Not a very modest proposal.

It happened again last night.   I went home.  This mile was an obsession for me for years. Several chain business lined up and down filled with the elderly, post college consumers, high school drop outs and parked cars.  Each step in pavement serves up another memory of my youth.  Too many memories to know what I always thought of them but too old to be anything but fond.  In the years to follow my departure not a day has slipped by without me thinking back into my roots riding the empty road flying past blinking stop lights and singing loudly to the empty business parking lots.  But this time is different.  Much different.  In the old days minutes instead of hours would punctuate my time alone.  Today, I’ve scanned my old grounds in search of my old times and they aren’t where I left them.          Just now when my lonely day has peeked does a familiar face enter my peripheral. Here, the coffee shop that hosted scores of my friends daily, and all I have is Marty and he is not my friend.  His horrid complexion has never changed with his red speckled face, no hair and always concealing a slender body length tail behind a blue trench coat despite the arid Wednesday afternoon.      “May I have a seat?” He says. A seat? Years of bothering me, lying to me, stealing from me at any opportunity and now he wants my blessing concerning a seating arrangement?   Pathetic.  I nod.       “I have a business deal for you.   Interested?” True old friends always know your weaknesses best and with a bizarre tribute to our dark past he offers me the only thing I could never turn down.  Even from him.  Though I’m left with many opportunities to improve my day I pass to gather my wits for my deal tonight.  Sitting in my car alone I dress sharply and run a comb through my hair.  Rich people things.  The details of this engagement are limited but the deal is lucrative.  Very lucrative. So far and alone in my old home I replace my searching for familiarity with fantasies of tonight as the sun sets behind the grocery store where I purchased alcohol for the first time.   Now I’m in a lot in the cold weather and my mind is left to wander.  I remember the late nights on this road.  The diner friends.  The long talks about nothing.  My childishness.  So many things I could be doing to find them and yet I’m compelled to do no other than sit here with a package and await a stranger’s arrival.  There was a bar here once and I’ve been there but I can’t even remember the name.  I hear a laugh.  And it’s silent again.  May not have been a laugh. This old building had a convenience mart.  I shopped here for milk once and the clerk behind the counter spotted me a nickel to even out my change.  This must have happened a hundred times since and my mind leaves no room for any recollection except for that obscure happening. It’s been hours and I’m starting to regret this choice.  So alone.  So cold.  Spring time in that park across the street I kissed a girl for the first time.  So many years ago.  I still know it.  Marty once took me a day’s trip away on business.  Took my money and time.  Not one month later him and I were at it again.  Hour four passes and I fantasize about opening to box to alleviate the gnawing curiosity.  A person approaches.  A coat and hat blur their attributes so I can determine no recognizable features.  I nod at him but he passes me and continues down the abandoned avenue.  Hour seven is here with the hint of sunrise.  The recipient of said package is hours later than expected and most likely not going to show up.  This wouldn’t be a first so I take the plunge and pull open the cheap clear tape holding the box together.  Its condiments.   That bastard tricked me again.  Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, salt, some black pepper and relish.  All of a poorer quality than even Marty would stoop to.  No deal, no great reunion with my old friends.  No party.  No lucrative deal.  I should never have come here. I could fight the tears if I thought someone would see them.  Just me in my old town.  Alone.  Alone with condiments.