste. The Potpourri scent was a little overpowering for her tastes.
Apertures caught glimpse of headlights from their corners and the echo of balding tires treading dry ballast road captured her attention. Ava was curious as to the state Boyd was in, wondering if he had retroverted to his drinking habits and where he’d been all this time, if he’d finally found himself an honest job or if the outlaw reconvened with former criminal connections. She took it one day at a time, constantly expecting the worst as to save herself the disappointment later. Hope was the universal liar who never lost her reputation for veracity, and the fact of the matter was, Boyd was accustomed to making his living only one way. She could pray to a non-existent higher power that he’d get his shit together to heart’s content and drown in blinding ignorance all she wanted, but a wolf stayed a wolf, even if you called him a devout lamb.
Vision squandered in darkness beyond the scope of sepia porch beacon to coasting vehicle. As he parked, unwinding muscles felt no inclination to relocate from seated position without just cause. Grasping her soda for another swill, she awaited her guest’s approach to great him. “Uh oh.” Smile curved as she closed lustrous spread, tossing it onto hand carved, wooden surface. He was beaming and for as long as she’d known him, Ava knew it was never a good thing. While she couldn’t decipher if his harmonious expression was genuine or nothing more than a façade in that moment, intrigue cascaded facial features.
“What’d you go gettin’ yourself into now, Boyd?”
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