(photo courtesy las - initially)
I must confess, I have stolen many things in my lifetime: mostly books or little things I thought no one would notice, sometimes because I really wanted the object but other times because I wanted to keep a little bit of that person or place with me or I felt that something was owed to me. Also, I have probably stolen many ideas that I am unaware of (because usually, I like to ask for permission. Intellectual property is a whole ‘nother thing.) The objects I stole rarely give me as much pleasure as I imagined.
Did you ever take anything that didn’t belong to you? Why did you do it?
*
The front door is unlocked. Inside the apartment, the only light comes from the television illuminating the white sheet draped over Victor’s thin body.
Wayne tiptoes forward and nearly screams when he discovers Victor’s eyes open, looking right at him.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Shit, you scared me. You forgot to lock the door.”
“O. Oops.” Victor sits up, grabs the remote, pushes mute. “What time is it?”
“About 2:30.”
“It’s late.” Wayne is tired and drunk but he lingers in the room, glad for the company.
Victor asks, “Did you have a good time?”
Is there a hint of reproach in that voice? This is the first time Wayne has gone out at night since Victor moved in. He sits down on the cushion still warm from Victor’s legs. He kicks off his loafers. “What’re you watching?”
“Nothing.” Warm air flows in the open window. The sound of the fountain in the courtyard shushes up from below. Victor’s chest is bare and hairless under the sheet. Like a child’s, thinks Wayne. He takes off his watch and his cufflinks, empties his pockets into the little enamel tray on the coffee table. These gestures feel so intimate: the daily loosening of bands, shedding of small burdens. He leans his head back against the sofa and closes his eyes. “I’m tired.”
Victor rolls toward him. “Me too.”
Wayne leans forward to kiss him on the forehead, but Victor tilts his head up at the last moment to catch it on his lips. Wayne gives the lips a peck and ruffles Victor’s hair. “Goodnight,” he smiles, and retreats to his room.
In bed, Wayne feels his world wrap around him, soft as a sheet.
*
With the help of his eye mask, earplugs, and heavy curtains drawn tight, Wayne manages to hold onto sleep until past eleven when he finally opens his eyes to the ceiling and lays there scratching and listening for noises in the apartment beyond to tell him what Victor is doing.
In the bathroom, he sees the sticky note is pressed against the medicine cabinet mirror: Trucks fixed so I’m off. Probably down south where its hot and the girls are hotter! Take some jobs away from those Mexicans for a change, ha ha! I’m not so great at all this so I’ll just write it instead. I’ll never forget what you did for me.
It’s signed V, Vic, aka Victor, nice and neat, in three-dimensional block letters that end with arrow tips that point up like rockets.
Wayne carries the note out to the living room where the sheets and blanket are folded in neat squares on top of the sofa’s armrest. He unfurls the sheet, wraps it around himself, and buries his face in the pillow. An hour later, he finally pulls himself off the sofa to discover the missing items:
the first six chapters of The Actor which he had hidden in the top drawer of his desk;
the contents of the little enamel tray on the coffee table, checkbook and wallet with his driver’s license and credit cards;
his father’s tortoiseshell glasses;
his file of personal records.
Everything a person would need to assume his identity.
More than enough to make it easy.
Easy to buy some food and fill the gas tank and convince the bank tellers at various different branches on the way out of town to hand over all the money in Wayne’s accounts.
*
I bet those of you who have been reading What Would Water Do saw this coming. Are you disappointed?
wasn’t surprised, never did like that kid and couldn’t believe wayne was sucked in. sorry for wayne, but really.
Maybe when I revise (again) (againagainagain), I’ll try to make him a bit more likable.
When I was about ten, I was in the corner shop with some friends. We were walking up and down the candy aisle, looking at all the treats, trying to decide. Since it was cold outside, we kept putting our hands back in our pockets. After a few minutes the owner came thundering up, accusing us of theft. He made us turn out our pockets (all empty). I remember how grateful I was that they WERE empty, how awful it would have been to be caught doing something wrong.
He scared me straight. I’ve never stolen so much as a stick of gum in all my life. And I always report income on my taxes, even in an industry where under-the-table dealings were very common. Oh, I’m a good girl.
Wow. I’ve never met a good girl before. And you’re so normal!
I bet that guy felt like such a jerk. I mean, really- poor kids!
Don’t tell me !! I’m late finding yoou and your novel. I haven’t read it yet so I can’t read this chapter or the comments. I’d better get down to business, find some time and read the whole thing.
Don’t worry- I won’t be testing you.
Ouch! I thought the worst of Victor at first, when he used trickery to get into Wayne’s building, but as the story went on I really thought he was just some lost soul. You sucked me in on that. Still it doesn’t surprise me too much.
The local grocery store has sold me enough overripe grapes and old lunch meat, that I always check dates now, and I didn’t feel bad the time they forgot to ring up the bananas. But no, I was raised that if you got too much change back you went back and returned it. Not that I’m perfectly honest-far from it.
Somedays I’d like to go back to the “glory” days of young adulthood, steal some hearts that weren’t much good anyway, and break them, just to break them.
Made me sad.
Yes, it is sad. All the shit’s hitting the fan now. Thank you for reading.
I didn’t see it coming, rarely project when I am reading, prefer being in the moment, on the page, but I am not surprised.
Once, in the grocery store, they put a loaf of rye bread in the bag that wasn’t mine and I didn’t say anything. In high school for a while, we were doing a thing trying to steal other girls’ boyfriends. I did it twice. Karma is a bitch.
Yum. Rye bread. Does it taste better or worse if you didn’t pay?
And I’d like to hear more about that last bit. Maybe you’ll write a story.