The Tin Cowboy

[MalReynolds]

My first cognizant thought was immediately after paying the taxi driver what looked to be a twenty dollar bill. He was grinning, but I didn’t think to look at the fare meter before he peeled away.

The thought was, “I hope I tipped him.”

I’ve had thoughts before that moment, but none that I can recall. I’ve had memories, to be sure, but none that I can remember. What I assumed was the primordial sensation of panic set in as I realized that I had no idea who I am, or where I am, or just quite what I was doing ‘here,’ wherever ‘here’ actually is.

I took a deep breath in. It was cold - I knew that much - I could see my breath, and my lungs ached from the acrimonious air. I ran my hands down my back to my jeans and felt for the homely lump of a wallet. The wallet looked like cracked leather, like it had been run through an industrial washer a few times. I opened it, but there was no license. There were just a couple of bills, but nothing less than a twenty.

I inhaled again, my lungs either getting accustomed to the cold, or numbing. In front of me was a building, cold and steel stretching up into the sky. There were a few more scattered down the block in both directions. I stared towards where I thought the top would be if I could see the roof, but the building disappeared into a haze before succumbing to the night sky. A snowflake drifted down onto the ground in front of my feet and I watched it melt, pool, and I stared as the puddle grew larger when more flakes fell near my feet.

My next cognizant thought was, “I have some nice shoes.”

I heard a door opening behind me, so I turned to look. I had been dropped off in front of a sign that simply read, “Westing College,” with no other marker, not even an establishing date. It’s an old sign and doesn’t at all fit with the buildings that surrounded it. It was old fashioned, compared to the industrialized monstrosities that rose up at every turn. The building the sign announced was equally as antiquated. It looked like it might have been made out of brick, but my night vision was failing me and all I could really see was the light coming from the open door.

My arm began to grow sore, and it was then I realized I was carrying a tennis bag, slung over my shoulder. I tried to open it, but the zipper stuck halfway through. Another odd sensation, this time of familiarity, crept into my head and I had the uncanny feeling that this exact thing had happened to me before. No, not with Westing College, but with the stubborn zipper on the tennis bag. I shut my eyes and inhaled sharply, taking the zipper back down the track before running it to the opposite end as quickly as I could, and lo, the zipper jumped the snag in the middle.

Inside were clothes, but nothing descript. A few white shirts, a few blue shirts, a pair of pants, socks, boxers, a notepad, pens, and another stack of money. The stack had nothing less than a twenty in it.

Third cognizant thought was, “I’m loaded.”

But then again, what’s money without purpose.

There were people still filing into the building behind me. They looked as old as I felt and my feet, in their black Sunday shoes, marched across the lawn to the building. I almost fell twice on the wet grass, surely making an idiot of myself for whoever was watching. My coat was tight around my body, limiting both my balance and my stride, so I walked in a short waddle to the door where a young woman held the door open for me. I nodded, tipped an invisible hat, and stepped inside. There was a crotchety old woman sitting at what I assume was the front desk, checking the ID badges of people as they came through.

I stood back and watched as her hawk eyes darted back and forth between the visitors entering and jotting things down quickly on a clip board. Well, wherever I was supposed to be, maybe it wasn’t in this building.

Then I felt the hand on my shoulder and I turned my attention to the phantom that was next to me. It was the blonde girl that held the door open for me. She took a step ahead and turned, motioning for me to walk with her.

“Liza and guest.”

The old woman stared up.

“You got ID, son?”

“I left it in my other pants.”

The old woman huffed and puffed up a storm before turning and looking at ‘Liza’ and motioning us through.

We ran up a short set of stairs when she spun and looked at me. “You can thank me later.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” I said blankly, before turning and walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

I wandered the hallways for ten minutes looking for some kind of marker, any kind of indication that I was supposed to be here when I saw the hint of recognition in the eyes of a complete stranger who was standing in front of a door. He looked puzzled as if having an internal battle, one side trying to remember who I was, the other side trying to forget.

His memory won out and raised their flag over the castle.

The young adult approached me cautiously. “Uh… Tim, right?”

Tim. Tim. Tim.

Tim. Doesn’t ring a bell.

“Yup. How are you,” I glanced down at his ID badge, “Dylan?”

“I’m alright. I didn’t expect to see you for a while. I mean, I know it was an open invitation –“

“Yeah.”

“But uh, you know, I didn’t really expect you to cash in on it.”

“Oh. Sorry about that, I didn’t know you –“

“No, it’s cool, it’s cool. I mean, you can stay here, but you know how the City is. Security says you have to stay in a group dorm… Or, you know, the street.”

“Right.”

“It’s down the hall, but I guess I could introduce you around. We have a few minutes before the Night Scan starts, so... I guess you could meet some of my friends, then.”

He turned and motioned at an arrow sign that simply read, “Rec” before stopping and looking at me. “This is pretty surreal, man.”

“How so?”

Dylan didn’t skip a beat. Maybe it wasn’t so surreal after all. “It’s nothing. It’s good to see you. How’s your family?”

I’m drawing a blank.

“Fine, you know.”

He stared blankly. “You sure?”

“Not really. It feels like I haven’t spoken to them in forever.”

Dylan laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “Rec room is right down here.”

I followed him down the dingy hallway, through a door, up one flight of concrete stairs and through another door labeled “Rec Center.” The labeling in the building was terribly clever.

The door was old and wooden and it seemed to stick as Dylan tried to open it. Inside, there was a pool table, what looked like a serving line for food, a dozen or so regular tables and other items scattered through the room, which is almost barren in population.

In the opposite corner of a the room were a few beat up couches with male and female pairs taking up singular seats and gorging on each others faces.

Cute.

Dylan led me to the nearest table where there were a few people sitting around or lost in thought.

I pulled a chair out, set my bag down and took my coat off, putting it on the back of the seat before sitting and fiddling uncomfortably with my scarf.

I began to note everything, keeping it casual in my mind so I could write it down later, in case my memory decided to skip town again.

-

Dylan pointed to one of the readers, “This is George.” George had his nose stuck in a magazine and merely looked up, not bothering to move his head..

“Hey man,” he said, reaching across and taking my hand.

“Tim,” I said. On the cover of the magazine was some video game. I could barely make out the title from my vantage point, his massive hands concealing most of the cover. “You like Biohazard, George?”

”God, I love it. If they had a course in playing the game at Westing… You play?”

“Sure do.”

“Have the new one yet?”

“No.”

“It’s pretty sick. I’ve got a sweet setup in my room with a plasma TV and surround sound… Well, as surround as you can get in a shoe box, right? You gotta stop I and see some of the stuff they put in the game. You won’t sleep at night for a week.”

“He’s not lying,” Dylan said, looking at George. “He’s stayed up the past two nights. Keeps falling asleep in class. But, moving right along, this is Sam.” He gestured to the other bookworm who had their nose stuck in a dissertation of the King James Bible.

Sam moved her head up from the book and I was surprised to find a soft, female face behind the masculine name. I must have looked shocked, because she spoke.

“Short for Samantha,” she said quickly, turning her attention back to the book.

“She’s not social with many people, so don’t worry. Right next to her,” Dylan pointed to a man who was sitting awkwardly on his chair, resting his arms on the back, “This galoof staring at the pool table waiting to hustle someone is Tyler.”

He looked up at me. His hair was short, brown, and ugly. “You play pool? I suck at it.”

“No.” I paused and wondered if I was funny or quick witted. “Work on your hustle.”

Tyler laughed. “I don’t want to work on my hustle. Sam doesn’t like me gambling.”

“You and Sam –“

“Two years, yeah. So, do you really not play pool?”

“I play Poker. What kind of satisfaction do you get out of hustling people if you can’t get their money?”

“Pride is a sin,” Sam said, “But I don’t mind as long as he’s mindful. Besides,” She looked up from the book, “He’s cute when he gloats.”

“I’m cute,” he said as the door in the back opened. Tyler jumped up and ran across the room to the strangers, motioning to the pool table. There was some shrugging and general acceptance before the group moved over to the table..

“And finally, this little lady over here is Liza.”

The odds, I thought, were staggering. It was the very same that had held the door and helped me into the house unharmed.


I extended my hand, “Hey there, I’m Tim.”

“Right. We’ve met briefly.”

“Oh, right. Well… Thanks for getting me in. It was cold and snowy out there. You were a gentleman, holding the door like that.”

She smiled. “No problem. Ms. Tinsley is a beast when it comes to checking ID badges. You have to be careful around her or else you’re going to be spending your night on the street. Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Where’d you pick this guy up, Dylan?” Sam said, setting her book down.

I crossed my legs.

“He was at a party up North over break and he seemed nice, so I gave him an invite. I said if he was ever in the area, he could crash here.”

“Westing College,” I said.

“Westing College,” Dylan said.

The pool balls clattered behind me as a voice came on over a loudspeaker.

“Attention, ladies and gentleman, the Night Scan will commence in ten minutes. All unauthorized personnel will be escorted off the premises if not in place by Night Scan. Thank you.”

“Alright, Tim, we can chat more tomorrow. We gotta get you to the guest dorm, otherwise you’re going to freeze in the cold tonight, bud.” Dylan led the way.

Sam kissed Tyler and they left through separate exits. George followed Dylan, and I waited for Liza.

“My name’s not really Liza,” she said, standing and grabbing my coat. She helped me into it and patted my back.

“Well, what is it?”

“Before I tell you,” she said, making her way to the door, “You should know that I picked ‘Liza’ because I like it better than my real name.”

“Noted.”

“Okay, don’t make fun… It’s Ohm.”

“Ohm? Like the Gregorian Chant? Ohm, Ohm, Ohmmm.”

“Come on, I said not to make fun...”

“Did your parents hate you?”

She turned and smiled, but didn’t say anything.

“Is it alright if I call you Ohm?”

“I prefer Liza.”

“I like Ohm more. It makes you special, you know?”

She laughed, and walked down the stairs. “I have to go. Women’s dorm is in the building across the quad, but I’m sure I’ll see you around if you’re hanging out with Dylan.”

I felt nervous and caught myself staring at her, but she was staring right back. She smiled, nodded, and moved down the stairs towards the first floor exit. Dylan outside of what I assumed was his dorm room, the room I had first seen him standing outside of.

“Liza and I kind of had a thing,” he said, moving down the hall and motioning for me to follow. “She’s nice and all, but I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

I sighed. By this time, I had gained about fifty or so rational, cognizant thoughts, but none of them were along the lines of, “I like Ohm in a way more than casual acquaintances would.”

However, one of them was, “I would like to take Sam and sin with her.”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, Dylan.”

“I just thought I’d give you a heads up. So, are you just passing through?”

He kept walking down to the end of the hall and through a set of doors. They swung and almost clipped me, but there was another hall just beyond, equally as bleak and long with wooden doors set in the side.

“I don’t really know.”

“Well, I can get you a guest pass for ten days, but there are places renting out all along the strip if you really need a place to crash.”

I thought about the load of cash in my tennis bag. “Sounds good. Where are the guest dorms?”

“Right through here.”

He motioned towards a solid steel door with a touch pad. He entered a few digits, the door buzzed, clicked and swung open.

Inside was almost unbearably bright. I counted six uncovered fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The room itself wasn’t quite a room, moreover a short hallway that dead ended. There were about twenty beds that lined either side of the hallway, and all forty were currently occupied. There were people lying in between the beds on discarded blankets.

“Some people sell guest passes to vagrants. You know how the police have gotten since the riots. If you’re on the street, you can’t sleep or else you know, you might wake up dead.”

“Right.”

“If you’re violent enough, I’m sure you could get a bed.”

I clutched the bag at my side. “No, it’s alright. I see a spot on the floor.”

Dylan looked me over. “Was Liza making eyes at you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she stare at you?”

“Kind of.”

He sighed and his face flushed. “Anyways, I figure you and I could get some breakfast at The Center tomorrow before I have to go to class. You an early riser?”

“I can be.”

“Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

At this point I was getting goddamned annoyed at all the people clapping me on the back, but Dylan did it once more before stepping out. I made my way past the sleeping bodies, past the occupied beds to one of the corners. I put my bag down and laid my head on it. I reached inside for the pad and paper and jotted down a few quick notes.

“Sam isn’t friendly.

“George is too friendly.

“Tyler is thick.

“Liza is pretty.

“Dylan doesn’t want me here.”

I put the pad away as I heard the door buzz and click, thinking it might be Dylan coming back to say something else. Instead, it was a lanky man wearing a tattered grey coat. He had short hair that was bright red, that waived and moved as he walked. The student that sold him the pass did everything short of shoving him onto the ground before leaving, but the vagrant started moaning and crying.

“Anyone want to cuddle? ANYONE want to CUDDLE? I’m so soft…”

I was scared. When I was around Dylan and Company, I almost forgot how cloudy my memory was. Nothing mattered but the moment, and now I was locked in a room with twenty plus homeless, smelly vagrants.

I didn’t smell bad, but I was a vagrant, I suppose.

The masses exhaled as my eyes began to droop.

I could have used a warm shoulder, but all I could think about was how truly lost I was.