The Gray Overcoat

There had been no previous dialog, no previous passing. I was not reminded of an old friend or acquaintance, no forced second look into his eyes to ponder where or when we had met before, and yet, I knew him.  I could not remember how but I was immersed in him as we brushed shoulders walking by one another on the crowded street.  Instantly I felt the haunting bewilderment swell within me.

For an instant I was shaken and puzzled by that sudden unexplained experience.

We each walked on.  I glanced over my shoulder to see him melting into the crowd, his gray overcoat blending into the day.  He did not look back.  Red faces spewed warm vapor onto the cold of the street as we hurried along toward our destinations, long strides striking pavement with the pulsating sound of heel passing heel.

The light at the corner turned green.  The walk sign flashed repeatedly before I moved, the rush of the others swarming around me.

The day passed begrudgingly into evening and all was forgotten of the morning.  As a white moon cast shadows upon the pavement I walked along the avenue toward home, exhausted from the maneuvering of the day, recalling scowling faces that would decide if my sales presentations made earlier would earn me the commissions I needed to send my daughter to college, or perhaps buy a second car. It was a competitive dog eat dog world and selling advertising to big companies was a commitment, not just a job.  The rewards were either feast or famine.  You could go to work one morning with two dollars in your pocket and come home with a contract worth thousands.  Or you could return, as I had today, uncertain of the outcome, not knowing if the fat man in the thousand dollar suit with choking collar or the skinny young woman with breast implants and long iridescent fingernails liked you well enough to buy your ideas.  I hated days like today.  I did not need more stress and uncertainty in my life.  Soon I could see the apartment building where I lived.  A welcome haven rising high into the glow of the city.

Just before reaching the large glass doors, framed in subtle lighting anointing the entrance to my haven, my private parlor of seclusion neatly tucked into six rooms of spacious indulgence, I saw him again.  He stood beneath the eerie reflection of a dying street lamp that flickered as a psycodelic strobe, illuminating his figure like an old silent movie.

I stopped short of the double doors.  Should I speak?  It was so odd that he was there, so close, and yet far enough away from me that I felt no danger, no apprehension.  I wondered if he had been here since we passed on the street a dozen hours ago.  Why was he standing here of all places?  Was he waiting for someone?

Perhaps he lived in my building and was trying to flag a taxi.  Yes, that must be it, that’s why I thought I knew him.  He lived in my same building!  I smiled at my questioning, reassuring myself that I had figured out the mystery of the man in the gray overcoat.....and yet, I was not fully convinced that was the real solution.

I had yet to see his face in the flickering light, his long gray overcoat pulled tightly to the collar, a wool brimmed hat straight out of the fifties cocked on his head.  Did he even know I was standing here looking at him? I coughed as if clearing my throat, a weak attempt to be noticed.  He never turned.

Just then my wife came through the double glass doors, her handbag slung over her shoulder and keys jingling in her hand, “Oh there you are honey,  I was beginning to worry....I have to run to Mothers for a minute.....be a dear....make yourself a drink.. I’ll be back in an hour and we will have dinner....”  I did a 180 degree turn as she flew by me and watched as she jumped into a waiting taxi and roared off into the night.

I turned to the flickering street light once more.  He had vanished.  

I took the final steps to the apartment building, slowing to say hello to the doorman Gus, who was, as usual reading the racing forums and busily marking the horses for tomorrow’s race at the track.  I rode the elevator alone to the second floor and entered my apartment where the lights were all on and the voice of Annie Lennox was vibrating off the walls as “Pavement Cracks” filled the air.

Looking from my second story window the avenue was voiceless.  Cars passed in silence as eyes of headlights guided them through the dark of the evening.  The street lamp on the corner continued its monotonous flicker.  I poured a double shot of Jack into a glass and let it pass over my tongue until the burn awakened me from the stupor I had elapsed into. “Strange day” I said aloud.  Several double shots later I looked out the window once more, expecting my wife at any time, noticing that it was exactly 10 o’clock and thinking that dinner would be late, again.

Still at the window I saw the street light flicker once more, brighter than ever before, faster and then, it went black. The curb disappeared in the darkness and the spot where the stranger had stood now faded into obscurity. I felt an eerie warmth brush me for an instant and felt a sudden sadness rush over me.  “Must be the Jack” I thought as I sat down, letting my thoughts drift away as Annie sang “Loneliness.”   I was nearly asleep when my wife returned to the apartment.

“Sorry honey, you know Mother...loves to talk.  We’ll have dinner in just a few minutes, okay?”   “ Sure, okay” I said, drifting back into the peacefulness and warmth of my large chair.

I was awakened very early the next morning by the urgent ring of the telephone.  Still on the chair, my wife asleep on the couch, cold chicken and rice sitting on the table next to me.  Annie no longer serenading.  I picked up the phone.  It was my Mother. “Jimmy?”  “Yes Mother, what's wrong, what is it?”

Her voice was distant and faint.  “Jimmy I have something to tell you...its bizarre and I don’t know what to make of it myself, but....but...”  “ Talk to me Mother, what is going on?  What’s wrong?”  “Oh Jimmy, it’s about your Father...”

My Father?  I had not thought about my Father for thirty years.  My Father left me and Mother when I was only twelve. He got into his car one Saturday morning to go fishing and was never heard from again.  I cried for days, was put into therapy, couldn’t sleep at night for a year, and nearly failed the sixth grade. And Mother, what a horrible time she had.  She nearly had a mental break down; she searched for him day and night, and called everyone she knew, stared out the window for hours and days at a time waiting for him to return. Even years later when a private detective told her that Father vanished without a trace, she refused to accept the fact that he was gone, that he would abandon us like that.  My Father?  It all came rushing back to me, the hurt, the fear, and the questions.

“Are you still there Jimmy?” she asked.  “Yes....yes, I am here.  What’s this all about?”

“They found him son...they found your Father.”  A sudden disbelief rushed through me like a stake driven into my heart.  I gasped, unable to speak.

“They found his car at the bottom of White Lake in Martinsville.  They were draining the lake to build an amusement park and found his car......”

Mother’s voice began to trail off and I could feel her pain as she tried to continue.

“I don’t understand...didn’t they look there before?  They said they looked there!

My God......”

“His body was deteriorated badly.  They found him last week but couldn’t identify him until yesterday.  That’s when they called me...”

“Well, how do they know?  Maybe it’s not him...I mean, if you are in the water for thirty years, how do you know for sure?  What did they say?”

“They are sure son, they found his wallet and when they dried out the contents that were left, they found his fishing license with his name on it.”

I could not think for a few moments.  This was all too incredible for my mind to process quickly.  Shock was a word I had heard used before, and now I knew its true meaning.

“I still don’t understand Mother.  His wallet would have been washed away or rotted away after all these years.  Unbelievable. I just can’t image how they found it....when did they call you?”

“Last night Jimmy.  They first called me about seven o’clock yesterday morning and told me that they had found the car and would call back when they had confirmed that it was him.  They called back last night at ten o’clock. I waited until this morning to call you.  I wanted you to get some sleep before I gave you this horrible news.”

I thought back to seven o’clock yesterday morning.  I was on my way to work, walking along the same avenue I traveled every morning, seeing the same faces, thinking the same thoughts, wondering what the day would be like pitching my sales presentations to Corporate men and women dressed in thousand dollar suits and scowling million dollar scowls, unaware that a world away, my Father was at last being found. I shuttered while remembering the man in the gray overcoat that I brushed that morning and how he had stood in front of my apartment building, so alone and so distant and how the street light had finally turned black at about the same time my Mother was receiving the news that my Father’s body had been identified.   It had been a strange day indeed.

“Oh my God” I muttered into the phone.  “Are you okay Mother?”

“I suppose so.  This is so extraordinary, so bizarre.  I just don’t know what to think.”

“Me either..after all this time.  It seems unreal.”

“Yes, yes it does Jimmy.  Well, at least, we know now that your Father didn’t just leave....that he just didn’t vanish without a reason.”

“You’re right Mother.  I guess that is good news.  You know, I still can’t image how they found dad’s wallet after all these years.  It just doesn't make sense that it would still be on him when everything else was decomposed or washed away.  I guess that is a miracle in itself.”

“I guess so Jimmy, but they didn’t say they found it on his body.  He was mostly pieces of bones and his skin was gone.....how horrible.  They said they found the wallet in the inside pocket of a coat in the trunk of his car....an old gray overcoat they said.”

The End

John Pouch  2006