Sidewalk chalk is magic

[writer_mel]

Jerry walked to work every day because the factory was only five blocks away. There was a small market on the block before the factory so he could get himself lunch on the way in and dinner on the way out. He didn’t eat breakfast. Despite his mother’s admonitions, he never had. He’d also never noticed the lack, so he didn’t much worry about it.

Some days, mostly when he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, he paid attention to the houses he passed on his way in. Almost all of them looked exactly the same but for paint colors and shapes of the porch because they’d looked absolutely identical when they were built by the very factory that still employed most of the people on those blocks. There were a few that stood out, though. The one on the end of his block that had been painted pea soup green that had not faded well. It looked like old sick. Then there was one that someone had tried to paint pink. Jerry wasn’t sure what that color was, but it wasn’t pink.

Because he went in so early, he almost never saw anyone on their porches. When he came home they were still at work. He was fine with not talking to folks on the way. In the mornings it let him get ready for work, let him turn off any part of his mind he might actually care about. On the way home all he needed was enough brain to pick up food if he wanted and to pick his tv shows for the night. His life was a simple thing and that was exactly what he wanted.

He'd had enough complicated.

On his way home from work Tuesday, there were chalk drawings on the sidewalk in front of a soft peach colored house. It was one of the ones he never really noticed. The house was cared for and had nothing fussy about it. Noting calling out to be noticed. Even the chalk drawings were pretty basic. The rainbow had four colors and the kitty only had four whiskers. Three on one side. Still, Jerry was careful not to step on anything. He didn’t want to be rude to a neighbor. There was no reason.

When he came home that night, there was a hopscotch board. He walked around that, too. There was no temptation to jump the board. No temptation to draw in the extra whiskers that scraggly cat clearly needed. Jerry just wanted to get home.




The next day the cat was gone. There was a big wet spot there instead. He did hope that was the artist’s doing and not someone else. No one should undo an artist’s work. The rainbow had some more colors and had gotten a good bit bigger. He guessed that was nice.

He still had no temptation to hop the scotch.

When he came home, the cat was back. Well, it wasn’t the same cat. This one was better, too. It still looked like a kid’s drawing, but at least it had all it’s whiskers. He stopped for a moment to appreciate that chalk cat’s stripes. They bent a little and gave the cat a tiny bit of dimension. Maybe the kid had been looking at drawings and was figuring things out. One thing he did notice, the kid was neat. There were no broken chalk left on the sidewalk and no stray toys in the yard. If not for the chalk, he’d never guess a kid lived there.



Over the next few days, until the Friday when he knew he wouldn’t be walking that way for a bit, Jerry paid attention to the ever improving drawings. He noticed how the cat became increasingly realistic over the days. He also noticed how the rainbow faded out into nothing the way a real one would. It also had many more colors. Jerry wasn’t sure at all how the kid got all those colors with just chalk. The only thing that didn’t change was the hopscotch. It got scuffed up from people walking on it and never improved. He started wondering how much longer it would last.

He didn’t question how the artist got so much better so fast. He didn’t question how the artist, who must be a child, showed no other sign of living in that house. He had too much on his own plate to worry about some kid, no matter how good an artist they were becoming. When he came past the next Monday, he very nearly tripped himself trying not to step on a cat lying on the sidewalk. He stood there long enough to be late for work because he stood there so long.

The drawing was amazing. It had shading and shadows and while he stood there, he could almost swear the dam thing winked at him. He thought about that drawing the whole day at work. Never enough for him to mess up, he’d never do that, but Jerry kept coming back to it. The drawing was so good that he’d know that cat anywhere. It was like a painting he’d seen once the one and only time he’d gone to a museum. He’d gone during school. They wanted the kids to learn things, but all he remembered was a painting of two dead ducks. They hung from a hook in a wall and he swore he could count every feather on each of them.

This time he didn’t stop thinking about the cat the whole day at work. He just couldn’t understand how a drawing could be so lifelike. Those ducks were amazing, but this cat was unreal. He was sorry he didn’t take a picture of it with his phone. He thought about mentioning it to the one guy he sometimes ate lunch with, but he didn’t think he could explain just how realistic that chalk had been.

For the first time in his life, he was eager to leave work. He NEEDED to know if that cat was still there. He NEEDED to know if it was as real as he remembered. When he finally got out, he flat out ran back to the house.

The cat was gone. The whole sidewalk had been washed clean, even the hopscotch that was almost worn away. He stood there, staring at the spot where the cat had been and felt like he was going to cry. He had to fight not to kneel down and claw at the concrete to try and get the cat back. Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Maybe the artist was done and they wanted all their art gone? He’d probably never know.

Then, just as he took a step toward home, he heard a meow from the house’s porch. He turned as slowly as he could, almost afraid of what he’d see. Right there, at the top of the stairs, was the cat. It was a flesh and blood cat. He knew it was the same on. He’d have known that cat anywhere, the same as he would have known those damn ducks. He stood there on the sidewalk, staring as the cat came down off the porch and started winding around his ankles.

When he didn’t reach down to pet the cat, it got louder. Finally it got up on its back feet and stood against his knees. The cat wasn’t huge, but it was solid. The damn thing was real enough to be poking needle sharp claws into his skin. Swallowing hard, Jerry reached down to give the thing a simple oat on the head. The cat rubbed against him, purring loudly. There was nothing odd about the cat that he could see, nothing wrong with it. It was just a damn cat.

Jerry picked the cat up, shaking his head the whole time. The cat kept rubbing on him. It seemed thrilled to see him, like it knew him well and had missed him. That also made no sense. Even if he stretched logic to the breaking point, he’d only known that cat for a week. Known it but not to do more than say hello to. Nothing about this made a bit of sense. With real foreboding, he reached down to lift the cat to his shoulder. All it did was press close and purr even louder. Jerry had to turn his head a little to hear his own thoughts over the roar from the ball of fluff in his arms. He sighed softly, knowing he wasn’t supposed to put this car right back down. He knew enough about cats to know they were in control of the encounters. A guy he used to work with had told him once that cats taught consent. If you didn’t want to get scratched, you asked. If you didn’t want to get scratched or bit, you paid attention when they turned their heads away. This cat was still rubbing up against him so he was kind of stuck.

He decided to sit on the steps to the porch. That would be comfortable for him and the cat did live there. If someone came out, he’d explain that he didn’t want to get scratched. It would make sense, even if the person was the kid. Surely the artist would understand about being nice to the cat. Once Jerry was down, the cat shifted to a comfortable position on his lap. Then, there were the obligatory circles required for a cat to truly settle. With the cat comfortable, Jerry looked around at the porch.

There wasn’t much clutter on the little table by the comfortable chair. Just a coffee mug. No, it was a tea mug. He could see the tag hanging over. Totally normal mug and he recognized the brand of tea. He was pretty sure he had some in his kitchen. There was no newspaper or mail sitting there.

He could also tell that the tea was old because there was no steam coming up off it. It could have been left the day before. In truth, it was the only sign that anyone was living in the house. The curtains were closed so he couldn’t see inside. Oddly, the place didn’t give him the creeps. The peach color he’d noticed was darker on the parts around the windows because they were covered by the porch awning. That gave him a better idea of what the place used to look like. He still wasn’t crazy about the color, but it was nicer. It had some character to it. So did the front door, which had a particularly nice door handle. Nice and big.

The cat looked up at him and meowed softly. “What? God, you don’t need me to get you inside, do you?” There was no reason for him to connect looking at the door and the cat’s meow, but he did. The connection seemed reasonable, inevitable. The cat meowed at him again. “Don’t they know you’re out here?” The cat just blinked at him. “Fine, when you get up, I’ll knock. But them I’m leaving.” It never occurred to him that he was conversing with a cat, a possibly imaginary cat, just like it was a person. Whatever was going on, he was a part of it.

The cat took about a half hour to decide there’d been enough petting. It stood on his lap, stretched fully, then hoped off him right up onto the porch. It took a few steps toward the door and meowed for him.

“Fine.” Jerry got up, brushed off his lap, which was covered in multicolored hair, then strode over to the door. He knocked briskly. If he was going to do it, he might as well be certain about it. The cat sat politely waiting. Just as he was going to knock again, the small curtain at the top moved. Dark eyes gazed out at him for a moment, then the door opened on a chain. He could tell the person was a woman, but not much else.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jerry said, but your cat… Well, I assume it’s your cat…” He gestured back to the cat, which he was relieved was still sitting there. It meowed.

“That’s… I don’t have a cat.” She was younger than him, she thought, but maybe not much. The cat just sat there, starting at her. “That’s not my… Maggie?” The cat meowed and came forward, brushing against his legs before going to the gap in the door as if it was going right inside.

“Well, the cat seems to know you.” Jerry was the most confused he’d been all week.

The woman leaned down to pick up the cat. Jerry thought it had been friendly with him, but it went nuts in her arms. The cat was ecstatic. After a moment, he saw all the air got out of her and she started crying into her fur. He took a step to her, but he wasn’t sure she’d want anything from him. He was a stranger, after all. The cat, Maggie, meowed at him. Well, she wanted his support, so he came closer.

“Maybe you should sit down? Come sit on the porch and figure things out?” If he was very lucky, the woman sobbing against the cat would explain things to her, too. She stared at him in surprise, but then she came out. When she was settled in the chair, she settled some. Maggie got herself settled the same way she had on Jerry’s lap. “Oh, uhm, I’m Jerry. I’m a neighbor. From down that way.” He pointed. “And I work at the factory. “He pointed the other direction.

She nodded, smiling faintly when he indicated the directions. “I’m Denise.” She jerked a thumb at the house. “Grew up here, but I haven’t been back in at least a decade. No, more. Closer to fifteen years. Damn.” She looked at the house and sighed. “Wouldn’t be back now, but my dad’s sick.” She licked her lips. “Real sick, you know?”

Jerry figured she meant end of life sick. He nodded. “And you’re taking care of him now? Just you?” She probably had family, though maybe they couldn’t be with her.

Denise sighed. “Ma died a couple years ago. Heart attack out of nowhere. He was already sick.” She didn’t look sad about that, she looked pissed.

“Takin’ care was too much?”

She jumped a little, surprised by his insight. “Yeah. I get that now. I don’t think he means it to be, but he never understood that taking care of a house, of another human, is actual work.”

He nodded. She meant her. Her dad hadn’t respected her mom. Jerry didn’t know any of these people at all, but he already didn’t like Denise’s dad much. “But you’re still here.”

She shrugged. “No one else available. And he’s my dad. He did the best he knew.” She made it clear he didn’t know much, but she didn’t sound mad about it. Jerry guessed that was fair.

“Well, I’m just down the road. I come by every day. Twice, actually. All you have to do is draw on the sidewalk and I’ll stop.”

She looked up from where she was communing with her cat, the cat that she’d drawn. The cat that was probably was a ghost. “Draw on the sidewalk?”

He nodded. “Yeah, like you’ve been doing every day.” She clearly had absolutely not been drawing. And she hadn’t had anything to do with the cat. For the first time, Jerry was a little freaked out. “It was just a hopscotch board, you know, like kids draw. And a rainbow and a stick drawing of a cat.” She shook her head, still not getting it so he described how things had changed a little every day. He described just how amazing the last drawing of Maggie had been, but he didn’t say anything about that cat becoming her cat.

Denise listened to every word, but Jerry wasn’t sure she’d heard the end of it until he realized she was crying. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Her pain could be private if she needed. It was Maggie who said something first, meowing a complaint about her damp fur. Denise laughed and wiped her eyes, then tried to wipe at Maggie’s fur. “Sorry, baby. Not your fault. It’s okay.” She licked her lips. “I’d say you’ll think I’m crazy, but you might not after what you just told me.”

He shrugged. “I’ll reserve judgement, how’s that?”

“Fair.” She took a couple deep breaths. “Okay. When I was a kid, I loved drawing. But I sucked and I wanted to give up. My mom wasn’t going to let that happen, so she started drawing with me. She did suck, but she didn’t care. She was with me.” She shrugged. Jerry got it. It was a mom thing. “When I got better, she kept encouraging me. I ended up going to art school. That’s what I do when I work. I’m a graphic designer.”

“Wow. That’s pretty impressive.” He meant it. Jerry had never worked at anything like that, never cared to. He was happy with his simply defined life of back and forth.

“It’s not that special, not really, but I like it.”

“Your mom thought it was special.’

The tears came back and Jerry felt bad for a minute, but Denise was smiling. “Yeah, she did. She was proud of me. And she’d be proud of me for being here, I think.” She shrugged. “Sad to say, it’s a short term problem.”

Jerry got that and he didn’t feel bad that she’d said it. She was the one living it, dealing with it. She got to be honest. “I’m serious, about helping. You don’t have to draw, I mean. You can give me a call, catch me on my way to work, whatever.”

Maggie meowed loudly and they both laughed. “I think she’s saying I should do it? I think that’s what she meant.”

Jerry watched the cat, who turned to stare at him for a long moment. “Yeah, uhm, I’m pretty sure that’s what she means.” He was absolutely going to do it now. That cat was special and he wasn’t stupid. “In fact, how about I get some take out for tonight? Then we can exchange numbers, I can meet your dad…” All the things that would be needed for him to be not a stranger anymore. He didn’t want to be a stranger.

Denise stared at him again, then looked down at Maggie who seemed to give her the same long stare she’d given Jerry. “Okay. That would be great. We, uhm, we usually get from the sub shot a block down if that’s okay.”

It was fine with him. And it was still fine with him a year later when he moved into the house with his fiancé and her dying father. It was even still fine a year after that, after her father had died, when they had subs to celebrate their engagement.

And Maggie that chalk cat was still there to make sure they kept making the right choices, the ones that would make them happy.


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