Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

56 !
The bar TV won’t come back on, try as they might, Mr. Bob fussing with every
aspect of it short of pulling out his toolbox & tearing it open.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” says Americus, as he leaves. “I think it’s that TV show
that was on. The machine got scared.”
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liv.
He hadn’t gone to see the old man’s place in years. Ever? But it mattered. The
band was going on tour & it could be weeks or months returning. Sort of, since they would
be around during shows too. Complicated. Good.
But he knew the street, Harvest Street, where he & Reb & Franny lived too, some
blocks further down. He’d not once in all these years even seen Dr. Arnold T.
Knickerbocker walking down the street to or from Luna T’s.
Yet here was the building, called, oddly, the Iconic. The old man’s mailbox was
unlabelled. He caught the main door as someone was leaving.
Up two flights, yes? Only two apartments on the floor, one had on it what
Americus recalled now for sure from years gone: an obscure symbol for faith below the silver
knocker. He’d looked it up then.
Knock. Knock knock. OK. Now wait.
Movement inside, old man shuffling sounds. Then silence. Then more silence.
“It’s Americus,” he said too loudly. “I’m here to see if you’re OK.”
More old man sounds. Nearer now.
“The band is leaving on tour,” he explains unnecessarily.
Now near the door.
“Chuck said you weren’t around lately. You OK?”
Door latches undoing.
OK then.
The door pulls open as far as a chain will let it, & the darkness inside issues little
report.
“Tell me how you are.”
“Wishing to be alone.”
“Are you sick?”
“It doesn’t matter. These are days beyond reckoning for the mortal lives of men.”
“Can I see you?”
“Not with your eyes.”
“Listen, old man, there are people at the cafe who care a lot about you. My daughter
first among them. I’m not going to let you die some obscure martyr’s death if I can help it.”
A laugh, cold, like an iced black cave.
Americus, now uncertain, backs away from the door a bit. “I can’t make you do
anything. But you do have friends. They’ll take care of you any way they can.”
A long silence. “I know.” A longer silence. “I’m grateful. Sometime later today I will
come along. Thank you.” The door shuts, the locks slide back, an old retreating step fades.