Chapter 3 “The Camel’s Back”
The old man’s shout made John jump. If he had cocked the pistol before putting it to his head he would have probably shot himself by accident. Instead he only managed to jump and drop the pistol, which fell directly into the garbage can.
“Now, look what you made me do!” he said fishing the pistol out of the garbage. There was a glob of something on the barrel of the gun. What ever it was the flies seemed to like it. Some of them began to fly in circles around the gun. John pulled the handkerchief he had used to wipe off his forehead out of his pocket and used it to clean off the gun’s barrel, all the while trying to shoo the flies away. He started to put the handkerchief back into his pocket then changed his mind. Instead he threw it into the garbage can. All of the flies happily returned to their previous location and resumed doing whatever it was that flies do.
“What did you say?” John asked once he had accomplished his task.
“I said I hope you have better luck than the last guy.”
“What last guy?”
“The last guy who shot himself, right where you’re standing, he didn’t do so good.”
“What do you mean? It's simple; you pull the trigger and bang your dead!”
“Yeah, I suppose he thought that too.”
“Look, how hard can it be? I put the gun here,” John said putting the gun against his temple. “And I pull the trigger. I can’t miss!”
“Oh, he didn’t miss. He was right on target. Shot his self smack in the head. Nope, he didn’t miss.”
“Well then, what the devil are you talking about?”
“Maybe the gun was broke of the ammunition was bad. Whatever was wrong doesn’t matter much. All I know is there was this little pop instead of the big bang you’d expect. He fell down right enough. Yep, he lay right where you’re standin, moaned all night! They didn’t find him until the next morning! I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.”
John took the gun away from his temple and his mouth opened, but no words came out, at least not right away. It took a second or two for his vocal chords to work. They had apparently temporarily lost connection with his brain.
“Something like that has to be one in a million!” he said once he got everything to work. “These are new bullets! And this is a new gun! It couldn’t possibly happen twice in a row! The odds would be astronomical.”
John watched as the old man made a face and began to count on his fingers. This went on for about a half a minute before he seemed to give up and look back at John.
“You don’t have a pen on you do you?” the old man asked.
“What?” John asked, not because he hadn’t heard the old man but because he didn’t understand why he wanted a pen.
“I need somthin to write with so I can do some figerin.” John’s first reaction was to say no. After all he never would have given someone like the old man the time of day let alone his pen. Then he thought better of it. What did it really matter anyway? He was going to be dead shortly. So he shifted the gun to his left hand and pulled the pen out of his shirt pocket with his right. He went back to the bench where the old man sat and handed him the pen.
“Gee, nice pen,” the old man said inspecting the expensive looking writing instrument.
Putting the gun back in his right hand John went back to the garbage can to finish what he had started before the interruption. Once he was back in place he looked back at the old man who seemed to have lost interest in watching him. He was instead busy admiring the pen.
“Don’t get too attached to that pen,” John said as he once again put the pistol to his temple. “I’ll be wanting it back.”
“Yeah, sure, soon as I’m done I’ll give it right back. I don’t have to put it back in your pocket do I? I’ll just sort of toss it in the direction of your body.”
If John heard what the old man said he didn’t acknowledge it. He had his eyes closed again with the pistol pressed against his temple. The problem now was that he couldn’t get the picture of the other guy lying on the ground moaning out of his head. It didn’t matter in the long run anyway because before he could muster up the nerve to pull the trigger the old man called to him again.
“Hey, you got any paper?”
“What do you need paper for?” John asked taking the gun away from his head.
He turned to check on the old man who was no longer sitting on the bench. He now stood only two feet away. John, surprised by the old man’s proximity, took a step back and nearly fell over the garbage can.
“I got this really nice pen, but nothing to write on. I’d write on the bench but …”
“Yeah, I know they just painted it last week.”
“Hey, you catch on fast.”
“Alright,” John said shifting the pistol once again to his left hand. He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out an expensive looking day planner. “Here, use this, but…”
“Yeah, I know, you want it back.”
John nodded and although he tried his best to fight it, a half smile tugged at his lips. The old man grinned back at him and then looked at the day planner. He began to thumb through its pages while he walked back to the bench. Once he reached the his goal he sat down and looked back at John.
“You ain’t got a watch with the date on it do ya?”
“What on earth do you need a watch for?”
“So I know the date, so’s I can write on the right page.”
For John the funny part was all over. He had a job to do and this old coot was wasting his time. This time, when the anger came, it didn’t feel all that good, he just felt, well, angry.
He stomped over to the old man and snatched the day planner away from him. He then ripped out a page, which he threw back at the old man. He put the planner back in his jacket pocket and stomped his way back to the garbage can.
There would be no more delays. He was going to do this no matter what. With one more scathing look back at the old man, who was now busy writing on the piece of paper from the day planner, he again put the gun to his head.
“Just pull the trigger,” he thought.
“Hey!” the old man yelled so loud it made John drop the gun again. Fortunately this time it missed the garbage can. “That makes the other guy two in a million!”
“Will you please stop interrupting me!”
Stooping down, he picked up the pistol and for what he hoped would be the final time, he put it to his head. It was then that his brain connected with what the old man had just said. He couldn’t go on without knowing who the other guy was.
“What other guy?”
“Well, I don’t know much about that astronomical stuff but if the first guy was one in a million, then the guy last week, well, he must have been two in a million.”
“Oh, sure, now I suppose you’re going to tell me that the same thing happened last week!”
“No.”
“That’s a relief,” John said again putting the gun to his head. This time he didn’t even care if the old man watched. He just wanted to get it over with.
“Not exactly the same thing. It was a lot more entertaining. He blew his whole forehead clean off, walked around here for an hour with the front of his head missin. Damnedest thing I ever saw! He'd probably still be walking around here, only he tripped on a rock and fell. Boy there was brains all over the place! Aren't they supposed to be attached in there somewhere?”
When John was a kid his father had told him the story about the straw that broke the camel’s back. At the time he didn’t understand the meaning of the story, but now he did. The last account the old man gave him was that straw. He began to have serious doubts that his choice of a gun for the final solution was the correct choice. Putting the pistol back in his pocket he shuffled to the bench where he had left his lunch box. He sat down and looked at his hands. They were trembling.
“All in all,” he thought. “I’m a coward.”
The old man came over and sat down next to him. He pulled out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. For a long time no one spoke. They just sat there with the lunch box between them.
I hope that you have enjoyed this chapter of "Spit Shine" thank you for your time!!
Please note that I am donating 50% of the royalties from my novel to "Soldier On". They provide housing for homeless veterans. Please help me help those who have given so much to provide the freedom we all enjoy.
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