Surface Street Shades

Kreffan Bunker

Jan 13 2021

Surface Street Shades

Though it began as a modest slit, it had become a deep gash. It was the depth of a glue stick cap and as large as a half dollar coin. It had succumbed heavily to rust. It interrupted the dark jade-green paint coat. It was considered, by elderly Mrs. Fade, the eyesore of her cul-de-sac. It was a deep gash situated leftward of center on her truck’s tailgate.

She preferred to have it tarped. That way neither she nor the neighbors had to stare at it. There wouldn’t be a choice; it’d catch your eye regardless unless it was covered up. She did in fact usually keep it covered. Of course, this was only a temporary fix. She’d meant to have her handyman fix it earlier, but it always seemed to evade her priorities. True, her house had fallen apart since her husband’s death. So then, there were more pressing matters to be dealt with first. But now, the drawers, dressers, tables, etc. had been repaired. She was waiting for her handyman to come by with the last of said repairs; a wooden deck chair with a broken leg. After that was resituated, she’d turn him loose on that (in her opinion) ugly truck.

Her handyman came much later than she’d anticipated. She greeted him on her rough asphalt driveway. “Jaime, I expected you earlier.” As he carried the chair forward, she noticed how his smock and sleeves were padded with dried paint. “Trip into your paint cans, again?”

He let out a sound of exasperation. “No Geraldine; I was working on a couple’s living room. Desperately trying to get the right shade of purple. Kept me for hours and I still haven’t found the right shade.” She laughed. “Aren’t you glad I’m not so particular?” He rolled his eyes. “True, but you’ve also been stiffing me for quite a while.” Mrs. Fade was deaf to monetary issues, merely shrugging. Most of his work took the form of favors. It’d been months since he was last paid. Even still, he was a devoted worker.

“Can you manage to fix my truck today?” He had an unsure look. “We’ll see; it’s getting pretty late already.” They went through the back gate with the chair. Passing the immediate fringe flower, they proceeded down a brick pathway. “How’d it happen by the way? With the truck I mean.” “Oh, my inept gardener scraped it with his shovel head. But it’s been weathered bad—I can’t stand to look at that thing!” She cringed, remembering how it came to be, for the resulting sound was like a fork raking up on a paved road. It was quite the costly accident, especially now that it had grown so. Yes, sun, rain, and dirt had conspired to make it much more severe. Even still, Jaime said, “I’ve seen worse in my day.” Then, they came to the base of her deck steps. They climbed up, being mindful of the lantana pots on either side of the railing. She led him to the spot. He set the chair down at a stone table beside the cut out portion of deck where a mature cedar stood. The chair looked good as new. He waited for a compliment. He waited more, but this was in vain. She expected this quality of work as a default from her handyman. The chair was perfect and she saw that but she wouldn’t say it.

It was getting dark so he said, “I’ll get to your truck, tomorrow. I’m going to get home, now. You take care.” “That’ll do. Bye, Jaime.” He walked back through the gate, closing it behind him, before he came to the driveway. He left in his own truck.

Jaime had been there for Mrs. Fade for a long while; eleven years in fact. During this time, he’d been there for her every step of the way. He really had bent over backwards for her (on numerous occasions). A shame, because she never recognized the work that he did. She would accept it, but never praise it. Besides, the lack of payment there was definitely a lack of

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something else. He kept on waiting for that something. Foolish optimism, but it kept him motivated. He’d be back tomorrow and she’d likely not adjust her response to him one bit.

Though he considered her a long-term friend, he felt she considered him a mere worker. It was quite sad, but nevertheless true.

Rising from her chair after trying it out, she came to a particular object beside her deck doorway. This was a decommissioned water table. She remembered the summers years ago at her old home. That easily became her favorite season. Her husband would be at work and her father would join the mother and daughter there. He’d drag the water table down from the porch and situate it adjacent to the hose spool below. “Daddy” would jack the fiberglass lid with his combat knife and heave it to the smoky dirt; the women may have been able to remove it easily with their finger nails, but that would’ve ruined his fun. Once the tank was exposed, he’d cork the bottom and spurt the water in. Seeing it fill to the brim, he would be most pleased with the job well done. Thankfully, the day soon belonged to the ladies. He’d complain about his sore hip and retreat to the porch rocker and doze off. Mrs. Fade would send her daughter to a nearby dirt plot encircled by dandelions. While Cassidy excavated it, the mother would ready a pouch of Indian head pennies. She’d have her daughter dump trainer shovels fool of dirt into the tank. Then, when it got blatantly excessive, she’d get Cassidy to check on “Daddy.” Mrs. Fade overturned the dirt clumps and tacked them with pennies before flipping them back as they were. Calling her daughter back over, she’d have the girl find the treasure she buried. The gleam in her eyes was something worth framing. That was thirty years ago. During her marital relocation, Mrs. Fade argued the table ought to be kept for the grandkids—none ever came. By the time it came to this current home, she had more than once wondered why the table stayed. But when she had the time to think on it, she soon remembered why. Cassidy was gone away; she had only memories.

Where was Cassidy? She didn’t know. She had stopped calling her mother; they’d been disconnected. Actually, it went beyond that; their relationship seemed severed. She missed her, terribly. That didn’t matter; it wasn’t going to change the reality of it. Sometimes, she was particularly miserable. Her life was lucky to be just dull. Since she couldn’t have her daughter back, she made a point to cherish the water table—it was invaluable to her.

The next day, Mrs. Fade was driving home from the botanic gardens when she noticed a white SUV in her rear-view mirror. She thought little of it, initially. However, after it had followed behind for ten blocks in the same lane, she started to feel uneasy. Then, fifteen blocks. Were they stalking her? Sweat dripped from her forehead. She found herself a weak and frail old woman. It was her feeling that they would harm her if they caught her at her home. So, she decided to hold off heading back. They were still tailing her! She needed to lose them, perhaps she would make an illegal U-turn just before the 430 freeway. Yes, that might very well be the way to lose them. Just a bit longer drive. Creeping up on the center divider, she let a car the opposite way turn ahead. Then, she spun her wheel hard to the left. Looking back through her mirror, she couldn’t see them anymore. Most likely, they had funneled onto the on ramp. She was very relieved to have lost them.

She scrambled her weathered truck into her driveway, then quickly tarped it before scurrying inside her house. Having no friends, she hastily called the next best option: her handyman. It rang and rang until it transferred to voicemail. Her unrequited rambling was cut short: “Hello, Jaime?!” There you are, I finally got you.” Hyperventilating, she took a breath then explained her recent situation with the white SUV. She shuddered. Mrs. Fade shucked the curtain from her front window near the mantle. “Well, they haven’t come here yet. And I can’t

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very well describe them to the authorities. ’Cause there’s thousands of cars like that! The windows were tinted, besides. Can you make your way over?! Have your damn lunch break here! Please for heaven sakes!” She set the phone on speaker and put it on the top ledge of the bottom level window. It laid there while Mrs. Fade anticipated his arrival.

Jaime had come. He headed in her home carrying a ham and pepperoncini sandwich. She wept in his arms. “Geraldine, it will be okay. I’m sure it was just a freak coincidence they followed you for so long.” Clearly, she wasn’t considering his alternate scenario: “They might’ve killed me had I stopped! I’ve never been so scared in my whole life!” He hugged her for a little while longer. “Want me to fix your truck after I eat? Wait, what am I saying? I got to get back to that couple.” “Well Jaime, I wouldn’t dream of having you work on it, now, what with the potential they’d see my truck.” Noticing she was really on edge, he went to her fridge to get her a cold one. She took comfort in the alcohol if nothing else. The two of them sat down in her living room sofa. He unwrapped his sandwich and put it on her glass coffee table. “I’ll hold off leaving you ’til last minute when I have to.”

It was her thinking that Jaime ought to do as he did; he should avail himself to her in a time of crisis. Naturally, she saw this as a must. To her, him assuming the role as her handyman meant much more than fixing things (for no pay). He was to comfort her at every instance necessary. So easily could this be taken for granted. And it was, of course. Mrs. Fade couldn’t comprehend the need for utilizing “thanks.” Now, as Jaime sat here with her, she didn’t in any way see this as a definite privilege. Her faculties were oblivious. Truly, a one-sided friendship. For she was not there for him on his rainy days. Her wallet certainly wasn’t at any rate. Just the same, Jaime was there. He was prepared to be at her most greedy disposal. He did, in fact, make her feel better.

“Call me if you need me,” her handyman said before leaving to return to his other work. She hid in her backyard. She spent the rest of the day at her home. She had four more cold ones, then fell asleep in her deck hammock. Her back-gate was locked, she’d hear them coming. Also, she had her cell phone right with her in case of an emergency.

A couple days later, when she felt safely circumstances had improved, she found herself at the nursery. Her cart was loaded full with plants all in bloom. Now, she was waiting in the checkout line. It was just beside the entrance near the parking space. Her truck was parked closest to the front gate. She kept one eye on it while in line. She met a great sense of calm being among the plants. She cherished them for this very reason. The picture of the ladybugs, the bees, the praying mantises all were very warm and soothing. It was a most wonderful time she was having. It was almost her turn in line. All was very well. Suddenly, through the corner of her eye, a sight disturbed her. A bearded man in jeans and a black tapenade colored vest had his phone out and was aiming it at her truck. She rushed out of line, leaving her cart behind. She swatted his phone out of his hands. The man had a look that said: what are you doing? Mrs. Fade had the very same question for him. She knew they must be the very same stalker. She did see the white SUV a few spots over. She kicked his fallen phone. Hurriedly, she was in her truck and driving away. Luckily, there was no chase this time. She got home and again tarped her truck. Soon after, she was indoors and peering through a small gap between her curtains making sure no one came. Except of course, her handyman whom she especially wanted with her at this point. Mrs. Fade would have him work on her truck under the concealment of the tarp. He’d be over soon enough.

When he arrived, she met him for another hug with quivering arms. She gave him the game plan for the repairs. She found it the perfect excuse to keep him close. Defeating the

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purpose, by guarding outside of the tarped truck, Mrs. Fade looked rather odd. She was shadowing him like she used to do for her husband during transactions at the ATM. Except, her husband hadn’t been concealed so. Jaime didn’t know why it was even necessary to work in this fashion. Neither did she.

To begin, he sanded down the surrounding parts. Next, he moved to the back of his truck to retrieve the correct green paint. He took a multitude of brushes for the job. He masked up, then lifted the tarp so he could carry his supplies in with him. While he worked, she eyed the cul-de-sac entrance making sure no suspicious vehicle drove in. None did. It took him a few hours, but then he was finished. It was indistinguishable exactly where the gash had been. What a great job he had done. Rather than thanking him, she just stared at the tailgate. She wasn’t frowning, so maybe she liked the result of his work. Jaime spoke again of payment, “Do you have cash with you or a check. I’d take either one, I’m not picky so long as I do get paid.” She was a poor woman. “You mustn’t speak of that so often. Lime-aid in the fridge if you want some.” Jaime left in a fume.

As a defense measure, Mrs. Fade kept the upstairs windows uncovered and ajar to alert her of any intrusion during the night. Hasty steps in her driveway woke her. She got up and took her late husband’s golf putter from her bedside. As the bedroom door was locked, she was able to keep her composure. Mrs. Fade peered out the window to see a dim yellow glow occupying the rear of her truck. The pairing of the tarp with the darkness made it hard to tell, but she knew someone was hiding there. Feeling it best to resolve the problem now, she chose to leave the lights off and move towards the driveway. Descending the stairs, she considered taking a back-up weapon in addition to the putter. So, she moved to the kitchen knife holder. Ultimately, she decided against it; chiefly due to it inevitably being a hazard to herself. Her current weapon gave her better range, anyway. Soon, she was in the backyard and then at the gate. As to prevent the gate from creaking, the old woman opened it very methodically. Upon entering the driveway, she saw the light in the same spot beside the tailgate and readied for a fight.

A vehement filing noise muffled Mrs. Fade’s walk to her truck. Once she was beside the figure, she drove the putter into their back. The filing stopped as the figure staggered to the left. “Ouch. That really hurt me, Geraldine!” She pulled the tarp off to see Jaime a little bruised but intact nonetheless. “Oh, you were only working. Good god if I had used my chopping knife. You’re lucky I only had this,” she said holding up her putter. Jaime staggered more, “Yeah, lucky.” “You must go to the hospital. I hit you pretty hard still.” She called the ambulance.

Mrs. Fade explained to the paramedic that it was a terrible miscommunication; that Jaime forgot to tell her he was going to do some touching up with her truck. She thought he had finished. He must’ve missed something. She felt awful. At least, he was getting proper medical attention. She hoped for his speedy recovery. She was grateful though that, as his attacker, she was as frail as she was. With tears in her eyes, she waved her goodbyes to Jaime. Not that she was having a picnic, what with the tarp already sprawled out on the asphalt, but she got a chilled beer. She needed it to cope. All this time she had expected her stalker to have tracked her down and attempted murder. And even with only Jaime being under the tarp, it still hardly made her feel any better. Nothing was resolved.

For therapy, she decided to take an early morning walk around the neighborhood. About four blocks south, she encountered a bald man in a grey gravel colored cardigan and light brown khakis. He was taking a paper down from a telephone post. “May I see that?” Asked Mrs. Fade. Shoving it at her stomach, he said, “I lost my painter! And right before my open house was due too; it was today. Just my luck. My husband and I had desperately tried to snap a picture of this

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one purple. He’d seen it out on the surface streets. If only we’d have gotten it.” This may very well have been the other job Jaime was doing. So sad he was in no condition to complete his job. Had she known he was such a diligent worker and only trying to finish up with her truck, she’d never have struck him. She pocketed the retired announcement. Heading past the man’s driveway she waited for his car to enter it. As it parked, she did a double take, realizing it was a white SUV. Sure enough, the same man she’d seen at the nursery also stepped out and headed towards the front door. She picked up her pace and fled the vicinity.

Upon her return, she carefully picked up the bloodstained tarp and folded it.

How odd; the gash was reinstated from her swing with the club. In fact, it looked even bigger than before the repainting. She pinched the rim of the hole to measure it. The gash had grown to be the size of an Ike dollar. There was glimmer of something metallic on the asphalt under the truck. Looking below the truck, she found two small items. One was a square of sandpaper. The other was a ring of clipped cards, each being a different shade of purple. As she reexamined the card ring, she found black marker x’s on two of the shades. It began to dawn on her what was really going on. She retrieved the folded paper from earlier out of her pocket. Apparently, the gash was between a mauve and a plum and the perfect color for a living room.