Look Through My Window
"What's that?" A nod at the tray.
"Piss," answered one.
Field blinked.
"Champagne," said Julia. Who-Lee-Uh. A spry cat.
The mouse reached out a paw ... took a glass. Nose sniffing. Wasn't good habit to eat or drink anything ... unless you smelled it first.
"Nobody can tell ya there's only one song worth singin' ...
... they may try an' sell ya, cause it hangs 'em up to see
someone like you ... "
5:15 PM.
Earlier.
Notre Dame was ahead. Field had been watching the game in the break-room ... while in wait.
"My car has no air conditioning. Just so you know."
Field nodded. Arms crossed and paws hugging his sides. Submissively.
They were outside now.
"You want the front or the back?" she asked.
"Um ... "
"Doesn't matter?"
A shake of the head. His ears swiveled.
"Well, I'm going back in ... see if Victor's still in there."
Field nodded, and as she left ... he went round the back of the red Chevy. Opened the back-right door. Slipped in. Careful not to catch his long, silky tail ... in the door. Too often, he got in rushes. Got in frenzies. Was always tripping over his own tail. And if not doing that ... then getting it caught in things. But, carefully, he got in, and sat, and ...
... squeaked.
Sank into the seats.
Smiled.
The mouse bounced a bit, and then ... fished for his seatbelt. Eyed the odometer.
138,456 miles.
With a post-it note on the dash reading: check at 140,000.
He sipped. Smacked his lips a bit.
Had a bit of a bite. Not like ouzo or tequila ... not a burning bite, but ... an aftertaste. The mouse sipped. And looked around.
Entrees had been served.
Now was the time to nibble.
He snuck a piece of garlic bread. Which was cold and soft, but ... he chewed. Chew-chewed. Ears going ... swivel-swivel.
Sipped.
He was the only mouse here. Most of the others doing the catering job ... were cats. A rabbit or two. A variety of furs.
But he was the only mouse. And he felt he stood out. In a quiet way.
At least I make an impression, he thought.
"But you gotta make your own kind of music,
sing your own special song.
Make your own kind of music,
even if nobody else sings along."
"I don't know where I'm going," said the rabbit. Stephanie. "Just so you know." She always said "just so you know." And would follow it with an ear-waggle. Waggle-waggle.
"Well, I used to live down there," said Victor, who had taken the passenger seat.
Field was sitting in the back. World-watching out the window. Quiet ... as a mouse.
He smiled at that notion. It was so patently perfect.
Down Keystone Avenue.
Field watched.
And closed his eyes as they came to a red light, and the brakes seemed to go ... churr-churr-churr ... as they ground the car to a stop.
The front windows were rolled all the way down. Field, to start, had rolled his own window down, but the feeling of the wind in his fur ... was too fierce. So, he rolled it back up. Mostly. And took the breeze from the front, which was only present when the vehicle was in motion. Which it currently wasn't.
The radio was on 99.5 FM.
Gwen Stefani.
Field knew as much. He smiled inwardly. He was familiar enough with such music ... to know it was her.
It was a good song.
Before they had left ...
"Why didn't they ask the South-side cafeteria to cater this ... if it's on the ... "
"Well, cause that would've been the smart thing to do," she told Field.
"Oh."
Field paced and sipped. Finished the drink. Tossed the plastic cup, and then ... slipped back out ... into the open area.
Noise.
Music. Chitter-chatter.
Furs.
The mouse felt a bit out of place. A bit.
But, then, hadn't he been worrying about such ... not a moment before? Surrounded by furs ... and yet mostly alone. He was at a tilt.
Approached some tables. Cleared some things, and went back ...
... and picked up a second drink.
The glasses were only half-full. If that.
In the car. And halfway there.
The Pepsi Coliseum.
Down so far as to where the roads had no stop-lights. They had stop-lines. With boxy screens that had X's for stop. And arrows for go. And no caution for in-between. Down to where the numbered streets began to get lower, lower, lower.
21st Street.
6th Street.
And Field craned his neck for it. Though his neck hurt. The sore, stiff kind of hurting that ... brought on paranoia of lock-neck.
But he craned for it.
Not yet ...
... not yet.
Church's chicken.
No.
Into urban territory now.
All the eateries and stores. A big, neon Arby's hat. It blinked on and off.
A fishery. Pet fish.
Over railroad tracks. Clunk-clunk.
Clunk.
And intersecting College Avenue. It went this far?
Field had supposed it ended ... soon after Nora. But perhaps the road went on forever. Roads could do anything here. Roads could be anything in the Crossroads of America.
I-465 was a monster.
86th Street was better, but ... had its faults.
And it was there.
Tall, blue and grey ... reflecting the amber of the day. And the sun was to its side, stuck between two buildings. It reflected the glow as if ... the sun was doing it justice. As if it had been crowned as an autumn defense. A sentinel.
The trapezoidal top. Ridge-like. And the two pointy spires.
The view from here was even better then the view from Meridian.
Such an angle.
The Bank One Tower. The tallest building in the state ... and nestled there, as the car drove, drove ... was the monument. Barely seen. Dwarfed, but ... there. And holding its own.
A sign read: "south-west quadrant" ...
"You're gonna be nowhere,
the loneliest kind of lonely.
It may be rough going.
Just to do your thing is the hardest thing to do."
When they got there, they ... set the tables. Unloaded.
Field used a freight elevator for the first time in his life.
He smiled as it went up. As it whirred.
They set the tables.
"Knife goes on ... the right of the spoon?"
"Left. Next to the plate," said Stephanie.
Field knew that. He should've known that. Knife guards the spoon.
"Fork one, fork two. Cup. Glass. Plate. Knife. Spoon. Napkin."
"Two napkins at every table are supposed to be pink?"
A nod.
And when they were finished, with the ceremony going on below them ... the floor wooden and creaky, and they had to be very, very quiet ...
... they waited near the window.
"There's a ... heliport ... right there. Just right there," whispered Field, seeing the parked helicopter. Its blades sagging. And the sign that read, "Indianapolis Downtown Heliport" ... they were two stories off the ground ... from these windows ... looking out at roofs. And at the skyline. And the fading light.
The mouse was all wide-eyed. Drinking every detail. He seemed to be the only one among the catering party ... actually having fun.
It was mind-boggling how much he was enjoying work today. It had saved his day. Well, work and Junior's nosiness. But ...
(He wouldn't be enjoying it so much the next day, he wagered.)
Field had never seen a heliport before. Had never ridden in a freight elevator. Had never seen a heliport.
"My boyfriend lives just right down that way," she said. "Not that you care."
Field nodded. Trying not to interpret what that could've meant.
When the salads were served (first course: salad) ... when the salads were served, the mouse trailed the rabbit. Waif-like, as was his way. Weak.
She had to direct him as to what to do. And he would nod and ... follow her lead. Glad she was here. They didn't talk much, but ... he felt at ease around her.
When they went back to the kitchen, they stalled for a bit ... and mulled around. And Field looked to Inez, who looked back ...
Inez giggled and whispered something to Julia.
The thought flitted, briefly, through Field's mind ... that maybe she knew ... that maybe they all knew.
"I must be losing my finesse. If I'm not careful, I'll be understood by everybody."
"Ninotchka," Field whispered to himself, and turned ... and waited for more plates to carry. More entrees. Chicken. Green beans. Spaghetti with sauce. Mushrooms on the chicken. And garlic bread in baskets with pink cloth. And pitchers of iced tea and ice water. And trays of watermelon, strawberries, pineapple. Cantaloupe.
He was further squinty-eyed when, in preparation of waiting the tables, one of the managers had said that the guys would carry the cake table to where it needed to be. With the cake on it. And how it would ... be all for ruin ... if the cake should fall. Off with their heads. But ... she had said the guys would carry the table, and had ... said "you girls" will ... to do all this other stuff.
And had included Field in that group.
He was desperate to know ... what kind of stamp he left on others. But they never told him. Perhaps, though, that was for the best.
Three hours they'd been here.
And Field was on his third drink. And feeling better than ever.
The first two ... he'd gotten from the tray in the kitchen. The third, he'd gone to the bar to get ... and had caught Inez's eyes upon walking through the reception room.
She laughed. Said something he couldn't comprehend.
He blushed and grinned.
The room was full of music. Pulsing music. Moving forms. Moving bodies. Lights that came out of the floor. Dim. With wooden columns spaced around ... wrapped with Christmas lights. The white kind that went round, round ... wrapped. Glowed.
And flowers. Flowers in wine bottles.
As the mouse scurried back to the kitchen, he felt warmer than before. An almost-sweat. A ... light-headed airiness that was giving him a constant smile. And a helpless giggle now and then.
He could feel it. He was definitely feeling it.
He had just needed to relax ... relax ...
He smiled cheekily to himself. As he scurried to and fro, doing his job ... wondering how tipsy he could get before it became a problem.
But deciding that he would be pushing his luck to find out.
He made several attempts to get a fourth drink, but ... they were all thwarted by tasks and such. And, as an hour went by, the buzz began to fade, and ... he let it go.
Though he wanted it back. Wanted ...
... all loose and calm and ... warm.
Tipsy mouse, he accused.
He giggled.
Stop it, he told himself.
And he was back at the windows. Near a door that led to a patio, and it was ... night, and the top of Bank One was lit ... the ridges were lit. A clear-white. Almost blue. And the building next to it had a neon-blue line ... going round the rectangular top. And the Key building ... had a bright red key ... the lights.
And the twin spires on B1 ... blinked red. Blinked. Blinked. Red.
Skyline.
Capital City.
Coming toward it ... was almost to be treated to illusion. Down ... in the depths of it ... was so different. The mouse didn't know. Only ... there was so much ... those little details, little nooks ... that made this place unbelievably unique and interesting.
And no one saw it but him.
The (proud) Hoosier mouse took it in. Watched it. For seconds. For seconds more. Not a city mouse in any regard, but ... now, at this time, unable to confess anything but ... love for this city. Maybe it was the music, the dim lights, the alcohol ... the hustle, the bustle. The energy. The ... food. (Being that, between table runs ... he's eaten two pieces of garlic bread, and had rummaged his paws through the pineapple and watermelon. Eating all the fruit he could take.) Maybe all that, but ...
... it was pretty.
It was home.
Nowhere was of more substance. He wished he could ... show this to everyone. Everyone he knew. Show them this. Share this ... with them, and ...
... the yearning he felt was so profound, so poignant ... he felt his heart throbbing. Felt his ... soul convulsing.
For connection. For ... shared perspective.
He imagined how it would be in winter ... when everything was crisp and frozen. When the air was so cold it made you cough when you breathed. Those buildings, the air, the sky ... whatever they be ... how would they look in such a light?
The heart and pulse of the state. And a state of mind.
The mouse was standing in a new dimension.
When it was over, at midnight, they loaded it all up ...
... and Field rode in the truck with the GM and her fiancee. And three other employees. And they were followed by a truck with Inez in it.
"Nancy," said Julia, her accent itself ... smiling. "Nancy, I think Field is drunk. Mucho beers."
"No, I'm not," Field replied. Smiling lightly while looking out the window. Feeling a calm confidence that had ... not been present a year ago. A calm, quiet knowing. Unknown but to himself.
"Four champagnes."
"Three."
"He's probably just tired," said Nancy. Perhaps coming to his defense. Or perhaps too tired to engage in frivolity.
"So, if you cannot take my hand,
and if you must be going, I will understand ... "
They reached a railroad crossing at 12:21 AM.
Union Pacific.
A hundred cars, and ... Field watched them from the backseat.
Clunk, clunk ... CLUNK!
Whir!
They went by ... going to who-knew-where. Hauling who-knew-what. But being stopped at a railroad crossing in the downtown of a major metropolitan city ... in Indiana, no less ... in the early, early moments of the Sabbath ...
... well, that had never happened to Field, either.
And, craning his neck to look behind him, he saw B1 ... the blinking red lights still blinking, but the trapezoidal top ... was dark.
They must turn it off after midnight. To save on electricity. And since ... no one's out and about after midnight. So the mouse assumed.
But it was foggy now.
The convergence of warmer and colder air ... put a haze, a mist ... over that cluster of buildings. Over the tightly-packed homes, the ... some run-down, some ... simple. All the roads and lights ...
It was under blanket.
Driving home at 1 AM.
Listening to The Mamas and the Papas. 60's jangle.
Driving too fast ... for the roads were empty. Almost.
And needing some water.
And still not tired.
Earlier, had been ... so tired, and so ...
... but was too alive to rest. Not now. Not ... ever, really, if he could only ... sustain the burning, the yearning, the churning ... that was infusing his spiritual core. And he may have been a layer cake of a creature (and, as a side note, the layer cake at the wedding had been excellent ... the piece he'd eaten had been so dense ... he hadn't been able to finish it) ... he may have been of a contrary design, but ...
" ... you gotta make your own kind of music,
sing your own special song.
Make your own kind of music.
Even if nobody else sings along ... "
He looked through his window.
And giggle-squeaked.
The day, now gone, trying to usurp the night by asking the mouse to "dream a little dream of me."
The mouse was only happy to oblige.
But his head had to find his bed first.
And that could take an eternity.