"Did I ever tell you;" John starts to say then briefly glances behind him then freezes. Listening to the rustling of familiar leaves, he continues forward and talking: "that someone once gave me a blank cheque. Did I?" He asks without waiting for an answer.
It will be a chilling evening John notes to himself as he continues rambling without missing a beat. Entering underneath the bridge he currently calls home, John smiles, then "You know, I still have that cheque and for all the trouble it caused, I am of a sound mind to burn it. Do you know? Tim?"
Finally noticing that Tim has leapt to either find a quieter pasture or the eternal quiet itself. John falls back into his normal inaudible murmur which has become a comfort to him as much as the lucky sticks or rocks he chooses to truly talk to on his long walks through the city. Every so often he will find something a bit more communicative, an injured bird, gecko or centipede; anything really and they are all called Tim.
Photo by Anna Nekrashevich: Pexels
As the sun's rays shy away from the ground, John shuffles in behind his dumpster and crawls inside. He specifically pushed the dumpster from a few blocks away, as far as he could each night for a week. Sometimes a car would come past or he might spot someone's lights flickering in a nearby apartment. Then he would stop and continue the next day.
Eventually, he got the dumpster to its new home and outfitted it with a false top and a comfortable enough sleeping place. He made a slight entrance in the back by bashing one of the previous Timmies against it during an argument and now calls it home.
To be fair; Timmy started it.
Now laying in the dark he knows so well, John turns over and feels above his head for the smooth plastic sleeve that contains his blank cheque.
"Goodnight," he says and lets his hand fall away; a dreamless sleep is his only prayer.
"Goodmorning Timmy!" John announces and bends down to scoop a smooth pebble in his hand before flinging it happily crying out, "Have a great day! day, day." He echoes as the pebble flies onto the overhead road; to be crushed in time.
His bridge was located in a pretty quiet area, with a couple of open fields oddly strewn between dense apartment buildings and suburban housing which eventually leads to the highways and city after that.
John did not mind the area, it was ok, not many rich folk around but in his time now living on the street. He has learned that he does not need rich folk, he just needs giving folk.
Today He is going to see if he can help the butcher with anything. He does not usually visit there but has been hankering for a solid meal and not much will fill quite like a good steak.
Passing by the oak tree he spots a broken branch on the ground, "Well now." John muses aloud. "Aren't you a great walking companion Tim?" and breaks a suitable piece off of the branch.
Coming around a corner tap, tap, a tap with his new stick Tim; John is happily retelling the story of the blank cheque. Tim is just listening with a slight ringing in his ears. If he had ears.
"John!" John walks faster, talking softer. "John!" He hears again from not too far behind. "John!" John starts running but drops Tim and steps on him. His ankle twists and he stops, quiet, he sits. "Sorry, Tim." He murmurs, noticing how he broke his once beloved walking stick.
"It is really you, isn't it?" The ladies voice asks as she towers over John; the sun blinding him for a moment.
"Why John?" She starts.
"Jeez you don't muck about do you, why what Marigold? Mary Poopins? You." John retorts and avoids looking up while he pretends to fiddle with his ankle well after the shock and discomfort has gone.
"Why did you leave? Oh get up." Mary Poopins says sternly, and gives him her hand halfheartedly.
"It is fine," John hisses, and props himself up, "What do YOU want?" He asks again ignoring her initial question and tests his foot for surety then moves to sit on the nearby stairs of an apartment building.
"Really, you are going to play games now? You know what you put Tim through?" Mary asks with a final crack in her voice before the tears take revenge on her mascara.
Looking at her uncomfortably and not in the least worried about how it might seem that a dodgy vagrant is in close proximity to a crying blonde on the side of the road, John exhales loudly.
"I was scared, I did not understand, I knew I would mess it up." He quickly rambles off the list, "and stuff." Looking up at Mary now, her eyes scanning him, he knew why.
His sister never did care for his bull, she was scanning him to see if he is telling her what she wanted to hear. John knew he was not; he was saying what he never dealt with.
"Can I give it back?" John asks quickly to break her stare.
"What?" Mary gives him a confused look and tilts her head as though she is hoping her thoughts fall into place.
Also frowning as to mirror Mary, he replies: "The cheque, woman, the cheque." Standing up and reaching into his tattered shirt, John pulls out a plastic sleeve, with a perfectly; moderately perfect blank cheque in it. "I did not know how much to write. I would have chosen too little, or too much and maybe they decided to not fund us at all and it is all always like that, I don't know what comes tomorrow and now I can't hurt anyone by not knowing, I left. I did not know. I was scared..." John rambles and starts to mumble as he slowly got to his knees; "I did not know how I would mess it up."
"Is it ok if we find out what comes tomorrow together, next time?" Mary says seemingly untouched by Johns display. Smiling up at her, he knows, he should have known. "Yes, can we go now, it has been a pretty tough year you know."
Already heading back up the road towards her car, John catches up quickly, only a feint sting left in his ankle. Looking back at Timmy laying on the gravel broken, John whispers "I am sorry." and turns back to quietly walk next to Mary.
By the car, Mary places her hand on the roof and looks at John before getting in with a smirk; "You know, they just gave us a new cheque right?"