Oh Henry!

Henry left his modernized mansard home. The only one of its kind he had ever seen, its thick curving walls and flexed roof appeared more like a tooth than a house, and he like a germ meandering through the lush, overgrown lawn. It was a hot summer evening in the spring of ’88 and as he entered his blood red ’73 El Camino the black leather seats he had ripped from his mothers old Camaro quickly burned the soft flesh of his exposed legs as he settled himself in.

The left side of his car was beautiful, mint condition. The right, however, had a deep scrape down the side from the bumper of a wayward semi that crippled each beautiful inch of the metal beast. Rust had begun to sprout from the tare, like blood from a recent wound. The seat was forward, and mirrors off kilter. His brother Frank, a stout simpleton of a man, had obviously borrowed the car earlier in the day. As he reached to adjust his rearview mirror he found himself lost in his own reflection. A man of 32 Henry had never considered himself a handsome man, but the attention he was used to receiving from women (and the occasional male) assured him of some good features.

He had a strong square jaw with a butt of a chin and clear green eyes that got him his way many a time. Though as the years passed his chin had turned into more of a dimple and his eyes had grown foggy and bloodshot. Decades in the service industry had left a permanent frown on his once youthful face and the stress of his fathers failing health had left him with more grey hairs than black, and less of it overall. He’d been so consumed with emotion over the last few weeks that he could barely recognize himself. This was not the face of Henry Roberts; this was the face of a man run ragged.

He should have shaved. But it was half past seven, and there was no time for that. He slowly left the brick driveway and as his house grew smaller in the rearview mirror the stress and sadness of late seemed to shrink away with it. Though with each breath of calm quickly came the mounting anxiety of what was yet to come as he entered the expressway and neared his destination.

At exit 84, two before the exit to Eliza’s, the Caminos engine began to grind and Henry was forced to the side of the road. He popped the hood and promptly poured quart after quart into the insatiable beast. He’d never owned a car that burned so much oil. At first this fact bothered him, and with his father’s recent surgeries he couldn’t afford to fix a problem so tedious as this. Though, the billows of smoke that would emit from his exhaust as a direct result of gassing the engine became yet another miniscule thing that brought joy into his life. Once finished, Henry took this opportunity to change out of his small red shorts and black and purple tracksuit and into his brown three-piece corduroy suit.

As he rounded the turn to Eliza’s he found that despite the air being on full blast, he was sweating profusely. This wasn’t such a good idea after all. He parked the car in the lot across from her building careful that he was of equal distance between the cars at his sides. Henry took one last look in the mirror, inhaled deeply, slowly, and forced himself out of the car door. “Alright,” he said to no one but himself and ran fervently across the street. Once meeting the curb he abruptly came to a halt and continued in a slow casual pace, twirling his keys as he entered the front of the Blue Cow.

Previously Up in Smoke the Blue Cow was the best-known head shop in the area. While Up in Smoke had better paraphernalia, its owner forgot to pay his taxes for a few years and was taken out of business. The place reeked of patchouli and the tile floor squeaked beneath his black loafers as he made his way to the back. Like all good head shops it featured giant posters of cartoon mushrooms buckling in on one another, tie die t-shirts, and enough nag champa to supply all of India. The tranquil sounds of Bob Marley lofted through the air, interrupted intermittingly by eruptions of moans from next door.

Henry nodded at Gavin who was helping a customer and was the current owner of The Blue Cow. Gavin is an older gentleman, 50+ years. No one knew his exact age, not even him. He often wore suit pants, a short sleeved white button down shirt, and a rather bland tie. With his carefully trimmed hair and well kempt whiskers Gavin seemed quite the exemplary citizen. If one were to approach him on the street they would never assume him a hippy. That is, of course, until he opened his mouth. His dated vocabulary and back water vernacular were enough for one to only imagine the unspeakable things he’d placed upon his tongue to create the muddled heap of words now tumbling out.

Next door to Gavin’s shop was the local ‘Adult’ theater. After years of protesting and ballot writing, the local church ‘The First Sacred Per Capita Church of the Lord Jesus Christ and All his Saved Children,’ finally gave up their mission once they realized it to be the unspoken hot spot of the city’s mayor, as well as other important members of the board in charge of their annual funding. The back behind the shops was dark and covered in shag. Like a patchwork quilt, only the patches were offensive colors of shag carpet and the cotton backing, the walls.

The two large metal doors of the elevator were dented in the middle and covered with event posters. Henry reached into his pocket pulled out a pen and used it on the button. He patiently waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor as the porn music grew in the background. He never quite understood the allure of masturbation in public and could think of nothing more terrifying then finding oneself in one of those theatres surrounded by strange grunting men.

The doors opened with a faint ding and a stale odor of mothballs and urine emitted from the elevator. All but one light in the right corner of it were burnt out and as he entered the compartment whimpered under his weight. The water damaged ceiling sagged close to his head and the once smooth metal walls were covered in graffiti. The semi-blown speaker spurted out music a lot like that from the theatre down the hall. He began imagining the sordid past of the elevator and as the doors began to close he imagined the elevator halting between floors with him stuck inside it. The thought of it made him uneasy, he looked down at his bulbous belly and decided to take the stairs instead.

Needing a breather (and a cig) after the climb, Henry stopped for a couple minutes at the end of the hall. It seemed like quite the reward system, if he keeps this up, he’ll be 40lbs lighter and 2 packs stronger in no time. He reached into his oversized breast pocket and held up a lighter named Chuck. It was a silver Zippo that Henry had commandeered the last time he tried to quit.

After casually crushing his cherry into a crook in the wall and sliding his butt under the stairwell door Henry made his way down the dark, carpeted hallway. The hallway to Eliza’s, much like the stairwell, always made him let out a small giggle. The different colored carpet reminded him of a bowling alley and the bright orange shag glued to the walls in an effort to brighten the place reminded him of hell.
215
From what Henry could tell there are only seven units on this floor, perhaps only seven in the whole building, and yet the numbers go from 210 to 299. He’d think it strange, but with this building the apartment numbering was the last thing to be thought of as queer.
223
As he approached the door the laughter from inside grew louder and louder. Once at the door he feared opening it. The muffled laughs and strangled guffaws seemed so strong that the door, once opened may strike against him so strongly by the shear force of the personalities inside, that he may find himself flat on the bowling club floor.

He straightened his shirt and smell checked his underarms, just a hint of odor now. Thankfully he had planned ahead and put a few extra doses of deodorant on, which made him smell more of old spice and less of sweaty man pig. He cracked his neck, then his hands, and stood tall with his shoulders back and stomach sucked in as much as possible. Once satisfied that he could hold this position long enough for entry, he raised his large hairy fist and banged four times at the door.

Eliza’s voice floated through the kitchen towards the door. She was speaking of children in some far away place. Bosnia was it? He couldn’t tell the exact location got lost somewhere in travel. Stuck, bouncing back and forth between the iron plates of the door, lost forever in each cool crevice and nut. A hand reached for the latch and the door swung open. Henry braced himself for the fall, but once opened, the room fell quiet and the cool air from the apartment embraced his overheated body.

The bright white walls were graced with a plethora of framed black and white photographs. The monochrome apartment was in stark contrast to the rest of the building.
He could see three people sitting at the end of the chandeliered hall around a large oak dining table-wine glasses in hand, some still red in the face from laughter. They all wore beautiful clothing, perfectly fit and perfectly pressed. A fair colored woman at the far end continued to laugh until she noticed herself to be the only one and suddenly stopped. As she turned her gaze toward the door her look grew fiercely solemn and matched those of the other guests visible to Henry from the door.

“Henry! It’s so good of you to come!” Eliza exclaimed over the jazz music playing in the background as she embraced Henry in a hug. She was a tall woman with black hair and deep blue eyes. Her hair was large and dominating but smelled of sweet coconut and hairspray. The long black dress she was wearing clung loosely to her body, leaving her right shoulder bare. She placed her slender hands on his shoulders and asked him how his ride was, how his father was, his life, his car, his dog…all of the questions you’re taught to ask and pretend to care about at a young age. But then, she did something rather unexpected.

Eliza placed her thumb in her mouth and carefully raised it to his brow, and as she slowly whipped the oil from his forehead all of his apprehensions and anxieties were caressed away with it. Henry sighed deeply and joined the others at the table.