Man in a Bag
Justin was straight upnothing less and somewhat more
when it counted -- he went an
extra distance in caring
sometimes for the meek and frail
among us who are in need
of some special consideration.
Justin was a private man and
very much a mystery on legs
as to many subjects such as
the true source of his livelihood,
where he came from,
what he wanted. Justin was
just here among us.
He was diligent in his work
at the sporting goods store
stocking, helping customers with
skis, bicycles, kayaks, roller blades,
mountain climbing gear, never
solicitous, always giving the straight story
about product, take it or leave it.
It was just the store in seemed
that was the center of Justin's life.
There was some other life maybe.
He would ride the bus to work
sitting in silence, fading in with
his surroundings so as to seem
invisible, staring ahead into infinity.
We thought perhaps he was wronged
somehow in a former life -- perhaps
jilted by a beautiful girl or affected by
the Viet Nam War-- he seemed
scarred by some deep wound
causing him to be so silent, stoic and
unknown.
We never strove to find out
what it was that seemed to pain
him into his habitual silence because
he was not forthcoming about speaking
about his life as
his air carried an element of
disdain for those around him.
Justin possessed a formidable physique
similar to that of a body builder --
one was reminded of a physique
associated with Roman soldiers
in the movies -- an intimidating
physique which probably caused
him to be disdainful.
There was some warmth in his
personality albeit condescending
warmth as he would empathize
sometimes with the experiences
of others and views that people
would hold forth regarding
the world situation.
Justin was the "snowman"
at the apartment building because
he took it upon himself to shovel
the snow off the driveway and the
pathways which included meticulously
chipping off the ice on the walkways
and sprinkling liberal amounts of salt.
He would shovel non stop after a blizzard
with a devotion required of a
Herculean task, applying the shovel
to the snow and ice with a constant
determined motion, chopping at the ice
viciously like Ahab atop Moby Dick,
carving a ruler straight pathway.
Sometimes we would barbecue
outside in a communal cookout
and as these cookouts were
announced in advance, Justin would
participate and contribute several
large aluminum trays of
baked beans.
We thought he just emptied
a large can of "Pork 'n Beans" into a
tray and baked it with instant rice
after dumping a half a bottle of
barbecue sauce into it as well as
oregano and all spice powder --
we never asked.
Justin brought a date to the
latest cookout and introduced her as
Carol. she was tall and very mature
looking -- she worked at the big
newspaper taking classified ads. Her
eyes were dark, saying she knew
all she needed to know.
Carol was entrenched in her groove,
having arrived and headed nowhere else
in this life except maybe to a new job
which fit her previous experience. Now
she was on a date with a new
friend and would see
what would happen.
There were some
exchanged glances between us
at the sight of Carol;
quick smiles were secretly exchanged
at the prospect that Justin's life
was becoming a bit more complicated
and meaningful.
Norman showed up as well bringing
cheap beer and his smart mouth --
he worked at a printing company
doing something very exacting with
photo static plates in the pre-press
department. he was quite pale
with colorless eyes.
There was friction between Norman
and Justin which was not overtly
acted out but Justin would
watch Norman with piercing eyes
watching it seemed for some
form of misbehavior that would
merit a tongue lashing or something worse.
Norman had a habit of calling people
"guy" which was a label particularly
distasteful to Justin. Justin simply did not
speak to Norm much, dreading
being called "guy". It worked out that
Justin would be strategically
gone generally when Norman was around.
But Norman brought the beer
so we were simply a bunch of
"guys" in his presence, what the hell,
why should we be anything but
a bunch of "guys" once in a while
especially when there was
beer to drink?
Norman popped a tab
on an Old Milwaukee
and surveyed the picnic table letting
his vapid eyes fall upon the beans
as if seeing something tremendously unique.
"The beans," Norman proclaimed,
"look like they're well done."
Justin's brows knotted slightly.
"Beer's well done." he said.
"Oooooooh" we mooed signifying
somebody had become several inches
less tall. Carol smiled pertly
as she mentally tallied some points
in Justin's favor.
Norman peered at his beer can
then said, "No, the beer isn't done.
It's gotta get done." He lit a cigarette.
We could see Norman was out
for blood. he picked up a can of
Old Milwaukee and
approached Justin.
"Have a cold one guy!" He enunciated
the word "guy" with special emphasis
and blinked both his eyes at once.
"I'm not a guy," Justin said solemnly.
"I'm a man," he concluded, his face
coloring. "Ok" Norman said, "Guy,
man, whatever."
We were shocked at how
rapidly Justin punched Norman twice
sending him reeling backwards,
losing his balance and falling
to the floor in a heap with
blood coming from his nose.
He lay staring at the ceiling.
That sickening sound of fists
meeting flesh hung in the room
paralyzing movement and
thought as mouths hung wide
and eyes died into slate.
We waited unconsciously
for an opportune moment.
Justin stood over Norman and
pointed his finger at him. "If you
ever get smart with me again, I'm
gonna whip your ass! He paused.
"I'll really whip your ass!" Norman just
blinked and raised his hands
in a gesture of resignation.
We kept the matter "in house" as
a new protocol was established
regarding the "guy" thing. This was
the age of the "guy" and the age of
"whatever." Norman could not
be blamed for his behavior, he was
just going overtly with a cultural trend.
We didn't see Carol around anymore.
She had left after the punch fest,
her eyes revealing that she had
come to know "something" and
was through with the cookout and
we suspected she made some instant
decision about Justin as well.
Life went on at the apartment
building -- people went to their jobs,
saying hello, having dinner,
watching TV. Justin carried on
in his regular disciplined rhythm,
like clockwork but his eyes
acquired more of the million mile stare.
Norman conversed with me in the laundry.
"The way Justin hit me," he said, "I've
never been hit that fast by anybody. He must know
what he's doing. I think he picked it up
in prison. You notice how he's so controlled
usually? People who get out of prison
behave that way."
"He seems to be living in a prison
of his own," I said. "He seems to be
backed into a corner where
there's no way out except to lash
out at somebody. " Silence. "And
since that's against the law, what
can he do but exercise self control?
I walked into Rosie's Diner for a
late cup of coffee and saw Justin
sitting at the counter with a cup.
I nodded and approached the seat
next to his. He waved his hand
saying, "Elbow room man, elbow room."
So I put a seat between us.
"How's it goin'?" I ventured.
"Same old B.S." he murmured and
looked at nothing in particular.
Silence. "My girl dumped me." He
volunteered. "Oh shit." I said.
"I don't know what they want. She
gave me this weird line."
"Wanna run it by me?" "Sure. She said
she was afraid I was looking for
a woman to solve my problems and that
she wanted to have a man but did not
want to feel that she had to have a man."
"Oh yeah, that's a new thing
going on around women," I said.
There was a haggardness about Justin --
a perceptible fatigue, a defeated slump.
"All I see," he said, "is death. Death,
all around." I nodded and said, "well,
things will turn around. " He looked me
in the eye with a prophetic vacant stare.
He would be dead in three days.
There was a loud knocking at the door
in the early morning. "Police!" The voice
shouted, "Police!" Open up!" I staggered
and opened the door and looked askance
at the officer. "There was an assault upstairs
last night. One of your neighbors
has been killed," He announced.
"Who's been killed? I asked. "Justin,"
he answered. "Don't go anywhere until
we speak to you." Justin dead? Assault?
that was not supposed to work with
Justin. I was puzzled by this scenario.
The facts were revealed by the
apartment manager.
She was with Justin discussing his
lease when some coke crazed guys
ran up as Furies in the night as part of
a home invasion spree. They produced
knives demanding money and jewelry
and threatened to cut her diamond ring
off her finger.
Justin smashed one of them in the face
with a few punches. Then they flew
upon him with knives. He fought but went
down with multiple stab wounds yelling
for her to run. She did. She ran and called
the police. Justin was savaged with over
thirty stab wounds.
We stayed around the apartment building
that day and spoke to police and shared
thoughts about Justin. Norman brought
Old Milwaukee and we sipped timidly
though we needed it. The door opened
upstairs and the homicide squad emerged
with Justin in a body bag.
It was Justin in the bag. We put beer cans down.
He was heavy and four officers hefted him
over their shoulders making their way carefully
down the stairs. They were talking as they
carried Justin. The chatter was casual with
some chuckling. They had to chuckle
in the performance of their morbid task.
The burden was coming down the final
flight of stairs and we were gripped
with fierce emotions as sudden irrefutable
death was approaching. We were silent
as we heard the talk and chuckling. I
slammed my door and the chuckling stopped.
There had to be respect for a man in a bag.
A morose, swarthy individual showed up
later in the week. This was Justin's father
showing up like Gatsby's father, stunned
but not confused, to pick up his son's
personal effects. He went up to Justin's
apartment to share the same space for a
moment where Justin died.
He stood in Justin's apartment morose
and appraising the scene when I walked up
to offer condolences. The scene was horrific
appearing as a slaughterhouse with blood
all over the walls. He looked up and said,
"Hell-oh" in a sharply tenor voice as instantly
a mystery was solved.
Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 658 times
Written on 2007-03-04 at 00:32
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