Renewal 2 - Echoes of the Breakdown (8 page)

“Ok, folks! Let’s take our seats and get started!” Bill spoke over the buzz of the crowd, waving both hands in a “down” gesture. The crowd ignored him. He tried again. “Come on, people! Plenty of time for gossip later.”

Finally they began to sit down and the chatter faded to the soft crying of a baby in the corner of the square. Bill stood quietly for a few more seconds, looking over the people waiting expectantly in front of him.

Finally Bill began to speak, in a different tone than Terry had heard yet, more formal, deeper, bigger somehow.

“Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Teeny Town, brothers and sisters, we gather tonight to welcome our newest member. Please welcome Mr. Terry Shelton into our community. Stand up, Terry.”

Terry couldn’t move for a moment. Bill grabbed him firmly by the upper arm and hoisted him to his feet. Terry spent the next ten seconds nodding and smiling as the crowd clapped and cheered.

“Terry comes to us through the recommendation of Dusty, who has watched his education and training very closely. He is sponsored for membership by me and my wife. To protect our community, Terry has agreed to be a part-timer, and carries the tough burden of maintaining two lives, one out in the world, and one here among friends. Everyone, please take the time to welcome him personally this evening.”

Another round of cheering broke out, and Terry was afraid that his smile muscles were about to cramp up.

“As is our tradition, let me formalize his membership with a gift. By accepting this gift, Terry becomes a full-fledged member of our community, with all the rights and responsibilities of that membership. Terry further agrees to put the needs of our community first in any case where his other responsibilities come into conflict.”

Bill lifted the wooden box from the table, turned to face Terry, and asked, “Terry Shelton, do you accept these terms and your inclusion into our group?” He moved the box a few inches towards Terry, offering but not yet delivering the gift.

Terry placed his hands on the box, and responded. “I am proud and honored to accept membership in this community.”

Bill smiled, and released the box to Terry. The crowd exploded into wild applause, cheering, whistling, and hooting. Terry held the box close to his chest and turned to accept the acclaim. The sounds merged into a 3-beat chant of “Open it... Open it!”

Terry, fighting a sense of overwhelming attention, placed the box on the table. He released the latch and slowly opened the lid. The crowd dropped into silence. When he saw the contents, he sucked in a sharp breath. People were smiling at his reaction. Inside was the most perfect handgun he had ever seen, along with a matching leather holster, and that was not all. Above the gun was a beautiful belt knife with a Damascus steel blade, folded many times and worked until the  two-toned metal of the blade mimicked the grain of the hardwood handle. The knife, end to end, was a versatile 11 inches long, six of those inches in the gracefully curving blade. The knife had a leather sheath, tooled to match the gun holster. It was truly beautiful to him.

Terry looked up with tears in his eyes, and said, “Thank you all. This is the nicest gift I’ve ever received.” Another round of cheering erupted around him, as he reverently held the knife and watched the blade glimmer in rare electric light.

Bill waved the crowd to quietness again, and said, “You are welcome, Terry. Most welcome... Don’t worry, though; you’ll earn it before it’s over.”

The people chuckled knowingly.

“Sit down, Terry. We’re done embarrassing you.” Bill said, and waited until Terry was seated and the box was closed. “I want to say thank you, for myself, to all of you. The reason we can produce such nice gifts here, with our own skills and our own tools, is that all of you have worked so hard for so many years, and adding quality young men like Terry to our numbers is our guarantee that we will continue to grow, and improve, and enjoy the fruits of our labors. Thank you all.”

A more sedate round of applause spread through the square, proving that it’s always easier to cheer others than oneself.

“A special thanks to Geoff Hill, our master gunsmith, and Larry Roper, our bladesmith for their fine work, and to our shop supervisor, Henry Hall, for getting the heck out of their way so they could finish in time,” Bill said, pointing the craftsmen out in the crowd as he spoke, and performing an exaggerated nod as the people laughed at his dig at Henry.

The shop boss had a reputation for treating the machine tools like his own personal spoiled children. Rumor had it, he slept on the shop floor to keep the machines safe at night.

“All right people. Thank you all for coming. Let’s eat!” Bill finished with a flourish, waving the waiting team into action.

Within seconds, giant platters of steaks, baked potatoes, rolls and steaming vegetables were hoisted onto the tables. They ate family style, with plates being passed, filled, and sent back to hungry owners. The roiling waves of conversation churned into high gear, and the celebration was on. Terry said a silent prayer of thanks at his good fortune to be among these new friends on this fine clear evening. Only one thing was missing to make it perfect, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Terry dug into the feast as Bill told him details about his gift. The gun was a hand-machined copy of a Springfield 1911 in 45 caliber, with a few subtle modifications to make it faster and a touch easier to keep on target. Bill explained that Terry had access to the armory and ammunition supplies, but that Bill had selected some special ammo for Terry to use for carry purposes. He promised that the selected ammunition would only take one round, if Terry could hit his target. They would work on that later.

As the meal wound down, beer and whiskey replaced water and tea. Men brought out pipes and hand rolled cigarettes, and women moved into groups to talk and to avoid blue clouds of tobacco smoke. Children were sent home to bed, and a band began to assemble. Tables were moved to the sides of the square to make room. By the time everything was rearranged, there were two guitarists, two fiddle players, a bearded man with a huge upright bass, a collection of ethnic drums, and several different horns, none of which were familiar to Terry.

He perched on top of his table, now positioned on the corner of the tavern, and sat with his hand on the box. He kept jumping off the table to greet the stream of people who came by to introduce themselves and to welcome him into the community. He was glad Aggie was only teasing about the test because he would have failed badly. He had met more people in the past hour than he did in half his life in Manchester. The stream rapidly dwindled to a trickle and then, just as quickly, he had met everyone at the gathering. He took a deep breath and settled in to listen to the music, left hand still resting on the box.

The band started with a lively song, and seemingly random people stepped up to sing the lyrics, something about the end of the world and feeling fine. There seemed to be a race to see who could sing the fastest; the band picked up the tempo for each new singer. Meanwhile, most of the crowd was dancing around in wild circles, stopping at the railings for another swig of beer. Terry sat through several more songs, enjoying the rare treat of live music, or any music at all, for that matter.

The band stopped mid song and changed tunes to something about
cold as ice, willing to sacrifice our love
, when a finger tapped him on the shoulder.

“Think you can stop fondling your gun long enough to dance with me?” Sally asked him, all big eyes and pouty lips.

“Frankly, I’m better at rope ladders.” Terry replied.

“Well, I’ll take it easy on you, ok?”

“I didn’t know you knew, ‘take it easy,’ but sure, I’ll give it try. Just don’t blame me if my huge feet step all over your little dainty ones.”

Sally took his hand and dragged him out in front of everyone, away from his precious new box. He wasn’t sure which was worse. As soon as they stepped toward the center, the band transitioned into a new song, something slow and romantic, which was vaguely embarrassing but good, since Terry wasn’t lying about his dancing skills. Sally worked with him for a few minutes, until aside from his complete lack of rhythm, he was holding his own. Her feet were relatively safe anyway.

“See? It’s not so hard,” she said.

“I can’t hear you. I’m too busy concentrating.”

“Well, I’m happy enough that I got you away from that box. I was getting jealous.”

“It’s a nice box, with the polished wood and all.”

“Terry, I’m sorry I missed your gathering.”

“It’s ok, Sally. I was playing dirty with the freckle comments.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Besides, it was pretty nice just seeing you up on the barn,” he added.

“I’m afraid of you,” she said into his ear.

“Why? You’re twice as tough as me.”

“I think you know what I mean.”

“Let me guess. Your parents have me picked out for you, and you don’t want to be forced into anything.”

“You knew that?”

“It wasn’t too hard to notice, all those little looks and gestures, coincidental meetings, your mom trying to explain you to me... Plus, I felt like I was getting the royal treatment. I doubt that most new people get that.”

“Well, aren’t you the smarter-than-you-look boy?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Makes it hard to sneak up on folks,” Terry said with a smile.

“Our secret, but I think my folks already know. They’ve been singing your praises for two days.”

“Well, ignore them. I can’t say I don’t like the idea, or that I’m not flattered, but I figure it’s up to us to decide if we like each other, and whatever that means.”

“Really?” Sally asked, looking up at him with hope in her eyes.

“Yeah, really.”

Sally gave him a relieved smile, and Terry pretended that it didn’t tear his heart wide open as she leaned her head in to rest on his shoulder. He happened to be facing her parents at that moment, sitting on the tavern porch. He also pretended he didn’t see Bill and Aggie give each other the shining smiles of victory as they held hands and watched their daughter do something they never believed possible.

The rest of the evening was a terrible conflict for Terry. He was as close to pure happiness as he had ever been, but a few short hours from this perfect moment, he was heading back to town, and the empty existence he knew was there for him. Manchester was waiting with dread and hopeless hunger on its side.

End Part 2

About the Author

This is my second Kindle title, Part 2 of the same story, and I thank you for reading it. The story is my response to the feeling of precariousness in American life right now. I’m not a survivalist and I don’t live in an abandoned missile silo. In fact, I live in a suburb in Washington State with my lovely wife, five dogs (all of whom are rescues and brilliant furry idiots) and two cats that encompass both ends of the cat social scale.

Connect with Me Online

I have a sadly neglected blog at http://www.jfperkins.com but if you bug me enough, I may decide to give it some love. I have another blog related to a fundraising bicycle trip I took with my dog a couple of years ago at http://www.bigdummyproject.com. I am also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/videojimmy but I’ll be honest. I mostly use it to post pictures of the dogs. I don’t use Twitter, because frankly, I’m way too wordy.

*Car adventure, Humvee radio, combat speech*