Like his father before him, like the patch on his shirt, Abhi was maintenance-the head of maintenance-or as the kids sometimes called him, “the ride man at Ruby Pier.”
30 minutes left.
Purab: Hey, happy birthday, I hear.
Abhi grunted.
Pu: No party or nothing?
Abhi looked at him as if he were crazy. For a moment he thought how strange it was to be growing old in a place that smelled of cotton candy.
Pu: Well remember, Abhi, I’m off next week, starting Monday. Going to Mexico.
Abhi nodded, and Purab did a little dance.
Pu: Me and Bulbul. Gonna see the whole family. Par-r-r-ty!
He stopped dancing when he noticed Abhi staring
Pu: You ever been?
Ab: Been?
Pu: To Mexico?
Abhi exhaled through his nose.
Ab: Kid, I never been anywhere I wast shipped to with a rifle.
He watched Purab return to the sink. He thought for a moment. Then he took a small wad of bills from his pocket and removed the only twenties he had, two of them. He held them out.
Ab: Get you wife something nice.
Purab regarded the money, broke into a huge smile, and said
Pu: C’mon, man. You sure?
Abhi pushed the money into Purab’s palm. Then he walked out back to the storage area. A small “fishing hole” had been cut onto the boardwalk planks years ago, and Abhi lifted the plastic cap. He tugged on a nylon line that dropped 80 feet to the sea. A piece of bologna was still attached.
Pu: We catch anything? Tell me we caught something!
Abhi wondered how the guy could be so optimistic. There was never anything on that line.
Pu: One day we are gonna catch a halibut!
Ab: Yep.
Abhi mumbled, although he knew you could never pull a fish that big through a hole that small.
26 minutes to live.
Abhi crossed the boardwalk to the south end. Business was slow. The girl behind the taffy counter was leaning on her elbows, popping her gum.
Once, Ruby Pier was the place to go he n the summer. It had elephants and fireworks and marathon dance contests. But people didn’t go to ocean piers anymore; they went to theme parks where you paid $75 a ticket and had your photo taken with a giant furry character.
Abhi limped past the bumper cars and fixed his eyes on a group of teenagers leaning over the railing. Great he told himself. Just what I need.
Ab: Off!
He said, tapping the railing with his cane.
Ab: C’mon, it’s not safe.
The teens glared at him. The car poles sizzled with electricity, zzzap zzzap sounds.
Ab: It’s not safe.
He repeated.
The teens looked at each other. One kid, who wore a streak of orange in his hair, sneered at Abhi, then stepped onto the middle rail.
A: Come on, dudes, hit me!
He yelled, waving at the young drivers.
A: Hit m-
Abhi whacked the railing so hard with his cane he almost snapped it in two.
A: MOVE IT!
The teens ran away.
Another story went around Abhi. As a soldier, he had engaged in combat numerous times. He’d been brave. Even won a medal. But toward the end of his service, he got into a fight with one of his own men. That’s how Abhi was wounded. No one knew what happened to the other guy.
No one asked.
With 19 minutes left on earth, Abhi sat for the last time, in an old aluminium beach chair. His short, muscled arms folded like a seal’s flippers across his chest. His legs were red from the sun, and his left knee still showed scars. In truth much of Abhi’s body was suggested a survived encounter. His fingers were bent at awkward angles, thanks to numerous fractures from assorted machinery. His nose had been broken several in what he called “saloon fights.” His broadly jawed face might have been good-looking once, the way a prizefighter might have looked before he took too many punches.
Now Abhi just looked tired. This was his regular spot on the Ruby Pier boardwalk, behind the Jackrabbit ride, which in the 1980s was the Thunderbolt, which in the 1970s was Steel Eel, which in the 1960s was the Lollipop Swings, which in the 1950s was Laff In The Dark, and which before was the Stardust Band Shell.
Which was where Abhi met Pragya.
744 words.
Hey so hope you you like it and don’t forget to comment.
Love,
Prabhish.
Bye!