On the Way to Chicago by John Iwaniec

Sarah stepped out of her car and almost fell back from the 110 degree July air that had not a cloud in the sky. Her eyes squinted from the painfully bright sunlight as she searched for the entrance of the Mojave Café.

The East facing door handle was hot on her fingers. Quickly she entered
a cool, darkened, room and saw a dozen local customers taking refuge from the heat.

The regular customers virtually lived at the café and nursed bottomless cups of lukewarm coffee. Stories were told and retold and told again. It had become an art form to embellish their “war stories” until even the one telling the story came to believe it.

As Sarah looked about for a table the conversations halted. Curious eyes followed her. It definitely perked up the bored coffee drinkers with the hope of something new.

A twenty-five year old man bussing the tables seemed to be the only one who didn’t notice. He went about clearing the dirty dishes to wash in the back in a never ending routine. He rarely spoke and showed very little emotion. To the regulars and waitresses he seemed to be one of those hapless men to whom the social games between men and women were as mysterious as atomic physics. He always seemed to be on the outside of the inside jokes.

“Hey John,” an older man said to the dishwasher, “how ‘bout that gal in the yellow? She looks a bit lonely. Why don’t you go and introduce yourself?”
The group at his table chuckled approvingly. John’s face reddened slightly; he took the dishes to the back.

“Haven’t seen you here before.” One of the men said to Sarah from across the room. “We’re you from?”

Sarah glared at him with steely eyes. “Planet Earth!” She shot back and then looked down on her menu.

A half hour later when John returned to the dining room Sarah was still there. She motioned to him and when he came to her table she asked, “Do you have a light?”

“You mean like a Bud Light?”

“Ha ha, no, that’s funny. I mean like a book of matches.”

“I’ll see if I can find some for you.” John walked to the cash register to find a book of complimentary matches. Before he could complete his task Barbara, the manager, told him, “John, I need you to pick up the litter in the parking lot. The big bosses are on their way.”

“I, I,…I need to get some matches,” he stammered.

“The parking lot,” she said firmly.

The young man was feeling as though he had been slapped on both sides of his face. Something snapped and primal juices began to boil in his blood. For a long moment he stood still as if catatonic. At last with a Zen like moment of enlightenment he took off his apron and handed it to Barbara. “I quit! Please accept my resignation. May I have some matches now?” Barbara looked at her ex-dishwasher with the sorrowful eyes of a mother watching a son leave for the army.

He took the matches to the lady dressed in the yellow jump suit who would soon become the new topic of conversation among the coffee drinkers.

“Thank you.” She said. “I notice that you have your apron off. Are you done with work?”

“Yeah, you might say that. I just quit.” The liberated dishwasher was about to walk away.

“Wait. My name is Sarah. Would you like to talk about it?

John looked surprised, then sat down on the chair beside her. “I’m John. There isn’t much to tell. When I started here I only planned to catch up on my rent. That was two years ago. I still don’t have any more than when I started. I want to do something else…I don’t know what, but I’m not made for this.”

“Are you married?”

“Nope. I live alone. Guess you could call me a loner.”

Sarah took a sip from her coffee and set it down. “I suppose you could call me a loner too.” Their eyes met in a long silence. It did not feel awkward. John and Sarah felt very comfortable in one another’s gaze. Sarah decided to take a sudden gamble. “Ride with me to Chicago. I’ll pay the expenses and for your trip back.”

“Heh heh heh.“ A chuckle slipped from John’s lips…, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. I just thought of something funny from long ago. If you’re serious I’d like to go with you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Let’s go.”


In the parking lot John followed Sarah toward a Honda Civic parked next to a new Mercedes. He walked to the passenger side of the Honda. Sarah smiled and pointed to the Mercedes. “This one.”

The ex-dishwasher suddenly looked troubled and hesitated. “Look Sarah, I’m not such good company. Maybe we should forget about this.”

Now, Sarah was disappointed, but not yet discouraged. She thought carefully before speaking. “Do you believe in omens?”

“Yeah, I’m not superstitious, but yes, I believe in omens.”

She went on, “Do you see that Exxon station over there? Let’s go inside; I’ll buy a one dollar Lotto ticket. If it wins, let’s say…$5 exactly, we go to Chicago. If not, we go our separate ways. Is it a deal?”

“Sure.”

After the purchase and scratching of the ticket Sarah grinned and handed John a Lotto ticket that was a $5 winner.

The puzzled young man shook his head in disbelief. “I guess we go to Chicago.”

Classic pop music came softly through the Bose speakers of the luxury car. Not much was said until they turned into the TA truck stop at Baker, California. John marveled at the vast number of trucks and more trucks pulling in with drivers who searched for a parking space. Sarah fueled; they then proceeded to the Starbucks across the street for a tall cup of Americano. John passed on the upscale drinks. “Taste this,” Sarah said, handing the cup to him. He took a sip. “Not bad. If you don’t mind the expense I’ll have one myself.”

From the interchange Sarah went from the I-15 to the I-40 eastbound. “Why did you change your mind after we left the coffee shop?” She asked.

John squirmed slightly and hesitated at the question. “I’m not a reverse snob but just felt like I was out of my league with a rich person who drives a new Mercedes.”

“Rich? You think I’m rich? I’m not rich. I work for a transport company and deliver expensive cars and motor homes all over the country. You should think about doing this yourself. It’s a great way to make a living for someone not tied down. I tell you true, I don’t know what made me take a gamble on you. There is just something in your eyes that I feel safe with. Speaking of gamble, lets go to Laughlin. It’s the best gambling city in Nevada.”

“You’re allowed to do that?”

“You bet. I told you this is a great job. Besides, I’ll only be a hundred miles and two hours out of my way.”

Their first stop was Laughlin, Nevada where Sarah turned the Mercedes over to the valet at the Edgewater Hotel. Sarah bought twenty dollars in quarters, handed John half of the quarters and the two frolicked like children going from one slot machine to another throughout the Casino. It was not that the winnings where so great, but that they were consistently getting out more money than they put in. Every winning pull was a confirmation that they where meant to be together on this spontaneous lark to Chicago.Omens where everywhere. Outside, before them a hawk landed on the railing at the Colorado River. A school of twenty or so large fish gathered before them as they stood on the landing. Sarah and John did not know each other, but neither could remember feeling so happy as they felt today in each other’s company. A cascade of magical moments had been touching them since they left California. John was twenty-five years old. Sarah was thirty-five years old. For the moment they were both at the age of six. Even the warm evening air under a neon desert sky seemed to be caressing them with kisses.Sarah paid for a room that had two queen beds and the happy adventurers felt giddy as they entered and closed the door behind them.Sarah flopped on the bed by the window. John sat on the bed by the door. "Can you believe our luck? John, you are my lucky charm. Everything we touched turned to gold."John laid back. "I thought it was you that was giving me good luck.""Come over here, I promise, I wont bite." John lay next to Sarah on top of the bedding. They reveled in their good fortune for awhile and eventually changed the subject to each other. Neither was married, nor had ever been married. It was going into the night as they found a rhythm in their rapport that revealed neither had ever been intimate with another.“I do have something to confess.”John kidded, “You mean beside the Mercedes?”“Do you remember when I showed you that winning five dollar ticket? Well, I cheated. I already had a winning five dollar ticket that I switched before you looked at it.”“That’s pretty sneaky.” John grinned.Sarah continued. “The funny thing is, later on I discovered that the other one I bought was also a five dollar winner. We were meant to be on this trip to Chicago.”“Suddenly John broke with that same laugh that puzzled Sarah at the coffee shop. "What is so funny?" Sarah demanded with a wounded voice.Again John laughed. "Sarah, when you asked me if I wanted to go to Chicago with you I suddenly remembered an older friend that would ask his wife if she felt like going to Chicago. I didn't know what it was about until you asked me the same question earlier today. After all these years I figured out that it was his way of asking his wife if she wanted to get friendly."Sarah gave John a tender slap and with a pout said, "Good night, John."In a playful way, John said, "Good night, Lauren." "Why did you call me Lauren?" "Did I call you Lauren? Yeah, Sarah, if I closed my eyes and listened to you talk it would make me think that I was with Lauren Bacal. You know, that movie star who was married to Humphrey Bogart. You have a voice that I could listen to the rest of my life. It is like getting a massage on my brain."Sarah looked at John across the aisle between the two beds. "I suppose that I'm supposed to say something funny. The truth is that I'm touched." John walked over to Sarah and gave her a light kiss. "Goodnight, Sarah. I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. John returned to his bed and turned out the lights.

FLYING by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

The Answer man sat before the radio microphone and answered trivia questions for his audience. Whether a blessing or curse his mind had total recall. At bed time all the words of the day played back to him as if from a tape recorder.

The worst of it came when he heard multiple conversations as in a coffee shop. Until all the words were sorted in the vaults of his mind there would be no sleep. Needless to say, he avoided public places. Electronic media tortured him in ways that were unimaginable to a normal person.

Each night the dire prospects of his dead end life brought nightmares of falling. Even though he would be dreaming the impact of the fall was painful. Something had to change, and such a night came.

In the dream he was standing at the edge of mountain with a thousand foot drop. As always, he fell. On this occasion a curious thing happened. He mentally changed the vertical fall to a softer, angled landing. It was still unpleasant but a very happy improvement.

Each subsequent night he was able to exert more control over the fall until that night came that he didn‘t hit the ground. He had learned how to fly, and
a joyful thing it was.

The dreams continued and each one more vivid than the ones before. Memories of dream flying had become so real that he no longer doubted that he could actually fly. He reasoned that he only need to get away from the ambient sounds of the city to make it happen.

For two hours he drove until he was at a lookout at a seven thousand feet elevation in the San Gabriel Mountains. There he stood with Mount Baden Powell on his right and Mount Baldy on the left. A valley of interwoven mountains gave a clear view all the way to Catalina Island. The wall in his mind between real life and the dream state melted away.

From the east an eagle sailed invitingly before him. Without hesitation the Answer man stepped over the guard rail and jumped. Man and eagle became one.

THE RETURN OF KNORGE by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

This story is a continuation of the story, Lonely Guy
Officer Alvarez was laughing so uncontrollably that he could barely keep his police car in a straight line. The laughter was infectious, and his partner, Officer Johnson, could barely breath from the laughter. At last even the two apprehended burglars in the back seat of the Crown Vic joined in.

"Heh heh heh heh," Alvarez wheezed, "Ah ha heh heh... so you broke into the apartment and a giant cockroach, Heh heh ha ha, cornered you and kept you from leaving."

The two culprits in the back seat were so relieved to be rescued from their encounter with Knorge, the imaginary two foot cockroach, that they did not mind being in the police car.

Back at the apartment, John was not so amused. Everything was in a shambles. Knorge, his imaginary pet, was not real, or was he?

After an hour of straightening the place Knorge came out from under the bed. In a cockroach kind of way Knorge grinned. "I did good, didn't I?"

"Yes,” John replied, “you did real good at making me lose my mind. How...how is it that the burglars saw you? You're an imaginary pet."

Dr. Belfiori’s office was so modest that one would think he was a struggling bookkeeper instead of a world renowned psychiatrist. It usually took at least three weeks to get an appointment with him. When he heard the story of Knorge and the burglars he agreed to see John immediately.

John began, "I appreciate you seeing me without an appointment, but how much is this going to cost?"

Belfiori waved his hand with a dismissive gesture, "Do not concern yourself. It won't be a problem. Please sit down and tell me about this imaginary pet.”

John began, “A while back I was playing with the idea of an imaginary, giant cockroach. I became so absorbed into this idea that I actually began to see him and even had conversations with him.”

The doctor interrupted, “How long did these appearances last?”

“Weeks.” John answered. “Knorge became as real as me talking with you. Today some burglars broke into my apartment, and according to the police, they saw Knorge the way I do.”

This captured the doctor’s complete attention as he made notes on his clipboard. Belfiori began a complete battery of psychiatric tests on John who found himself in the ambivalent situation of being the center of so much attention and at the same time fearing for his future. These psychiatrists had unusual legal powers to detain people, and a psychiatric history is not something that he wanted on his resume.

At nine o'clock in the evening the doctor folded his arms and smiled with great satisfaction. "Sir," he said, speaking to John, "you have confirmed a theory that I've held for many years. I even have a name for it. I call it Psychological Resonance in Mass Populations. Essentially it is a mechanism where the belief of a large number of people infects others to perceive the same thing. "What puzzles me is how your singular imagination was able to transfer to the burglars without you being there. "

Dr. Belfiori picked up the phone and turned to John, "I am going to have you stay at a special facility where we can study this more thoroughly. It is a pleasant place and there will be some very nice people to help you."

BIG by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

THE ENEMEY INVARIABLY ATTACKS ON ONE OF TWO OCCASIONS. ONE: WHEN YOU ARE READY FOR HIM. TWO: WHEN YOU ARE NOT READY FOR HIM.

The alien creatures were terrifying to behold. They had bodies half a mile long and almost a quarter of a mile tall. On six legs they moved about at a blinding velocity.

We couldn’t even identify the humongous creatures until one moved about twenty miles away. In that moment we were filled with awe as we recognized them to be ants.

Divine providence had reversed the biological scale, and ironically, there was safety in our smallness.

With reckless abandonment we ravaged the provisions at their picnic.

BACK TO CLASS by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

The forty year old school teacher was not so plain. I found myself inexplicably drawn to this woman despite her ordinary appearance. The staid school marm demeanor and simple dress could not hide her tawny, feline movements.

I looked down into my cup of black coffee as if it were a crystal ball; what was it about this woman that had such a hold on me? She was as natural as a wild lioness in Tarzan's jungle. Sleepy eyes belied an awareness and ferocity that unnerved yet captivated my senses.

"John," I heard a distant voice calling. I looked up from my chair in the teacher's lounge and saw Jackson leaning over me. "Lunch is over,“ he continued. "You‘re gonna be late for your own class."

“Yeah," I answered. Slowly I rose and trudged to my classroom of fourth graders.

"Sorry I'm late, children. Please settle down. I was thinking that we can skip math this afternoon. Let‘s all do some art work instead.

“And let’s see who can do the best drawing of a beautiful wild animal in the jungle.”

BRAINS by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

THE EASY WAY IS ALWAYS MINED

"I have a seventy brain."

"Ha. If you had a brain at all you would know that the average brain is an 85. My brain is a 92."

"Well, my dad has a brain of 125."

"Now I know you're lying. Brains don't get over a hundred."

"That just shows you're ignorant. Haven't you ever read that all things are possible with God. Huh!"

"Children...Children! It's not the size of your brain that's important. It's what you do with your brain that matters."

"Well, when God was handing out brains, Jimmy thought he said trains so he took his out and played with it."

"That will be all, Johnny!"

KGB TRUCKER by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

INCOMING FIRE HAS THE RIGHT OF WAY
The fat, balding, middle-aged man was deceptively agile and fast. In his carry on shaving kit was a ceramic 22 caliber pistol disguised as tube of tooth paste. Two suicide pills in the guise of Tylenol caplets were tucked in his shirt pocket. They required a hard bite to release a fast acting nerve toxin in a vector of DMSO. In short, John was not the truck driver that his cover indicated but the top operative of the secret KnitGreenBerets. A San Antonio Spurs cap and a pale green polo shirt identified him to his contacts.

John was not a likeable person but definitely the kind of man you wanted around when things went bad. Things were about to go very bad on the Boeing 767 on route to Romania.

Something had his hackles up, and when two swarthy, mid-eastern men attacked the flight marshal John was already in motion.

"Watch out!", Dave screamed. "You almost hit that Peterbilt. What the **** are you doing?"

John hit the brake and swerved just in time to avoid a collision.

His team driver let out a sigh. "You gotta quit daydreaming. Take a couple of Tylenol and let me drive this truck for awhile."