An Evening in the Park

The meek may very well inherit the Earth...by force.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A cool easterly breeze was blowing across the bay and into Travis Martin’s late model sedan, which was parked directly facing the water. He sat at the wheel staring out at the off shore oil rigs that were strangely illuminated by the spectacular summer sunset in the sky behind him. An earlier speedboating event had churned up the green water and left a foul smell in the air. Their powerful engines could be heard far inland.

 

Travis grabbed a bag of fast food and a can of generic soda from on top of a tan briefcase lying on the passenger side seat and exited the vehicle. He often came to this park after work but only recently started eating diner here. He shut the car door and started walking towards a nearby fishing pier.

 

A red cargo van with black tinted windows was parked between Travis and the pier. It was facing away from the water and he could hear the thumping of loud music coming from inside. As he passed the front of the van, the side door suddenly opened unleashing the strong smell of marijuana and the sound of several men laughing. Travis, slightly startled, turned and made eye contact with a rather intimidating looking man that was emerging from the van. The heavily tattooed man, who appeared just as startled, quickly stopped laughing and starred menacingly at Travis, who instinctively turned his head away and kept walking. "Yeah, you better just keep going," said the man. Travis was not surprised; after all, a short, middle-aged man with glasses and dressed in business casual attire was certainly no threat to anyone.

 

As he approached the steps to the pier, Travis heard shouting behind him but it was muffled by the wind. Not wanting to provoke them in anyway, he kept his gaze forward as he made his way up the steps and started walking towards the wooden bench at the end of the long T-shaped pier.

 

An elderly man wearing a white cowboy hat leaned against the railing at the piers end. He held an old fishing pole in one hand and a beer in the other. A large blue ice chest with a small tackle box resting on top accompanied the man. Travis sat down and began eating some of the French fries that had fallen to the bottom of the paper bag. Sometimes he would throw a French fry in the air, which would instantly attract a cloud of sea gulls from seemingly nowhere and yet everywhere. Not everyone likes sea gulls so he only did it if nobody was around.

 

"Catching anything?" Travis asked loudly. "Just a buzz," the man said as he held up his beer. "That’s better than a cold," replied Travis. The man smiled slightly as he lowered his beer and turned back towards the water. The exchange of words sounded rehearsed as if it had been spoken countless times by thousands of different people over the years.

 

The cheeseburger Travis pulled from the bag was much flatter than the one advertised on the drive-through menu. He had tried several restaurants in the past few weeks, but still had not found one to his liking. He wondered what his family was eating at that moment and what they were discussing at the table. He missed his children.

 

One by one the strategically placed lampposts that lined the pier began coming to life. Travis, who was nearly halfway done with his cheeseburger, stared down at the graffiti now illuminated on the wooden bench and wondered why people with such poor spelling skills would want to advertise it.

 

The nearby fisherman swatted a mosquito on his forearm and then flicked its bloody carcass into the wind. He then set the fishing pole and his beer down and retrieved a can of bug repellent from his ice chest and began applying a generous coat on himself. When he was done he looked over towards Travis and held out the can.

 

Travis quickly set his food down and wiped his hands on his khaki pants before standing up and walking over to the fisherman. "Thank you," Travis said after struggling to swallow a mouthful of food. "I forgot how bad they are this time of year," he said as he grabbed the can and began to spray his arms and neck.

 

"You can always count on the mosquitoes biting, even if the fish ain’t," the old timer said. Travis chuckled as he handed the can back to the man who put it back in the cooler, grabbing himself another beer in the process. "Even though there are millions of mosquitoes in the world, I take some comfort in knowing that when I leave this park there are a few less." The fisherman said as he stood back up and grabbed his fishing pole. Travis smiled and thanked the man again before going back to the bench to finish his diner.

 

All traces of the sun were now gone and even the lights on the offshore rigs had been activated. As Travis stared out across the water, he wondered if the distant lights were automatic or if somebody actually flipped on a switch. He looked back over his shoulder and noticed the onset of darkness had cleared out some of the vehicles in the parking lot. The van was still there, although it had moved closer to his car and was now facing towards the water.

 

He stared with squinted eyes for a moment but did not see any sign of the men that had taunted him earlier; however, he did notice a man and woman were now walking hand in hand on the pier towards him. Travis remembered when he and his wife would do the same thing. That was long ago and the magic had long since died in his marriage.

 

Travis scooped up his trash and shoved it into the bag, which he crumbled up and deposited in the 55-gallon drum that was chained to the railing next to him. He grabbed his soda and got off the bench in case the couple wanted to sit down. He walked over to the railing opposite the side of the fisherman and stared out into the darkness.

 

He really did not want to leave. His new home was a small kitchenette at a less than reputable motel. The place smelled like roach poison and mold and his neighbors never seemed to sleep. One night someone broke into his car and took his wallet, which he had unwisely left in the console. He did not loose much money but the only photos he had of his children were in the wallet. He was crushed.

 

Travis had been there nearly a month now, returning home only to get items he absolutely needed or to pick up his kids on weekends for a movie or an afternoon at the mall. His oldest, Kelly, was well into her teens and never went with him. She did not take the separation well and spent most of her time with her friends. David, who was seven and Lisa, now four, were always happy to see their Daddy and Travis hoped it would stay that way indefinitely.

 

Travis took in a deep breath and slowly turned to leave. He smiled at the couple now sitting on the bench and started down the wooden planks. "Good luck and thanks again for the bug spray," he shouted to the fisherman who just turned briefly and nodded. As Travis stepped off of the pier and began to cross the parking lot he heard the van door suddenly slam shut.

 

 

His pace slowed as his pulse quickened. He eased past the van and then quickly made his way over to his car. As he got inside and shut the door he noticed his briefcase was now gone. Without hesitation he started the car and drove up the steep park exit to the main street, which was about twenty feet above sea level. As he stopped at the intersection to check traffic, a thunderous blast shook the entire park. The disorienting concussion set off several car alarms.

 

Travis could see what was left of the van in his rear view mirror.  The roof was now bulging upward and the side door had been blow off and was now lying several yards away. All of the tinted glass had been shattered and thick black smoke was pouring from the windows. Travis made a right turn and quickly drove away. He turned left onto the nearest residential street and began to put as much distance between himself and the park as possible.

 

He was amazed at how powerful the homemade explosives had been and really did not expect to be this calm afterwards. He drove for several minutes then smiled taking comfort in knowing that even though there were still millions of thieves in the world, there were now a few less since he had left the park.

 

Author's Note

Unrevised at the moment. Don't worry about hurting my feelings.