HARBORSIDE 11.30.19 A Tale of Two Men by Mike Austin
nasstop@yahoo.com
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I.
Jack wandered up Water Street, toward home. It was 11:30, the bar was a bust. A dank fog hung like a gauzy drape from storefronts that faced the harbor, across the street and then off the sides of the shrimp boats and their rigging. In the distance, blocked by fog, the harbor entry buoy's bell clanged a muffled and hollow notice...... Jack's steps home were emphasized by leather boot soles, on the damp pavement, making a slight slapping noise. Light spilled onto the sidewalk and street from various windows, some lighted with neon, others sporting gaudy OPEN signs. The same lights cast odd shadows against the shrimp boats, setting an eerie and ominous outline. Passing some storefronts, a bar here, a café, a run- down hotel, noises jarred the peace when doors opened or closed as others made their way, somewhere.
The temperature was in the low 40s and the faint breeze gently stirred the fog. That same damp cold fog clung to Jack's hair, his P-coat, jeans and boots as well as all other surfaces he passed. While only a 15 minute walk down Water St. to Harborside Lane, tonight it seemed so much farther to the warmth, if emptiness of his cottage at #7.
Harborside Ln. is a one-way street that dead-ends at Water. Above the intersection is a flashing yellow light alerting the Harborside traffic of any on Water. The rhythmic flash, outlined a figure standing at the corner, against the wall of the bakery at the intersection. The man stood in a P-coat, hunched forward, taking slow drags of a cigarette. The groan of net rigging on the shrimp boat opposite the intersection, punctuated the late night hour. Jack slowed then resumed his stride. The dark figure stood, almost waiting for Jack, or any other passer-by. The man spoke, "Any change?"- Jack paused, reached in his P-coat pocket, three Ones, extended his hand to the man, nodded and began his turn up Harborside Ln. "Thanks bud", the man replied. Jack heard a hint of accent, perhaps Spanish or Italian. "Sure", his reply. The tension in Jack's back, a quick glance over his shoulder found the man from the corner, had turned and begun up Harborside; albeit at a fair distance behind. As Jack approached #7, he slowed, checked the approaching man again, drew his keys and began to unlock the door. "Hey bud, any hot coffee", the man posed? Jack paused, thought, decisions and possibilities flew through his mind, "Sure, name's Jack", his hand outstretched to shake the dark man from the corner; "Sam", came back from the stranger as he hunched forward, reaching to shake Jack's hand. They both stamped their boots on the sisal mat and entered the short hall. Jack flicked on the hall light, spraying light onto both.
The small kitchen was to the left of the front hall. A closet staged below the stairs, to the right. The cottage was narrow, but deeper than most. Jack shucked his P-coat, as did Sam. Jack hung both coats in the closet, turned to the kitchen and put water on for coffee. Jack, took in Sam's figure, now in full light of the kitchen. He was a bit shorter than Jack, but with more bulk and muscle. "I'm from Freeport, working the shrimp run, for three months" came Sam's admission. Jack took in Sam's hard hands and thought of the honest hard work the man endured. Jack admitted he'd worked a shrimper in high school, but now was a foreman at a dock warehouse. Sam admitted the weather had shut down the boat operation for a week, and he'd lost his room. The shrimper captain let him bunk on the boat, but it was cramped and cold, but at least a roof over his head.
Jack scooped coffee into the two mugs, and noticed Sam's shiver as he handed him a steamy mug. "Maybe that wool sweater is holdin the cold, maybe shed it and head to the other room and get the fireplace warming you and dry that sweater", Jack offered. Sam, two-handing the hot coffee mug, nodded agreement, set the mug down and tugged off the sweater. His t-shirt, stained and in need of a wash, like the rest of his clothes, outlined a sturdy frame, fairly broad shoulders, some black chest hair, like his head and arms and those dark brown eyes, now illuminated so well. The men sat by the fireplace, Sam's sweater over a drying stand, his long legs stretched forward toward the fire. His shiver dissipating. As he finished the coffee, he asked about another and Jack agreed, his mug now empty as well. As Jack headed back to the kitchen, Sam began, "the wife left me about 6 months ago, even took my dog, said she was tired of paycheck to paycheck living and wanted better things", he mumbled more; and as Jack returned with fresh mugs, Sam resumed, "damn her, I did my best, but; oh well" and shrugged, taking the mug from Jack. There was something else, Jack considered as he swigged more coffee down himself. It was a Saturday night, well it was now early Sunday and this man a stranger had immersed himself in Jack's otherwise tidy, solo life. That tidy, discreet life, that `other life' he concealed so well in his small town. Another time, in another place, he might suggest more than coffee to this man from the corner, with black hair, good torso, suggestive accent and long muscular legs.... But not now, not here, it cannot happen.....
The fire began to dwindle. Sam leaned forward, stoked it, nodded to the logs and Jack raised his mug in agreement. Sam reached for the new log, swung back the fire screen and added the log to the ebbing blaze. Both men sat in silence, gazing at the flames. They finished the second cups of coffee. Jack was usually a take charge sort, or at least a leader, but with this man, this stranger, he felt a quiet security for some unknown reason. He stood, asked Sam about food, "well I don't want to put you out more" Sam replied. "Hey it's not gourmet food, but will fill a hole in your belly", Jack offered and headed to the kitchen again. This time, Sam followed and without hesitation, "something I can help with"?, "Bread, right shelf there, sandwiches ok; cheese and ham"?, Jack staccatoed. "Hell yes", from Sam. Jack grabbed mayo, mustard, lettuce, the chunks of ham and Swiss cheese from the fridge, grabbed two plates from the cabinet, knives, he paused- then dismissed his fleeting concern, set all out and began shaving the ham and cheese for their early morning meal. Sam reached across Jack for a knife to cut the rough artisan bread loaf, again Jack paused and tensed, then relaxed and hoped it wasn't evident. "Thick slices ok"? Sam asked. Jack nodded, relaxed now and ready for food. Both men made hefty sandwiches, then Jack led them back to the den and warmth of the slowly building fire. The wood smoke drafted away, leaving the warmth and soft smell of oak in the room. As they ate the thick sandwiches, Jack offered, "how far is the shrimp boat from here"? "It's the Maryann B at the foot of the street", came Sam's reply. They both ate in silence. Jack watched Sam devour the sandwich and suggested he make himself another if he wanted it. Sam nodded agreement, "how bout you", Jack- mouth full, declined. On Sam's return, Jack suggested he shuck his clothes in the wash, grab a shower and make a bed on the sofa there, but offered the idea without looking at Sam, for fear of revealing his other life'.... Sunday would be rainy and windy, and while the fog would blow out, both men doubted the captain would risk taking the Marryann B out in the bay, much less the open sea. Sam paused, the room went absolutely still, the fire even seemed to go silent, "Are you sure" came Sam's reply. "That's mighty friendly for someone you just met on a corner", he continued to Jack. "Hey we got put here to help our fellow man out, right, so I'm offering; you don't need to take me up on it, but just wanted...", Sam interrupted, "not what I'm saying, just that seems I been run down so long and just the captain's been nice to let me stay on the "B", I was beginning to feel like an outcast", Sam countered. Jack stood, to return his plate to the small kitchen, "then it's agreed, the washer and dryer are in here, adjacent to the closet under the stairs, and the bath upstairs has the shower", Jack disappeared rinsing his plate in the sink. Sam entered and began cleaning his plate at the same time, "that was the first I had to eat all day and I sure appreciate it", he admitted...Jack squeezed behind Sam to exit the kitchen, went upstairs to grab linens and such, tugged out some towels, made sure the bathroom was decent, and grabbed a terrycloth robe, he'd swiped from a hotel a few years ago, before returning downstairs. As he rounded the last step into the hall, he stopped short. Sam stood nude, loading his clothes in the washer, his hard muscled butt, long muscled legs revealed and hard back and triceps, down to his wide feet planted firmly on the hard floor, almost made Jack reveal his other life'.... Sam turned and smiled, sort of hiding his crotch with his right leg, "hope you don't mind me starting these now. I know they NEED it" he almost whispered. Jack ignored Sam's nudity and shrugged agreement, raised the linens with one hand and robe with the other, then headed to the sofa to make Sam's sleeping set-up. "Bath is to the right at top of the stairs; and I'll throw these on the sofa and get it set for you", Jack informed. He turned to see Sam walk away, and climb the stairs; then sat in the chair facing the fireplace, watching it, imagining the man in his shower, hot steamy water, soaped up, and mouthing the question- `would he jack off in the hot shower or not'?