The New World

The New World by Spencer Anderson

The sun shown down on the New World. A man sat on a bench just outside the doorway. His boots were old, same with his hat. Its brim, once neatly curved in a smooth and symmetrical arc, now waved around his head as if possessed by two conflicting waves of energy. He sat cross-legged, in the fashion of a thinker, and for the way his eyes gave analysis to the unfolding scene, he could have been a fine one.

The doors to the New World swung open, and a man lumbered out. By the look of him, he appeared to have been making an important delivery. His forehead glistened in the sun, and globules of sweat were apparent there and on his temples. His eyes squinted against the brightness and also against what must have been a stressful thought. He wore shorts well above his knees, and near to their ends dangled his fingers, clenching into fists one moment, extending to their full length in the opposite tension that followed. He stomped over to a long, white van, threw open the door, and climbed in. Seconds later the engine roared and American music, cerca 1984, could be heard pooring out of the open windows. He pulled out into the flow of traffic, and in a moment was gone.

The man in the old boots and hat peered up into the bright white light of the sun. The sky was deep blue behind the radiance, and a few clouds hung in the air, as if permanent fixtures on a painted backdrop. However, below things were as impermanent as rapids in a stream. A flock of birds took flight from a tree beside the New World. They dipped and dove as one body, like a school of fish, as they climbed over the hill and out of site. The doors to the New World swung wide once more, and a man walked out twirling his keys around his index finger while whistling a tune that sounded strangely similar to the song of the birds that had only recently departed. He wore a grizzled beard, maybe 3 days grown, and his cheek bones sat high about his sunken cheeks, and though his eye sockets were deep, they held alert eyes that reflected the sun like the ocean beyond the hill. One might have thought, were he standing still, that he was terminally ill, for his arms and legs were nowhere to be seen beneath his baggy jumper and jeans, but the movement of his walk epitomized a man of perfect health. Indeed, he was a man of contradiction, a mere skeleton walking the earth as if his bones carried the flesh of a voyageur. The spring in his step carried him through the parking lot and out of site.

Alone again, the man in the old boots and hat watched the cars whiz by on the busy street. The grinding of a skateboard was heard making its way down the hill on the sidewalk. It neared the hedge that surrounded the parking lot belonging to the New World. Above the hedge a head floated along, covered in hair that burned red under the white light of the sun. In between the strands, a freckled face peered peacefully out at the world through jade-colored eyes. Soon the head floated beyond the hedge and into the entrance to the parking lot of the New World, and a body appeared. It swayed in the wind, interfacing the peaceful gaze of the head with the violent grinding of the skateboard below. It leaned slightly in the direction of the New World, and soon the entire entity was careening toward the entrance. The man in the old boots and hat had watched the entire maneuver and was inspired by the grace of this figure, until he noticed the small step just before the entrance to the New World. He uncrossed his legs, straightened his back, and placed both hands on their corresponding knees as he drew in a breath that would shout his warning, but he was too late, and he knew it. The breath was exhaled as a sigh of relief while the skateboard was flicked up into the air by a toe and caught by a hand, just before the step into the New World. The doors flew open, and the daredevil disappeared inside.

"Phew!" said the old-booted man to himself. He reckoned that boy was headed for a fall, but he kept the opinion to himself. He figured falling was an inevitable consequence of riding a skateboard, so his prediction was blatantly obvious, plus, there was nobody else around. Realizing this, he settled into the scene once more, the sun had risen a bit, and soon it would reach its zenith in the sky above. The clouds were clearly shrinking as they burned away in the soon-to-be afternoon heat. It was a serendipitous serenity that descended then onto that bench beside the New World, and it was, as such moments tend to be, short lived, for the long, white van had returned in a fury.

It roared into the parking lot at an odd angle and rocked and rattled as a rear wheel bounced over the edge of the curb. Loud dissonant chords poured out of the open windows and above them a voice screamed lyrics about having a hard time. The van leaned on two wheels as it squeezed into a parking slot and screeched to a halt. The engine stopped, the music died, and the stressed delivery man in the short shorts appeared once more. In his lumbering way, he made his way to the back of the van and threw open the double doors to reveal a pink box lying on the black floor. It was made of thin cardboard, and the man at the bench with the old boots could see that there was a window of clear plastic that covered the contents. The delivery man picked it up, passing it from hand to hand as he closed one door and then the other. After this he turned, clutching the precious box with both hands and made his way toward the entrance to the New World.

The man on the bench had come to the conclusion that a box of the sort that was coming toward him could only hold pastries, but he could not be sure of the type without closer inspection. He wondered if he would be able to see as the delivery man passed, and straightened his posture to give himself best chances at a good angle to see through the plastic window. The deliverer approached with long powerful strides, firmly gripping the box at waist level. His teeth were clenched in an expression of determination, his beady eyes fixed on the doors to the New World. As he passed, the old booted man squinted to concentrate his vision on the plastic window, but as it went by he realized his angle had only been perfect to see the bright white reflection of the sun on its glossy surface. The doors to the new world shut once more, swallowing up the delivery man and his box.

All was relatively quiet once more. The sun shone down on the wavy cowboy hat which was protecting the eyes that were noticing that the clouds had completely burned away. "I suppose its about time I left too," thought the man with the old boots. He was about to put them both to the asphalt and be on his way when he saw the skinny man with the springy step returning from across the parking lot. From a distance the figure looked like an empty pair of jeans and a jumper somehow blown together in the wind in the motions of a walking body. On top of all this, however, was the head of high cheek bones over sunken cheeks and the sunken eyes that only appeared as the man drew nearer.

He was crossing the last bit of the parking lot when the doors to the New World opened and the delivery man lumbered out. His demeanor had changed significantly. The beads of sweat on his forehead were no more, and the bright sunlight did not seem to be intruding on his mellow, contented gaze. His left hand dangled at his side, relaxed and carefree. His right hand held an enormous cream puff, half eaten, and was heading towards his mouth. It would have been two bites, maybe three, for most people, but the delivery man wanted to make quick work of it. He folded the pastry in such a way that it fit in his mouth like a right-fitting puzzle piece and gobbled it down, licking the excess cream from his dirty fingers. He passed the intense eyes of the skeletal man with a smile and a nod and climbed into this van, fiddling with his keys.

The man with the old boots and cowboy hat had watched the whole thing intently and as the skinny man came even with him, their eyes met. He did not stop his energetic gate, but he shook his head with a wry smile of entertained frustration. "Fattening! Very fattening!," he exclaimed. His head continued to shake as the doors to the New World swung open and closed around him.