Lauderville, and My Part In Its Self-Propelled Existence
Sunday, August 10th, 2003
Lauderville, and My Part In Its Self-Propelled Existence
A Dom Entry
I stepped off the bus into an instant smoke. The driver hadn't been wrong in his intuition that there was something wrong with the insides of the vehicle, but about getting us, (meaning the passengers), out of here "in no time" ... he had fallen a bit short of the mark. Not that I had believed him much. The bus was in ruins, and so was my little vacation.
I'd planned to visit a number of the boys. I'd already flown from Manchester to LA for a good visit, and I'd meant to make for Vancouver to drop in on the last batch. Mistake one: I'd planned to take a bus. Mistake two: I'd already paid for my tickets out of Vancouver to home. Mistake three: Someone back where buses are born forgot how to make an engine.
The result? I'm suddenly stranded somewhere between where I started and where I want to end up with no more than a plane ticket, a broken bus, and a bloody thin wallet, (I assume "the clothes on my back" to be a given).
I was only completely stranded for about an hour, however. A fellow passenger on the bus had been wise enough to bring a map along and decided that we weren't so far off from a small town called Lauderville, (a little north of the "crash site"). Lauderville, Oregon. Seconds previous, the town hadn't existed in my mind. Now it was made to be our "only hope". Oh, yes, perhaps we can call a cab? Find an airport? Sue a bus service? I wondered if I even had change for a call. Thought I might borrow a dime off one of the other passengers. But the beginnings of heat stroke were surely settling upon their faces, and I worried that they were starting to turn.
When we reached town, I avoided the public phone. I figured that any decent business might supply me with at least one free call. So I walked past an old café, around the corner, and took a peek into a little food mart to ask the cashier about a telephone. Sweet girl; she handed me the receiver almost immediately, brightening with a smile. But I handed the receiver back nearly as soon as I'd picked it up, as it occurred to me that I had no one to call. I was in a rut. I had depended on that bus for everything and it had let me down.
I left the mart, after apologizing to the cashier, and made a fine pillar of myself on the walk in front of the building. I must have stood there alone for about thirty minutes.
I couldn't decide what to do with myself. In fact, I couldn't really decide how to react either. Anyway, in reality I didn't have much choice about my situation. Truth was, I was stuck in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon outside of the local grocery mart with no escape. I thought that it must have been what prison is like. I mean, the free call on the phone and everything. Only it was a bit worse than that, because I had more than one call, and countless of reasons to call, but no one to call upon. Utter torture, really.
The most tortuous fact was: I knew I would have to stay. I was just in a state of denial at the moment. Anyway, in order to stay I would need a place to stay, (aside from the side-street square I'd made a platform of), and money with which to support my meaningless existence here. I didn't have nearly enough money for another ride out of town. I certainly didn't have enough for an elongated stay in Lauderville. And I didn't have any desire to make the money myself. Especially if that meant staying in this town for even another minute.
On a whim, I decided to search out the nearest government-operated establishment I could find. To no great happiness of mine, this was the post office.
The first man I saw in the building was actually the only man who worked there - sitting restfully behind the counter in a swivel chair. He introduced himself as Marty Rush, and then proceeded to tell me how much I stood out in this town. I explained to him a bit of my situation, wondering, hopelessly, if he could help. He scratched his head in a way less than encouraging and said, "Not much I can do, other than give you a phone to use. Got plenty of envelopes and stamps, too, if you've got someone to write to."
That wasn't exactly what I was looking for.
"That's just my problem," I said, becoming frustrated. "I don't have anyone. I can't even pay for a bloody ride out."
He only stared a bit blankly and said, "You're not from around here are you? Not from this country anyway, I can tell that."
I set my palms on his desk and took up his gaze.
Since the only thoughts that came to my mind during my silence were not much for etiquette, I decided to keep my mouth closed until he offered some word of advice on his own.
After a time, he finally spoke up.
"I can't see you're getting a free ride out of town unless you've got the money," he said. "I'm sure you've realized that enough."
My eyes fell to the counter as he sighed.
"I can offer you work, however."
My head turned at the prospect, and I cast him a curious glance.
"Work?" I breathed. "As in...a job? And then just stay here?"
He nodded. "If that'll help."
But I shook my head, rubbing my thumbs onto the surface of his desk as if rubbing away the furrows in my own brow. I took him squarely into view.
"I don't have a place to stay."
I felt like I was trying to make a point - a point of why I shouldn't, or wouldn't, stay. I didn't want to stay. I wanted to just hop back on that broken bus and cross my fingers until it moved.
Marty's voice snapped me back into a sense of reality.
"I might know a place-"
"No money," I shot.
"No money needed," he huffed, bending to pull a large binder from under the counter. He laid the binder down upon the desk and opened it, flipping through a few pages. "I've an address here that doesn't belong to nobody." He adjusted the thin glasses upon his round face. "And nobody wants it." He tossed his gaze back to me with a pause.
I paused also, unsure of what to do. Taking him up on the offer meant I'd have to stay. And what kind of dump would this house have to be in order for no one to want it?
"A real cozy place, I'm sure," I said with the tones of a sarcastic smile in my throat.
"Not too bad," he argued calmly. "It could use some work. Missing a few shingles maybe, but as far as I know it's still got all the works attached. Probably even has a phone." He shrugged. "I could loan you some blankets for the night, if you're interested."
I didn't respond.
He continued after removing his glasses. "They'll just tear the old place down if no one takes it up. ...Nice location, too. Right on the river..."
I figured I'd stop him before his state of nostalgia spread.
"Fine." I set my jaw, not knowing really what I'd agreed to, but wanting to get things over with and get out - or get to somewhere else at least. "Fine, sure. Where is it?"
"Well!" Marty replied, slapping his hands down upon his slacks. Reaching, he pulled over a small pad of paper and revealed a pen from behind his ear. As he scribbled over the paper, he continued his chat with me. "If you want it, it's yours. If you don't, not a problem. Just give the place a look-over and tell me what you think later on."
He ripped away the scrawled sheet and spun it in my direction. Then he reached into a pocket of the binder and retrieved a key, dropping atop the paper. I looked over the sheet - an address - and picked both items up, stuffing them into my pocket.
"Thanks," I replied.
He shared my look of disinterest.
"About the job," he spoke up. "You can begin tomorrow. Here, in the mail room." He made a gesture to the doorway over his shoulder. "Sorting, filing, mailing, and delivering. In a small town like this, you do everything for yourself."
"What if I don't want the job?" I cut in.
He only gave me another nonchalant shrug.
"Your choice," he said. "I just thought you needed the money."
I considered it for a moment, watching the doorway of the mailroom, disgusted with myself and my luck. Damn it. I have to get out of here. The room began to ache.
Damn.
"Fine," I managed.
Marty seemed to perk.
"Good!" He looked only half-pleased. With a longing reach, he pulled a piece of paper from a file on the desk and set it down in front of me. "Here's the application. You're basically guaranteed the job, but of course I need a couple of facts first."
I smirked.
"Of course."
Marty leaned back into his chair and folded his hands over his protruding stomach. I didn't enjoy the feeling of "being considered". I didn't like the uncertain energy I got from Marty either. If he had given me one more minute of that thoughtful silence, I might have done something I would have regretted. But he raised his arm soon enough, offering out his hand.
"Well, nice doing business with you then, Mr. ...?"
We both waited.
I raised my brow with effort and lifted my hand to his.
"Monaghan," I said, then gave his hand some minute semblance of a shake. "I'm Dominic Monaghan."
"Mr. Monaghan," he finally smiled. "Good luck to you."
I let go of his hand and began my leave.
"Goodbye," I said, and pushed through the door.
When I finally found my house, (reading through an illiterate amount of scratched-out numbers and phrases that presumably made up my address), I was almost glad to see it, and nearly overjoyed that it was in livable shape, let alone that it had a shape at all.
The porch made an unwelcome growl as I walked to the front door, and when I did manage the lock, the door opened with a listless shriek. Finding a light switch, I ignited three working light bulbs and took my first real look at the place.
A living room, a parlour, a kitchen around the corner... The floor boards squeaked under my steps as I made my round.
I came to the short hallway and took my stroll to the closed door at the end. With a shudder, the knob finally gave way and the door retched aside, revealing a small room. A bed sat in dust, headboard against the back wall, nothing atop it but a mattress. I took in my first real sigh since I entered the house, breathing in the stillness of abandonment the room seemed to create.
So I'm abandoned. To a foreign wasteland and an old shack on the edge of some river in some town in some state... I must be a sodded idiot to even think of staying here. Even if only to make the money. There must be another way out.
This was usually an opportune time for my optimism to poke it's blissful head around into my affairs and direct me to a new mode of thought. Of course, it was right on cue. Within minutes I was thinking that it was a good change for me, being in a new town with new faces. It would be an adventure; relying on fate and myself. And, there's a thought! What if it was fate that brought me to this town in the first place?
I slouched down on the bed with an unsettling thump.
Damned fates.
That evening, Marty found his way to my door and brought with him a heap of blankets, my postal worker's uniform, and some various supplies. It wasn't long after then, when he left, that I got tired of looking at the walls of my house and decided to just go to sleep. "Seven o'clock," Marty's words echoed in my head. "That's when work starts, so don't be late." Believe me, I thought, going to sleep at eight in the evening will wake me at seven.
I was an hour late on my first day of work. Marty didn't seem too displeased, however, and that was enough to encourage me through the rest of it - letter sorting, address changes, package labeling, and delivery. Either a night's rest had worked miracles, or the job just really wasn't a hard one at all. I didn't mind much about any of it, except for deliveries. Ah, deliveries…
First problem: Marty gave me this ancient bike with a basket in the back. This is my mode of transport. No engine, one brake, and two pedals. I can make .5 km/hr in 5 seconds. I haven't ridden a bike since I was nine. Second problem: .5 km/hr won't outrun the dogs. And there is no leash law in Lauderville's residential area. In fact, there is no residential area. There are just houses. With big, man-eating dogs. Third problem: I can't find these houses because there is no residential area. Streets are placed at random, and houses are hidden along back roads without names and behind the woods. Fourth problem: It takes me approximately two hours to deliver one person's mail, and this doesn't meet Marty's approval.
He says, however, that I will improve with time.
Fifth problem: This means I'm going to be here for a while.
It's my eighth day in Lauderville. I'm slowly losing all manner of reason.
I got to work thirteen minutes late today. An improvement, as Marty would say.
I've begun a mission of cracking the code that makes up the street pattern in this town. Though I'm still looking for Rosie Street, I'm thinking I'll save it until I need another way in which to "improve".
Marty gave me a bit of my pay early in order to buy myself some food from the mart, (as my wallet and my stomach have become equally hungry). The same cashier was in the mart when I visited. She looked surprised to see me again. And in a postal worker's uniform, no less. She asked if I worked at the post office. I said no, and gave her one of my cheekiest grins. I've obviously made a fool of myself in front of her, and she'll obviously love me for it.
As for other affairs, I actually met someone at the office a couple days ago. His name is Marton, and he had me hold his mail. Said he was some sort of a nature buff, and was on his way for a trip into the woods. Well, there are plenty of woods to see, so I hope he's gotten his fill. Perhaps he'll be back soon. I wouldn’t mind actually having more than three familiar faces to look at, (one being my own). Wouldn't mind hearing how his trip went, either. That is, if I'm not overrun with deliveries.
Sometimes I think I sound like I'm getting used to living here.
Damn, here's hoping I'm cured of that.
I've made an executive decision to leave my house the way it is. At least, for now. Anyway, after I get the money, I'll be out of here, so what's the use in really fixing it up?
One nice thing about the place - I can see the river from my bedroom window. I did shine up the pane a bit in there for a better view. It isn't a bad river - the River Daughter, I learned. There's often fishing boats settled out upon the water, and I watch the fishermen bring in their haul. Not to say that it's much of a haul. Oysters are more abundant, really. Almost as much as espresso stands.
Speaking of which, I haven't gotten out to getting an espresso yet.
I actually haven't seen much of the town, beside the outside of espresso stands. I spend so much time riding through it to get to the outlying houses, that I miss most of the shops and tourist spots. Maybe I'll take a peek in them on Sunday. After all, no post on Sunday.
There's one thought of this town that will always bring a smile to my face.
But it's late. Too late to be thinking about this town any longer. Sooner than I realise it, my mind will be on fate again, and I'll take that same endless round of thoughts of wondering why I'm here and then I’ll never get to sleep. There has got to be at least one thing in this town better than no post on Sunday. Just one. So maybe I should look for it.
While I'm still here, anyway.
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