The Wish Belly Part XV
Photo by Cyrus Chew on Unsplash
Shane Kimberlin
The Wish Belly is an original fiction serial. If you missed prior installments, you can catch up at the links below.
By the time I got back Highway Blues was open for business. In the corner, a younger man, dirty blonde hair and no shoes on, played a guitar and sang near-key.
“She rode,” he warbled, “the coal train straight from the breakup station, BUT she texted me about how my songs were lame, then...I re-attached my heart and got back on dating...BUT I still want her, that Nellie.”
A man and woman sat at the corner round table ten feet from the bard.
“You got this, Zeke. Woo,” shouted the woman, filming his performance with her phone.
The man at the table cleaned his glasses, sipped his coffee and stared between his shoes.
Melinda watched the guitarist behind the counter. I sat down on a bar stool.
“Do you think,” she said, “he wrote this song?”
I looked over at the guitarist.
“...And she told me it wasn’t a mark/ it was just the sound of me breaking her heart/ BUT she’s as dangerous as Jurassic Park/ but I still want her, that Nellie.”
I said, “I don’t know. I’m not that big into music.”
“But,” she added, “he was dating a girl. Ellie. She comes in here sometimes. Latte gal. Duh. He changed it. Nellie. Ellie. Lazy. How are you not into music?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “some say math is like music. Coding. That sort of thing.”
“No offense, but that’s not music,” said Melinda, “Music is music.”
The girl shouted, “Get it!”
“Um,” said the guy, “maybe we could hear something a little more upbeat?”
“Nah, nah, it’s fine,” said Zeke, his voice tearing up, “she sucked up a whole lot of time, a whole lot of time...”
“Kelly,” Melinda laughed,
“that’s it. That’s her name. Are those nachos?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go to Gammy Jammy and get Full House Nachos??”
“Yes.”
“Can I-?”
“Yes.”
Melinda opened the box of chips and began nibbling. “Is Leo asleep?” I said. “Yes. A real cat nap. You look pale.”
“It’s cold out.”
“Okay,” she said, like she didn’t believe me.
“Okay,” I said, like I was aware she didn’t believe me. “I have something for you.”
She wiped her hands on her jeans, then grabbed something from under the counter. She handed me two hard, square pieces of thick white paper. Dark blue symbols like hieroglyphics adorned its edges. Bird, star, crown, and door. A few blank lines. On the top left was a logo of a small red boat with words underneath:
JACOB THE FERRYMAN
“‘The Ferryman’?” “Yeah.”
“Are you underwhelmed?”
“Why would I be underwhelmed?”
“Most people are underwhelmed.”
“It’s fine.”
“Did something happen to you?”
“What?”
She grabbed the paperback from me and began writing.
“Confirmation. I gotta sign this,” she said, “with the date and blah blah blah. You look stressed out.”
She wrote the date and her signature on the blank lines. “Here,” she handed them back, “It’s the second part of the process. The first is the ticket, and that paper, which is rare. Then my signature, which verifies. You look like you have a question.” Zeke, the corner raconteur, spoke:
“You want upbeat, Raj? I can give ya upbeat. Here’s a new one I wrote.”
He began singing, “Nellie, oh Nellie, let’s call it a day/ your sunshine ain’t no sunshine, your face is a death ray...”
“Whoop whoop,” whooped the woman.
“Guys,” said the guy named Raj, “she still comes in here sometimes. Like, daily, really.”
“Your death ray fun ain’t nothing but a gun,” screamed Zeke now, feeding off his friend’s nervousness, “filled with bullets you shot one by one.”
“Well, what is it?” said Melinda.
“Who is Jacob?”
“I have no idea. We’ve never met. He’s from...Oregon, I think?”
“Oregon?”
I laughed.
“Is that funny?”
“It’s just so normal. Not like a ghost spirit thing or some other fantastical thing. How does he know you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“You actually don’t,” she countered, “you guys are supposed to leave really soon. You should go wake up Leo. Uh oh.”
A woman walked through the door. She was blonde and in her early twenties. She looked mad.
“And so you took my ambition/ threw it straight through the kitchen/ so I’m just licking up/ all these wounds of you, Nellie.”
“Is that...?” I said.
“Oh yeah.”
Zeke looked up from his guitar. The woman was walking towards him.
“We shall overcome,” Zeke began singing with his eyes closed, “We shall overcome...”
“Oh no,” said Melinda, “he’s doing music faces now. They look like they’re misfiring neurons. They think they look cool. But they don’t. Why do I do these open mics?”
“Zeke,” said Kelly, “Zeke.”
Zeke opened his eyes. “Give me the mic, Zeke.” Just then, Leo the cat walked out.
“What is going on?” said the cat to both Melinda and me.
“Other people are here, kitty,” said Melinda, “but you’re fine for now.”
Leo looked over at the growing open mic situation.
“Is kerfuffle soon?”
Zeke now was away from the microphone, guitar in hand, talking to Kelly.
“Kerfuffle is soon,” replied Melinda, “but you guys need to go see the boatman now. Your journey awaits. He’ll be meeting you in less than an hour.”
Kelly now stood at the microphone stand with the guitar.
“I’m going to recite a few poem titles to all of you,” said Kelly to the couple.
“It’s called,” she continued, now staring at Zeke, “Don’t use my money to invest in pyramid schemes.”
Leo said, “How was the rest of your walk?” “It’s called,” said Kelly,
“’Don’t tell me my sister sometimes looks cuter than me.’”
“He said it was fine but I think he’s lying,” smiled Melinda.
“It wasn’t great.”
Leo furrowed his brow. “How was it not great? “It’s called,” yelled Kelly at Zeke, “’You said you wrote a song for me but it was really for your last three ex-girlfriends.’”
I took out the bill of hundreds.
“Money?” said Leo.
“That is money,” said Melinda.
“And it’s called,” Kelly said in a biting monotone, “‘You have no ambition and even less in the way of originality.”
“That’s a lot of money,” said Melinda.
Zeke sat with his friends. All three were quiet. Kelly kept shouting out titles to poems she hadn’t yet conjured, from memories that caused Zeke to blush and grimace.
“Hey Kelly,” said the guy at the table, “I think we’re gonna bounce but, uh, let’s meet up later for drinks?”
“Sure, Raj, Diane,” said Kelly, “and you’re dead to me, Zeke. I’m done, too. Coming with you guys.”
And with that, Kelly walked out with her two friends and left Zeke alone, with his guitar, at the table.
“So,” Melinda said to me, “what really happened on your walk?”
Wish Belly Installments:
