A Second Chance at Wonderland

For my first assignment, I had to sit somewhere where I could observe people and invent a life for them based on my observations. I chose the town square of a nearby town. It's a typical New England spot, with a fountain, an austere soldier statue, park benches, and a white pavilion. Cars circle the roundabout continuously, but there are just enough trees to make one feel apart from them. 

Anyway, this is what I "saw."                                                   

                                                           A Second Chance at Wonderland

           “S---.” He was out of cigarettes. Again. Why did that keep happening? He figured it was because he didn’t like sitting still for long. He’d had that problem ever since he was a kid; that’s how he’d managed to become the neighborhood King of the Road on his trick bike. But tricks on bikes were kid stuff. He used his bike to get around town now, but he knew that tricks wouldn’t earn him a job or good points with the police. Or even with Karen, for that matter.
            He ran his fingers over his blond stubbly head and fingered the tail of his mullet. Smoking was good for him. It lulled all of that frantic energy inside of him until he became as calm as the caterpillar in Alice and Wonderland. Not that he knew much about Wonderland. His druggie pals had tried to introduce him to it, but after two years of guilty bliss, the cops had discovered his little business and he’d enjoyed the hospitality of a jail cell for five years. So much for Wonderland. At least smoking was legal. With the help of the state’s hospitality, he’d been clean for six years now, and he’d even given up drinking, except for very special occasions. But he wasn’t ready to give up smoking, and even Karen had been okay with that.
            “Ray, is that you?”
            He squinted up at the voice. “Yeah, it’s me,” he grunted. He took in the woman’s appearance with an unhurried glance. She was about his age, maybe thirty-two, with pronounced laugh lines on her face. She wore tight pink capris and a gray tank top, and the sunglasses on her head glinted against the ginger brown of her hair. Trailing her was a curious black dolly on wheels which held her purse and a bright blue plastic bag.
            “Come on, Ray, don’t tell me you don’t remember me,” she said.
            “Like h— I do. Kristen, right?” He wished he could have a smoke!
            The laugh lines became more pronounced. “You got it!” Kristen watched the shirtless man sitting on the grass in front of her suddenly uncoil and leap to his feet. Maybe the Five Finger shoes he was wearing had springs loaded in them. He had a farmer’s tan around his neck, and on his chest and arms he had tattoo symbols she didn’t recognize. A brown braided belt hugged his camouflage shorts to his lean frame. She didn’t flinch as his bare inked arms reached around her and gave her an awkward hug.
            “It’s wicked awesome to see you!” she exclaimed. “It’s been what—eight years? Last I heard you had finished your time in the Army and moved on to—other things. Whatcha up to?”
            Ray smiled wryly. “Look, Kris, it’s no secret where I’ve been, I know. Keene isn’t that big, and word gets around. But lately I’ve been working at the bowling alley. I’m clean, I’m straight, and it’s all been good. Or it was until I lost my job last week.”
            “No way! Why?”
            Ray shifted from one foot to another, wondering what he should say. He hadn’t seen Kristen for a while, but they’d been great friends the one year he went to Keene State. She was the one who had introduced him to Karen. Karen—what was she thinking right now? What he would give for a smoke!
            “Bad economy,” he answered. “At least that’s what they said.” But when you’ve had jail time, you never really know if that’s the real reason. Sometimes Ray thought that having a criminal record was like being branded as a foreigner in a racist community; if people don’t like the color of your resume, they avoid you like you’re against their religion. Not that too many New Englanders held to much religion these days. Sunday was football day and the churches at every town center were for postcards and charity workers. But those who don’t have a religion often cling to their religion-less beliefs more fiercely than those who do, and Ray suspected that his employers had let him go first because they held to the religion of pure-bred resumes.
            “What, you didn’t sweet talk your way into keeping the job?” Kristen teased. “I know you started college thinking you’d like to be a politician. You’ve always had strong ideas.”
            “Yeah, but then I realized that I’d probably offend half of my voters before I even started campaigning. I don’t need them throwing rotten pumpkins at me.”
            She laughed then. Her voice was raspy, and he grinned ruefully.
            “You still living with Karen?” she asked.
            His face contracted into shadows. “Nah, she kicked me out last week. She’s convinced that I got let go because I’m doing drugs again. But I’m not! I’ve been clean, and I’m not going back!” No more Wonderland. He’d found one of his own—but even that seemed to have crumbled a week ago.
            Kristen glanced at the bike in the dappled shadows of the grassy town square. A computer bag and black duffel bag rested next to it. “Where’ve you been staying?”
            “Here and there. Trying to stay clear of the police and not be too creepy. I can’t stand people thinking I’m a creep.” He glanced at a girl sitting on a park bench just out of ear shot and took a step further away. “All I want is to hold my head high without having to change myself, but once you’ve blown it once, the whole world is down on you. Sure, they say when you get out of prison that you’ve got a second chance, but it’s only a second chance if your nose doesn’t drip. If it does, you’re out!” He gestured emphatically and started jumping up and down. “At least, that’s the way the police around here think. The other day the police tried to come and take my s---- and put it on a bus, and I was like, ‘Psycho!’ He was trying to take my random s---! This is New Hampshire—live free or die!”
            “Yeah, live free or die but don’t get arrested!” Kristen replied with a chuckle. When Ray didn’t laugh, she grew serious and nodded toward the Pour House. “Want a drink?”
            A drink sounded great. He imagined the rich burning flavor and the alluring smell of liquor. Then he thought of Karen. “No thanks, I’ve taken up drinking lemonade.”
            “Lemonade?” Kristen laughed. “Why not coffee?”
            Ray shrugged. “Caffeine makes me jittery.”
            “You look jittery anyway. Want a smoke?”
            “Yeah, please,” he moved the dolly out of the path so an older lady had more room to walk past. “No wait—what the! I have a pipe right here.”
            After they lit up, he grew calmer. Kristen nodded at him, “I’d let you sleep on our couch, but I’m pretty sure my husband would scream bloody murder. Besides, Karen will come round. She’s probably just tired from working long hours at the hospital.”
            “Yeah, I hope you’re right.” But he didn’t know. Karen paid her taxes two months early every year, and he wasn’t sure if she’d come round if she really thought he was doing drugs again. It had taken her a long time to forgive him for going to prison, but like a faithful fruit fly she had been inexplicably drawn to him like rotten fruit. Still, he was tired. He was tired of false second chances that branded him as a loser. He was tired of feeling like a loser. And he was tired of fearing that Karen might finally believe it too.
            “You know what the funniest part is?” he said, breathing smoke like a sleepy dragon. “The day I got let go, Karen asked me to show her my final check, and I couldn’t. You know why? I’d spent it all on a ring. But she doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t know.”