Tribute Ch. 02

Note: No vivid sexual scenes will be described in this story.

Dear Elmo,

Whether you are real or not, I cannot comprehend. Every day I consider what you think about—what your opinion is of something. The lines between your being real or imaginary are nearly invisible.

I sit here on my porch (yes, I moved), writing in this journal. I have decided that since you are in my thoughts so often, I may as well try some tricks to keeping you from overwhelming them like you have. Besides, I hope that through this I will get some closure from this unseen relationship I am lost in.

Nearly four months ago I moved to an incredibly small country home. I actually live on the backside of nearly fifty acres owned by someone else. They needed to either rent or sell, acreage or this house, and they chose the latter because the former meant too much to them.

Esquivo thrives in the space offered. I still have to keep a long line on him, or put him on a chain when I leave; since he is still the run and kill chickens type. Let's just say this is not the first farm we have both lived on.

As of this moment Esquivo is sleeping under the porch pit he has created from the dirt, giving him a nice cool place as the sun rests above us in its unseen cradle in the sky.

I am writing in my journal while on my porch (as I mentioned before), and as usual, am thinking of you. There is so much I want to ask you. I wish I knew more about you, even though a part of me feels like it knows everything about you.

It is here (in this journal), that I hope to fulfill these desires of mine. I am going to write to you, even if you cannot ever reply. No different than a spouse, or friend, would to a soldier in a faraway battle.

My pen stilled over the beginning of a blank line. What should I ask first? This hesitancy seemed ludicrous since my letters were never going to be answered, but hesitant I was.

What is your favorite place to visit when too many irritations get to you? Or what place do you enjoy visiting when you want to be alone and away from everybody else?

After that I didn't let my thoughts interrupt what I wrote. I tried to keep my mind from what I asked because I didn't need a reminder that all this was for naught anyway.

By the time the sun had dipped several degrees in the sky, I had filled seven pages of my questions and replies of my own preferences. Setting my pen atop the now closed journal I reached for my water bottle to take a sip of the cool liquid.

How desperately sad this probably was. I barely shook my head in disagreement with my thought as I walked back inside the house. Esquivo was tied out so I was safe to wander inside for a while. Thankfully it was a Saturday so I had the day to myself.

My college classes had ended a month ago. I was still unemployed, even with my many internships and charity activities. Personally, I did the charity for my own pleasure, so if it wasn't considered for employment—I didn't mind. It would be like the hobby of writing stories on the side; nothing business about it. I had made an agreement with the owner to use a section eight housing waiver since money wasn't coming in. I couldn't wait until it was.

Absently I stacked the sheet music I had been writing out earlier. Another hobby I enjoyed to the fullest.

My degree was a dual one, in graphic design and paralegal studies. I took some minors in marketing too. Did I like any of them? Not at all. I did what I was 'supposed' to. My skills lie in music and writing. A career is substantially slim in such areas in these times though, which is why I did what I should and not what I wanted. I'm still unemployed though.

"Hello?!"

My mind cleared as I turned to walk back out to my porch. Before the steps to the porch stood my landlord, of sorts; he was an older farmer. His wife would occasionally visit with me for some tea, or send him out to bring me something she would make. Above all, these were probably some of the nicest people I had ever met. I wished I could return the many favors they offered me. Someday I hoped I could.

"Good day, what do you need?" I asked kindly. While saying this I glanced over the railing of the steps to see Esquivo still slumbering in the cool dirt. What a watch dog.

"Ah, I hope it isn't too much to ask..." Mr. Jameson started slowly; apparently uncomfortable about the proposition he had yet to say. "This house, would you be willing to share a floor with someone?"

"Yes. Is there not enough money coming in?" I asked wincing slightly at the possible reply.

"Oh, no. Money isn't the issue," he said reassuringly. He seemed sincere, so I relaxed a little. "No, it's one of our grandkids. They aren't getting along well with their siblings, so Marjorie and I offered to take one of them on if needed. They are all about your age, and if one of them accepts, we were wondering if you would be okay with a roommate."

Him and his wife were my land holders, of which I had yet to show them any coinage, and they were asking if I minded having a roommate in their house. I ran this through my mind as I was again thankful for meeting such people.

"Yeah, it's no problem at all. I will clear some space just in case one of them does come to live here."

"Alright, thank you," he said with a glance towards the sky.

"Thank you too, for asking my opinion."

"You're welcome," he scrunched the corner of his mouth, "it looks like it is going to rain today."

I looked up at the sunny sky. I knew better than to scoff. Farmers saw things that I would never see. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up. I've got some things to put away first. Have a good day Mr. Jameson. Say hello to your wife for me."

"Goodbye"

I looked for Esquivo, who I was mostly checking to be sure he didn't die from the lack of cool air, and to check that water was still available for him too.

Walking back inside, I mentally checked off what had to be cleared and cleaned for the possible guest.

----------------------------------

With Esquivo on a long line, I jogged the fence line of the dairy cows pasture. Sure the smell could be more pleasant, the bugs zigzagged clashes against my body too frequent. But the path wasn't hard on my feet, and the company wasn't bad. After the first few times, the younger heifers stopped bolting at me running by.

I had so little to pack after receiving the news about the possible guest. I packed nearly everything, just in case the person had a preference of upstairs or downstairs. So far we were nearing the two week border without any word back.

Today I had filled out too many employment applications. When I got a call back I couldn't remember applying for them. I didn't get the job, so it didn't matter too much.

There is an interview set up later in the week for postal delivery within an office complex. I tried looking at it in a positive light, but it still was not my gold nugget in a stream. Even so, if the job was mine I would do my best.

Esquivo jogged ahead of me on the line, keeping a uniform pace. My French braided pony tail occasionally brushed my shoulders if I had to slow to detour or leap an obstacle. Even with any and all distractions—Elmo came to mind.

I'd written a letter to him every day since I had started at the first of spring. I kept asking little questions, his biggest dislike, or his favorite color. My odd approach seemed to be working. Aside from the moment, he wasn't hijacking my every thought.

While nearing the end of my run, I saw the headlights of the Jameson's truck through the trees at the very end of the four mile driveway. I popped across the grounds with Esquivo still partially leading, to get back to our place. Not too far from the house I slowed to a walk, taking Esquivo to any small plant, shrub, or tree he felt the need to try and pee on.

I insist we go inside when I had stood still with him for more than five minutes, eventually realizing I had been standing with him for more than five minutes. He loved being outside, free of any restraints. But if this kept him alive, safe, and somewhat happy—I would try to do my best.

A warm breeze changed its paces, shifting the shirt I wore. My back felt mildly damp. I slapped the exposed flesh on my calf while standing on the other leg. Dang mosquitos; prey on one who has slowed enough to be eaten at.

It was late eight as I tied Esquivo out. I knew I would be out again, I just didn't realize how soon. I had made it to the kitchen sink for a cup of water when the honk from the Jameson truck was heard. Esquivo's shrill yodeling howl echoed back into the house.

I set the glass down before heading to the screen door in time to hold that open for Mr. Jameson and the guest.

"We're sorry for the late interruption, but the flight was delayed and we weren't sure if he would be coming in tonight."

Right behind Mr. Jameson was a man who looked young, possibly younger than me, and somehow familiar too. He was Mr. Jameson's grandson. He gave a small smile while giving a nod in thanks, I assumed, and I returned the gesture. They both carried four bags of medium size, their flight tags bright against the black fabric.

I still held open the door when Mr. Jameson motioned for me to close it. "This is all that he has brought."

"Okay," I replied before slipping out to bring Esquivo in. He was sure to do a howl-growl at me in reprimand for being so careless as to leave him on a long line when something interesting was obviously going on in there.

I held Esquivo's collar when walking in. I didn't want to surprise the guest. "Do you mind dogs?"

The man was looking around, his back to me when I asked.

I almost repeat myself when Mr. Jameson spoke up. "Beauregard is deaf. I should have mentioned that to you too, but I didn't know who would be coming."

"It's okay Mr. Jameson," I approached a good space away in Beauregard's peripheral vision. "Do you mind dogs?"

Beauregard came closer with a hand extended, which Esquivo licked out of regularity versus personal choice. He gave me a questioning look. I repeat what I had asked, more slowly, even though Esquivo was still licking the guy's hand and Beauregard wasn't turning into a puddle of tears over it.

His eyes crinkled as the corner of his mouth quirked up. He then shook his head while kneeling down to pet Esquivo, who I released already. He really does seem very familiar. Beauregard then looked back up at me questioningly. Absently he began signing his thought or question before remembering I was unskilled.

"Oh," I held up a hand as I found a piece of paper and a pen, "Esquivo. It's Spanish for "shy", which he clearly isn't."

Beauregard grinned while Esquivo soaked up the affection.

My head felt like it was beginning to spin. No need to think of Elmo right now. But that is it, he reminds me of Elmo, and I don't know why. It could be just his smile.

"Good night, I will let you both get settled. I'll be by around noon to show him around the farm, and he knows that too."

"Alright, good night Mr. Jameson"

When I turned back to Esquivo and Beauregard, he was watching me. His gaze seemed odd to me, but I was already out of it to think he remind me of Elmo—so I couldn't even have a clue. "Do you want the upstairs or downstairs?"

Beauregard smiled again and held up both hands, finger tips scrunched and touching to draw them apart slowly.

"I'm sorry," I replied while kicking myself inwardly for being such a nervous idiot around strangers. I repeat the question, to which he shrugged and made an unsure decision. I waved him to follow me as I showed him the rooms. Esquivo followed along.

After the tour was over he decided on the downstairs portion, if I didn't mind. I began moving my stuff upstairs, which Beauregard helped me with. Once everything was moved I turned to thank him.

He was watching me again. Maybe I looked as forgetfully familiar as he was with me. I went ahead and thanked him. He then made a gesture toward one of my hands before grasping one gently. He smoothed my hand flat and gestured with his own. He mouthed "thank you" to help me understand.

"Ah" I replied while following his lead. He smiled again, which was still causing my brain to melt slightly in frustration. I know he wanted to say more because his hands began moving before he thought to stop them. I felt bad for my lack of understanding.

I pulled out my cell phone to go to a text message, just in case he wanted to try that way. Beauregard did and typed out "do I mind having a piano in the place?"

An incredulous look appeared on my face as I replied that I didn't.

We part ways there, saying good night, with Esquivo lying dignified in an upright position with his front feet crossed atop the upstairs bed.

I had the uncanny feeling that no matter whom Beauregard was; we would probably get along pretty well.

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