Marc stepped back from his typewriter. Kim and Jeanette had already gone to bed and he walked to his room in the dark. His mind continued to focus on the Man with No Style. What was this man’s motivation? The more Marc thought about it, the more he became distressed.
He lied down in bed next to Kim and tried to close his eyes. As they shut he saw the image of the man standing with his hands on his tiny hips looking out through the airport window, staring at the jet way.
Startled, Marc opened his eyes and he swore he could hear the alternating crunch-flop as the one shoed man walked towards him. It could’ve been his heart beat in his ears he told himself but he hadn’t felt like he was losing his mind his entire life until now. With all his might he couldn’t stop thinking about this man and the sounds continued.
Crunch-flop
Crunch-flop
Crunch-flop
It stopped and Marc closed his eyes. Sitting in front of him in his minds eye was the man, jaw jutted out, and upper lip curled to his nose,
“Excuse me sir?”
“Sir, Excuse me.”
“Can I borrow a pen, sir?”
Over and over, Marc shook his head trying to look away trying to think of something else.
“Excuse me, sir.”
..Excuse me!
Excuse me, Sir
Sir!
Excuse me, sir,
“MARCUS TRENTWORTHY! Excuse me!”
Marc opened his eyes, and his heart jumped, he was sitting in the board room at work, his boss, standing at the front of the room and everyone at the table staring at him.
“Marc, excuse me but are we interrupting your busy day of day dreaming?
Chuckles floated around the room. He must’ve fallen asleep and day-dreamed all during his morning and ride to work. Marc patted himself down and started sweating. He was fully dressed. How’d this happen? How’d I get here? Am I really losing my mind?
“Marc! I’m talking to you!” His boss’s face was turning red.
“Sorry, I uh…”
“Sorry’s just not going to cut it this time, Marc. Your performance has really fallen behind lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Folks are saying they are walking by your desk and you’re just staring into space. And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you seem to have had time to write these ‘stories’ of yours. Listen here, mister, in all my…”
He continued on and Marc stood up out of his chair, turned and walked towards the door.
“…where do you think you’re going? You come back here right now, Mister. If you leave, Marc… If you leave right now don’t bother coming back.”
Marc stopped at the door way and turned to look back at his boss, “Don’t worry about it, I quit!”
Marc walked out grinning and left the stunned silence of the room behind him.
…..
“Oh my God what have I done?!” Marc walked out of the building and down to the street. He couldn’t go home, not yet. He didn’t want to tell Kim what he had done. It felt good though. It felt good to get out of there. Maybe he was trying to be like the man in the airport. Maybe he was beginning to beat to his own drummer. He could do anything he wanted today. He could be free to day dream and write all he wanted.
“Maybe I’ll work on that story about the man with no style.” He smiled to himself as he strutted down the road, hands in his pockets. It was a little chilly out but the sun was shining. As he crossed the intersection of Dakota and 5th he saw the football arena off in the distance, about a quarter of a mile down the way. He thought about his main character James Bailey, the night manager at the football stadium and thought this would be the perfect time to do a little research for the story.
Marc walked up to the stadium and was surprised to find a good number of cars in the parking lot. The local minor league team was holding a mid day exhibition game. Marc looked on the marquee and saw the game must be ending soon and decided to see if he could sneak in.
With a grin and new found confidence he walked up to the stadium and found an unmanned entrance where he hopped the turnstile, looked around from side to side, stuck his hands in his pockets and started strutting around the concourse, grinning his satisfied grin and with a soft giggle and elite British accent he whispered to himself, “Excuse me, sir. Can I borrow a pen?”
~--------------~
Next time find out what adventures befall Marc as he begins to march to the beat of this new drummer!
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