“One Night of Sin… Was All I’ws wait-ing for…”
Her name was Callie. Loomis shook his sweaty head like a mule that had been pulling way too big a load on his fruit wagon. A 1967 black Chrysler hoopdee whose front right window looked kinda shot out was happily blaring Smiley Lewis’ “One Night,” off a radio station WWOZ as he studied the forlorn girl, well, truthfully.
However, this was too much information to process at that one hot moment.
“Okay, um.. Callie. You say you’re, uh BORED?”
“Yes, sir. I am very bored.”
“But this is Nawlins. Big Easy. endless hours of excitem—”
“Sir, I am sixteen, and I’m oh so bored! I been thinkin’ of nursing school or sumpin’.”
“Nursing school? Do they have that at Loyola or–?”
“I’m lookin’ into Kansas City, It’s a real good’un, an’ besides, I can get away from this dead ol’ town! Sir!”
“Listen, my name’s Loomis, and here’s our streetcar!”
The huge, gleaming red monster whose destination square read “CEMETERIES”clanged to a grinding, whooshing halt. Callie and Loomis climbed on.
They debarked at Governor Clements Street and walked a ways together.
Callie, perhaps a bit wise beyond her years, said “Mister Reader– I mean, Mister Loomis the writer(she giggled uncontrollably at this absurdity of name), you look shagged.”
“Actually, I’m a bit spaced, but you said things that just made me feel some concern. And I don’t live anywhere near you. I just feel like talking, And now we’re done with that.
So–”
Loomis bent his lanky frame down a notch or two and extended his hand for Callie to shake, which she did, not too reluctantly. He really didn’t feel too sociopathic hanging with this child for a few. After all, he didn’t have children, and this painful fact had dogged him far too long.
“Good luck, Callie. I do hope you get to realize your dream.”
“Bye, Mist’ Writer, maybe I’ll see ya round. My bruh, Clement, works de Acme Awstah House!”
Well, shucks, thought Loomis with a nearly audible snarl. How the fonk did she know I liked to lurk at the Acme? Very few things I love go back as far as 1910, but my dear departed Moms-who taught me mostuh the early piano chords and scales I know-and the Acme Oyster date from just that moment!
Loomis watched the girl slip thru the gates of her dusty, low-slung project. He then turned sharply, just in time to avoid colliding with three sinewy young dudes with elaborate braided hairdos, who didn’t even notice what was in their path.
(To be continued)
