square_the_circle_chapter_27_ crOwl scott carried march 28th inside of him much like a child keeps a precious stone in the pocket of their favorite jeans wearing it smooth by handling it over and over, pressing its solidity in the warmth of his palm, feeling the power of its intrinsic meaning. he was so glad to have made a date for the wedding for it drew a straight line for his life where there never was one before. it placed a boundary around his wandering soul and marked him not like a brand for an animal destined for death, but moreso a tattoo permanently proclaiming his eternal love, elaborate and detailed. as he peddled his bike to work, he mulled over the events of the week-end, sighing deeply at the thompson/seaward stoplight, so relieved kayla had stopped him before he killed dennis browne. he still felt bad about hitting her accidently but he planned on making a call to the dentist on his break. he didn't care how much it would cost. anything for her, he thought. for my bride to be. he set his bike in the stand, locked it and walked through the employee entrance, pausing to look up at the heavy clouded sky, laid out like a giant, silver mattress. he punched in, grabbed his green apron from his locker and headed to the produce department. "how was your week-end?" brandon asked him. ever since scott was transferred to produce, brandon, the supervsor, a tall, scarecrow-looking man about twice scott's age, lamely attempted to mentor him, though he never looked him in the eye. "good," scott said, scanning the order sheet. though he had quite a story to tell he kept it to himself, a secret for kayla and him. "how was yours?" brandon had already turned away to stock apples. scott sighed, shook his head and headed for the vegetables. brandon called out to him. scott stopped. "could you take those boxes by the walk-in to the dumpster?" "sure," scott answered, excited for another chance to see the sky. he set the clipboard down on the desk, grabbed about a third of the folded cardboard, pushed out the door, and made his way slowly across the parking lot, gazing upwards. he set the pile down, scraped open the door, creaked the lid up and threw the boxes in. closing the lid and turning around, he was somewhat startled to find a stranger standing to the right of the door. it was a young man, slightly older and taller than scott, shoulder length curly brown hair, scraggly full beard, full moon brown eyes, wearing a frayed blue t-shirt with the word "brooklyn" in faded white letters, worn jeans and tattered, oil-stained work boots. "hey dude!" the stranger called out, smiling and friendly. he had his hands in his front pockets. scott closed the dumpster door, bracing for a confrontation. in the back of his mind he wondered if dennis browne would hire someone to "try" and kick the shit out of him. but then, though the homeless weren't common, and he had seen them a few times, he figured this guy was too hippy looking to start any crap. this man, with his bedraggled appearance didn't strike scott as a vagrant. he half expected him to ask a legitimate question, perhaps concerning the whereabouts of a fellow employee. and so, when the stranger introduced himself as jeremiah and explained that he was traveling with a group of fellow musicians and was wondering if scott could "possibly" hook them up with some "things you're throwing away anyway," scott surprised himself with his own willingness and desire to help. "sure, man." scott said. "wait here. i'll be right back." "thanks, dude," jeremiah said, almost bowing. he smiled as if it was the first time he was ever happy, full-toothed and brilliant. i wish i had a smile like that scott thought, moving quickly back to the stockroom. he knew exactly what he would get: a case of chewable multi-vitamins destined for the manufacturer as a return since all of the lids were broken. returns always got lost in the shuffle anyways and it was no loss for the store. making sure no one was looking, scott snatched the box and quickly headed back to the dumpster. jeremiah was looking up at the sky. scott blinked appreciatively, inspired for a moment at one like himself who noticed what most took for granted. "here you go," scott said, extending the gift. "wow, dude!" jeremiah said, reaching for the box. "thanks so much. are you sure i can have these?" he asked peering inside and seeing all the jars. scott thought he looked like a little boy on christmas morning. "no biggie," scott said. "i hope it helps out." "dude, you should come over and check us out," jeremiah said. "where are you staying?" scott asked, curious. "at the white caps motel." jeremiah answered. "we're working in the oil fields during the day, but we crash in the evenings and play. you should come over." "sounds good," scott said. "how about tonight?" jeremiah asked. "umm. i don't know. i'll have to talk about it with my fiance. what room number?" "48." "alright, man." "maybe i'll see you later, then?" yeah, hopefully." "thanks again for the vitamins." "no problem." 061105 what's it to you? who go blather from