Page 20 of A Straight Line

Inside the garage, it had to be at least ten degrees hotter. The dark, musty interior looked as though it would be a cool respite from the mid-evening sun, but it was the exact opposite. As I stepped through the doorway, I found myself once again wondering if I hadn’t chosen the wrong clothes for the party. Denny was on the other side of the garage, partially obscured by my uncles’ Lincoln SUV, pulling lawn chairs down from the pegs and racks they were organized on along the massive wall. Before I bothered going to help, I stopped and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, hoping it would help keep me a little bit cooler.

“Hey,” I said as I approached, “Harry thought you could use some help, Denny.”

“Harry was right.” Denny looked over his shoulder to smile at me.

“Then I’m here to help.”

“By the way, my real name is Dennis,” He said. “Russy.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. Russell. That’s me.”

“Uncles.” Denny rolled his eyes comically, which I almost didn’t catch in the dark. “I’ve been ‘Denny’ for as long as I can remember. No one calls me Dennis anymore. Except my mom and dad. But ‘Denny’ has grown on me, so I actually prefer it.”

“Most everyone calls me Russ,” I said. “Except my uncles and the elders. I prefer ‘Russ,’ but ‘Russy’ doesn’t ruin my day or anything, I guess.”

“You call them ‘the elders’ a lot,” Denny said, turning back to the wall of chairs. “Why’s that? Is that one of their group names I’ve never heard of before?”

“It’s a nicer phrase to use when addressing them rather than ‘hey, you old bastards,’ I guess?”

Denny laughed uproariously, nearly sending folding chairs falling from their nesting spots to the floor. I reached out and braced them as Denny’s laughter sputtered off. When he finally was able to control himself, he turned to look at me, a grin on his face.

“You’re funny.”

“Thanks,” I said simply.

“I still can’t believe we never met before today,” He said as he pulled another chair down off of a peg. “Boats passing in the night.”

“Ships,” I said as I took a chair from him and hooked it under my arm.

“What?”

“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,” I recited as I reached up to grab another chair, “only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and silence.”

After I had hooked the second chair under my arm, my eyes caught Denny’s, and he was staring at me thoughtfully. Maybe a bit confused?

“Longfellow.” I shrugged.

“Oh.”

“I’m a writer.”

“With a hell of a memory.” He quipped. “That’s remarkable.”

“Remarkable,” I said as I reached for another chair, “is writing a poem like The Theologian’s Tale. I’m unremarkable. Especially as a writer. But it’s what I do.”

“The doing is what makes you remarkable,” Denny said. “Most people don’t do what they really love.”

“Oh?” I teased. “Then I should be on a white sand beach with a pina colada while chiseled guys in speedos play volleyball in slow motion in front of me, I suppose.”

Denny laughed. “Well, it’s good work if you can find it, I guess.”

“If there’s ever an opening, I’ll be the first to apply.”

“Your uncles have a lot of lawn chairs for two old men who live alone,” Denny said. “Well, alone together.”

“Now they have me,” I said. “The third wheel.”

“Wouldn’t it be ‘fifth wheel?’ Cars have four.”