Chapter 1
It was barely October yet the leaves were already transforming into the colors of autumn. Unlike the leaves, Maverick, a routine man without an abode roams the windy streets of Rollers. Every day at noon he takes the tiring hike from whatever shelter offered him a stay the previous night and chooses his favorite bench beside the dilapidated cedar tree. The bench with the green trash can that says recycle and the cracked sidewalk and pile of assorted igneous rocks statically living beside the uncut ferns and grass. Maverick is a man unlike most. To the frequent runners and dog walkers he causes tumult. Everyday they see maverick an uneasiness latches on to them as they try their best to avoid eye contact. His grin doesn’t fit the unanimously negative aura he emits. Something to do with his stringy hair, uncleaned nails, near unwearable rain coat, and every other putrescent feature about him that wouldn’t allow a smile in most.
The sun has stationed itself in the middle of the sky as clouds roll past it. The old frail man sits still musing the few runners, turbid lake, and the nature in general all around him. To him he’s studying every finite detail. To others he’s grinning infinitely at the grass. The Speckles of dew left over from the mornings tendency of condensation. The seemingly injured green squirrel limping surprisingly quickly up the tree with lunch. Even the small glowing fish swimming deep in the cloudy lake. In this state maverick has no peripheral. He sees everything in front and beside him without having to focus on just one thing. Time went by and so did the sun making way for the white crescent in the sky. Maverick takes heed of this and begins to find himself a place to sleep tonight. His body shivers as he walks past the gates that he entered through earlier. He clutches the sleeves of his fragile jacket and jaw; feet dragging weighed down by two heavy boots. After an entire day in the cold he realizes that his rain jacket is not enough to keep him warm for the upcoming months. Now freezing, maverick once again roams the streets of rollers. The brownish glow of the street lights guiding the way. He wanders for hours tentatively choosing which streets to take knowing certain blocks can lead to a calamitous demise. Especially in the vacancy of night for deviants inhabit the streets when regular human’s go inside. Luckily, tonight is safe although Maverick reaches his destination in severe need of heat. His wrinkled hand crunches into a fist and hits the burgundy wooden door 3 times. He tilts his head down and waits tapping his fingers on the railing as he hears footsteps inch closer to the door. His eyes close when it opens hidden underneath his stringy grey hair. When he looks up, almost child like, he sees his son. All grown up and healthy. Dressed in a creme white V-neck and plaid pajamas. His brown hair greasy and messed up, Eyes light brown just like his fathers. Maverick doesn’t have to speak a word. The chagrin in his eyes convey the severity of his needs. A short pause occurs and then a tight hug. Maverick and his son let go quickly as if to retain some sort of pride. “You can… you can sleep in the guest room.” His son says. Maverick nods. “Are you hungry?” Maverick looks at him but before he could say anything he bites his tongue. So quick the taste of copper torrents through his mouth. Then maverick takes a big large gulp to wash it away. Unknowingly his son takes this as a gesture of hunger. “Of course, of course you are. Bella made lasagna last night. It’s fresh we haven’t even put it in the fridge yet.” His son rushes past the entrance into the kitchen. It’s beautiful, granite and stainless steel. You can tell that it’s good material because anything you touch in there is cold. The smooth granite island centered in the middle, the refrigerator, even the electric stove is cold to the touch. Maverick examines the entire room just like he does at his bench every afternoon. Memories rekindling in his mind. Stuck in a reverie, maverick hasn’t noticed how warm he is, for a few minutes ago his jacket wasn’t nearly enough but now it’s nearly too much.
Mavericks son heats the lasagna in the microwave for a minute then slides the steamy pasta over to him. Maverick removes his hands from his jacket, which are now all clammy, and starts at the meal with his fork. A meal so delectable compared to soup he almost forgets how to properly eat. At first he eats like a horse with a fork but as his son continues to stare he snarls “hmph” and smiles a little then decreases his bites from a gallop to a canter.
After he eats, Mavericks son leads him to the guest room. His temporary bed sits graciously congruous to the wooden decor. A queen sized bed covered with Staten 1000 thread count sheets, laid into a meticulously carved wooden bed frame, and shined upon by a dim chandelier. Surely maverick would feel exorbitant laying in that bed for even two minutes, but his son insists. “I know it’s been a long time coming, but to clarify you’re welcome to stay here whenever you want.” Mavericks son leaves the room wearing a gentle smile, retaining a nibble of hope as he returns to his sleeping wife.
