The Thief | Samuel K Wilkes
“Will you get me some cigarettes?” Mallory cried out.
She eyed Bobby as he searched for his shoes throughout the cluttered trailer. She knew he heard her. Yet he continued stomping on the backs of his heels, sending shock waves through the frame of their fragile mobile home.
“What’s today?” he looked up as if to find the answer.
“Did you hear me? Cigarettes?”
“Is it 4-20?”
“Try a week ago. Remember we went to Cy’s.”
“Cy’s—no wonder I don’t remember,” Bobby winked and flashed a joker smile.
“Go on now.”
He stopped, “What the hell's crawled up your ass all a sudden?”
“Aint nothing new. No reason to get all excited now. Did you hear me about the cigarettes?”
“I heard you. Damn it’s like your mood changes with the clouds,” he cussed, looking out the dusty window.
The sky darkened as if the gods were covering Tuscaloosa with a violet blanket. Mallory simply stared at the broken television set, all the working parts long since pawned for quick cash. Surprisingly they still owned a working radio, whereby Hendrix began pounding out his soul stirring version of All Along the Watchtower.
“Getting ugly out there,” Bobby said, scratching his forearm.
“You get now before the bottom drops.”
“I need my other shoe.”
“Bobby, listen to me, don’t get us stuck here during a damn storm not being able to get high.”
“Help me look then!”
Every corner of the double wide was littered with refuse and old clothes. The sink held weeks of dishes and green noodles. No mystery that a shoe could go missing.
“Just go barefooted.”
“They aint gonna let me in the drug store with one shoe on.”
Thunder tumbled across the Black Warrior River, sending a sense of urgency into the thin walls of the trailer. Mallory stood up to look. She coughed deeply and pulled up her pink sweat pants that sagged on her withering frame. Bobby eyed her as she moved, looking for the woman he used to know, her beauty taken away by their daily use. Now a thirty year old going on sixty. A young vibrant soul hardened into a dense prickly shell.
“I got it,” he yelped.
She dropped a box from her hands, “I knew you’d find it as soon as I got my ass up. Now hurry and get on back so we can start cooking the stuff. It’s getting near five, you’re gonna get stuck in all the business traffic.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, pausing near the hallway as if listening to a voice in his ear. “Mallory, I thought we were gonna stop all this. And get clean for my kid—hell, for us.”
She tried to hold back the annoyed look growing on her face, all the while knowing he was right.
He continued, “I didn’t tell you, but I left him at my sister’s the other day when we were getting high. Completely forgot. She didn’t know what to tell him. Plus, you know, cooking in this trailer with him here, you know, you hear so many stories of explosions and—”
“Alright, alright, Bobby. Good God! Just stop. You’re right—but just stop. We will. We are, I mean. Just not today. There’s always tomorrow. I promise we’ll really start tomorrow. Really! Not today though. Today will be the last. Ok?”
He nodded as he always had done, growing accustomed to looking forward to tomorrow.
“Now, seriously, run on.”
“Alright! Let’s do this,” he perked up a little, grabbing his keys, as if something inside him slapped his soul with motivation.
Bobby opened the trailer to the wind as a siren swirled miles away near the college campus.
“Did you need anything while I’m out?” he asked, again displaying his joker smile.
“Really!” she exhaled, throwing her empty cup of box wine as he slammed the door laughing. “I swear, that man’s gonna be the death of me.”
Jimi’s guitar continued to howl and scream in the cluttered confines of the trailer. The drums pounded with the thunder. Mallory waited briefly, then lit her last cigarette, having faith that Bobby would return with her order. She exhaled smoke into the window as she craned her neck to look out at the hovering darkness. All the wind drew back into the heavens and a solemn stillness seeped in as the natural world paused. Mallory felt her heart pound rapidly within her chest, knowing something was not right with the air. Then she saw the ominous whirling column on the horizon. It was more terrifying than any picture or movie she had ever seen. She forgot about getting high, and in that moment, didn’t care if she ever got high again; she just wanted Bobby back home. She wanted all those wasted days back—her life. She winced as Bobby’s only son cried out in the other room, just waking from a nap. A truck soared past the trailer window and snapped into a treetop as if tossed by the hand of God. At that point Mallory knew there was no way out. In surrender and relief, she continued sucking on her last cigarette until Mother Nature’s violent spawn erased all her worldly tomorrows.
She eyed Bobby as he searched for his shoes throughout the cluttered trailer. She knew he heard her. Yet he continued stomping on the backs of his heels, sending shock waves through the frame of their fragile mobile home.
“What’s today?” he looked up as if to find the answer.
“Did you hear me? Cigarettes?”
“Is it 4-20?”
“Try a week ago. Remember we went to Cy’s.”
“Cy’s—no wonder I don’t remember,” Bobby winked and flashed a joker smile.
“Go on now.”
He stopped, “What the hell's crawled up your ass all a sudden?”
“Aint nothing new. No reason to get all excited now. Did you hear me about the cigarettes?”
“I heard you. Damn it’s like your mood changes with the clouds,” he cussed, looking out the dusty window.
The sky darkened as if the gods were covering Tuscaloosa with a violet blanket. Mallory simply stared at the broken television set, all the working parts long since pawned for quick cash. Surprisingly they still owned a working radio, whereby Hendrix began pounding out his soul stirring version of All Along the Watchtower.
“Getting ugly out there,” Bobby said, scratching his forearm.
“You get now before the bottom drops.”
“I need my other shoe.”
“Bobby, listen to me, don’t get us stuck here during a damn storm not being able to get high.”
“Help me look then!”
Every corner of the double wide was littered with refuse and old clothes. The sink held weeks of dishes and green noodles. No mystery that a shoe could go missing.
“Just go barefooted.”
“They aint gonna let me in the drug store with one shoe on.”
Thunder tumbled across the Black Warrior River, sending a sense of urgency into the thin walls of the trailer. Mallory stood up to look. She coughed deeply and pulled up her pink sweat pants that sagged on her withering frame. Bobby eyed her as she moved, looking for the woman he used to know, her beauty taken away by their daily use. Now a thirty year old going on sixty. A young vibrant soul hardened into a dense prickly shell.
“I got it,” he yelped.
She dropped a box from her hands, “I knew you’d find it as soon as I got my ass up. Now hurry and get on back so we can start cooking the stuff. It’s getting near five, you’re gonna get stuck in all the business traffic.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, pausing near the hallway as if listening to a voice in his ear. “Mallory, I thought we were gonna stop all this. And get clean for my kid—hell, for us.”
She tried to hold back the annoyed look growing on her face, all the while knowing he was right.
He continued, “I didn’t tell you, but I left him at my sister’s the other day when we were getting high. Completely forgot. She didn’t know what to tell him. Plus, you know, cooking in this trailer with him here, you know, you hear so many stories of explosions and—”
“Alright, alright, Bobby. Good God! Just stop. You’re right—but just stop. We will. We are, I mean. Just not today. There’s always tomorrow. I promise we’ll really start tomorrow. Really! Not today though. Today will be the last. Ok?”
He nodded as he always had done, growing accustomed to looking forward to tomorrow.
“Now, seriously, run on.”
“Alright! Let’s do this,” he perked up a little, grabbing his keys, as if something inside him slapped his soul with motivation.
Bobby opened the trailer to the wind as a siren swirled miles away near the college campus.
“Did you need anything while I’m out?” he asked, again displaying his joker smile.
“Really!” she exhaled, throwing her empty cup of box wine as he slammed the door laughing. “I swear, that man’s gonna be the death of me.”
Jimi’s guitar continued to howl and scream in the cluttered confines of the trailer. The drums pounded with the thunder. Mallory waited briefly, then lit her last cigarette, having faith that Bobby would return with her order. She exhaled smoke into the window as she craned her neck to look out at the hovering darkness. All the wind drew back into the heavens and a solemn stillness seeped in as the natural world paused. Mallory felt her heart pound rapidly within her chest, knowing something was not right with the air. Then she saw the ominous whirling column on the horizon. It was more terrifying than any picture or movie she had ever seen. She forgot about getting high, and in that moment, didn’t care if she ever got high again; she just wanted Bobby back home. She wanted all those wasted days back—her life. She winced as Bobby’s only son cried out in the other room, just waking from a nap. A truck soared past the trailer window and snapped into a treetop as if tossed by the hand of God. At that point Mallory knew there was no way out. In surrender and relief, she continued sucking on her last cigarette until Mother Nature’s violent spawn erased all her worldly tomorrows.