Nathan Zackroff is a young writer from Denver Colorado.  He is currently attending school at the University of Clorado in Boulder.  His work has yet to be published outside of local publications but hopes that his writing career will soon take off.  His work is unique and challenging.  He is simple in form, yet digs deeply into the subconscious.  His writing is meant to evoke emotion as if it were knowledge itself.  You can reach him by email at nathanzackroff@yahoo.com or look him up on facebook

Borrowed (August 20, 2010. Issue 20.)

I entered into the town not much later than eight or nine. The streets were empty and the town had the feel of any small Texas town. Angled cars parked on the street, jutting out, showing their taillights. The street lamps seemed outdated and rang with a buzz of electricity. Lined storefronts, windowed and clean; it smelled like rubber and oil, not foul but sweet smelling.

I parked the car in a spot in front of a burger shop. Its inhabitants were contently ingesting their food in red baskets. I smiled at the plainness.

I walked for a while with sweet remembering of my own childhood. I remembered the simplicity of wanting to feel surrounded without being confined. I walked by the small public library and the local pharmacy. A liquor store’s flashing lights invited me in but I denied its attraction. It would have been nice to fill my stomach with scotch but I was already intoxicated with the feel of the night; the lure of the path that seemed to attract me further and further forward. A darkness drawing me deeper into the night’s splendor.

A small store on the corner of the street caught my attention. Its store windows were tall and they leaned over me. The clear glass gave way to stacks and stacks of books.  You couldn’t see past them. You could only read their bindings. The familiar leather flesh of Moby Dick and Heart of Darkness laid in my eyesight.  

“What ya got?” I inquired back playfully. 

He laughed and replied. “You obviously must have missed our sign.” I smiled at this, as did he. “I got a sale on all clothing."

I looked around and spotted a sienna colored suit on the rack behind him. It was hanging like a chain from a gate. I tried it on and it fit flawlessly. 

“That suit was made for you my son.” The man spoke with distinction. I could not argue with him.  In my entire life, clothes had never fit me so well. My skinny body and narrow shoulders always felt uncomfortable in suit jackets; they fell melancholy over my frame, as if they were wet with candle wax. This suit, however, draped me like velvet (even though it was made from cheap polyester). 

“Where did it come from?”

“A man dropped it off no more than a week ago. He asked for a few dollars for it, said he needed it to pay some overdue bills. I usually do not pay for clothing but I could see that he really was stuck. He needed it more than me. It’s only money anyway.” He chuckled showing his teeth for the first time. He wore dentures that did not fit his mouth. They protruded a bit and gave him the feature of looking a bit long faced, even though his smile was somewhat charming and enchanting.

I thought of the man who sold it. Where did he come by this suit? Was it his to began with? I doubted it, this suit had years in it, borrowed many times over. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of it and when I’m done with it I’ll make sure it finds another home.”

“It’s a beautiful suit, it deserves some life. Take it dancing,” he smiled. I smiled.

“Do the shoes come with it?” I asked as I glanced toward a pair of  old worn tassel shoes.  He agreeable nodded as he grabbed them and set them on the counter. “I think I’ll wear this out if you don’t mind?”

“You got someone to impress?” He raised an eyebrow. I raised my eyebrow.

I paid at the counter. The cash register was old and when he typed in the price he did so upon large knobs. It reminded me of a large old typewriter recording all the bought and sold items of the past fifty years. This register had seen many stores purchases, had held many coins and dollar bills. It had true charm, as did the suit, and I knew that the suit would bring me luck in my adventures through the towns and cities of the world.  I wanted to do everything, see everything. Nevertheless, each town only reminded me of something before. Maybe of her. Maybe of the way she made me move and feel. 

The way she led me.  

As I left the store a bell rang overhead. I did not notice it as I walked in but as I left, the tone rang in my head. A single note that played as I wondered farther past town. A single note that I could not dance to. Tassel shoes that I could not puppeteer. A sienna colored suit with more life in it than I had ever had.  A brisk, beautiful night. A small Texas town with allure that bewildered the evening glow of New York City .

I shuffled past Main Street and found myself following a woman leaving a bar.  Her hair flowing behind her as her body pulsed forward. I followed as she walked past a small park. She playfully swung her hips as she moved through the streets. She danced her way home, not intended for my amusement but instead for the beautiful night air, or maybe for the stars above, but not for me.

Homes of all sizes and stature aligned the park. Their front windows draped with curtains of red and yellow. Their doors brown and purple. They all felt the same but each owned individual allure. I watched as she entered one, it had a large window in front with no curtains. The window exhibited the bowels of the home, their large arching ceilings and a living room showing off its’ spacious flooring. 

I watched her as she navigated her house. She would come into the large living area and put on a record. She would sway a little to the music and drink from her glass, then she would leave my sight and disappear into another room. A room I imagined filled with bottles of wine ripe for her picking.

When she reappeared, her face was canvassed with a smile. Either a drunken grin or a pure simper of joy, I could not tell, but it did not matter. Her smile was dwarfing and her happiness emanated through the window and yard that separated us. I was immediately jealous of her and of the way she moved.

My tasseled shoes began to stir and my sienna suit followed. I slowly stepped forward to her pulsing red door. I could sense that it was thick and heavy. When I knocked a low rapture of sound echoed. I could barely hear it myself. I thought of knocking harder but my nerves had tightened. What if she said no? What if my suit betrayed me? What if my tasseled shoes denied to learn how to waltz rather than just walk? Yet, her impression kept me from running, kept me from leaving.   

Again, I pounded at the door, this time more successful in creating sufficiently noticeable sound. I waited nervously but excited. I quickly rubbed the arms of my suit and pulled at the coattail to straighten my jacket. I brushed my thin hair back with my fingers. I wanted to appear at least somewhat handsome, at least not ghoulish.

She opened the door with the glass still in her hand. She stared at me. I did not speak-She did not speak. We both stood at attention waiting to hear something other than our commingled breathes. She looked at me as if she knew who I was and what I was doing there. I couldn’t keep eye contact and looked down at the doormat that read “Travis Texas Bullfrogs,” even though this wasn’t Travis.

“Hello” I whimpered pathetically, gaining enough courage to whisper.

“Can I help you?” she answered in a soft voice that felt like a blanket. 

“Can you….” I stuttered but finished weakly “help me?” she stepped back slightly. Her hand on the door ready to either shut it or lean in to hear what my intention was. She didn’t say anything and she just looked at me with brown blue eyes; a piercing beautiful stare. She took another drink from her glass and smiled pleasantly as it went down. 

“Can you teach me to dance?” I finally prayed. She laughed at the request and I almost turned away to run home like a child embarrassed and wanting only seclusion. I felt like a child. I was scared, innocent, and inexperienced. 

“What makes you think that I can teach you to dance?” she asked playfully, giving me some confidence.

“A hunch,” I whispered back.

“How do you know that my husband isn’t here right now?”

I paused for a moment, “A hunch.” To this she turned her head, and for a moment, she looked as lonely as I did. She then looked back to the hallway behind her and screamed, “I’ll be back in a second honey!” She turned to me seriously, her dwarfing smile now gone.  She raised her brow as if to say You better run along. I stood undaunted.  Undaunted but pleading my feet to not be too heavy if this turned out not to be a ruse.

She stared at me as no one has ever done before, without a movement as though she was made of wax and I was the candle that she so desperately wanted to keep away.  Her expression made me feel self-conscious and I could feel myself sinking slowly in my suit.  Her expression was so stern and apathetic.  I felt stuck in her gaze.

A sudden laugh threw her from wax to silk. She laughed feverishly and I could not help but smile and laugh myself. She opened the door wider inviting me into her home. I entered cautiously into her foyer as she closed the door behind me. She led me into the living room. She moved like chocolate and she smelled of something wonderful, something I could not place. 

I denied with a simple no thank you. She excused herself as she filed back to fill her own glass once again. I studied her living room carefully. The open floors laid with cherry wood. A fireplace framed by brick on the wall. A felted blue couch lay beneath the window. Everything was so neat and clean. 

“You a fan?” she asked as she gracefully entered.

She slid over to me and held out her left arm. I paused unsure of my next action, I was anxious and she was so beautiful. Then she smiled and her teeth drew me. I reached out and grabbed her hand. She motioned closer into me and I felt her heat against my body.  For a moment we did not move. I could feel her eyes upon me but I couldn’t look down at her. We stayed still, frozen in a pose. We stood like nervous wedding cake toppers unsure of whether to model or waltz. Completely still, me in my sienna suit and tasseled shoes and her in a perfect grey dress sewn to adorn her frame.

Her head fell to my shoulder and the air went from my lungs. We begin to shift slightly, slowly we followed the rhythm. She led me and I followed precisely. The music melted us together. My borrowed sienna suit scratching teasingly at her cheek. She was talented and she made me feel so comfortable, so free, so much like the past.

“Where did you learn to dance?” I tongued in her ear.

“My father,” she said sleepily, “and he borrowed it from my mother.”