A Beautiful Sprawling Community

A Beautiful Sprawling Community

by Brooks Crudup

The sprinklers on timers started their automated semi-circular jets of water, spraying pretty streams of moisture into the brisk morning air. The sun glinted off of the tiny flying beads, as the metal arms made the calming shish-shish-shish sounds. There were a couple of lights turning on, but not many: it was still dawn.

Harmon loved the early morning hours. He enjoyed sitting on his porch, reading the paper, sipping his coffee and watching the sun come up. He loved watching the beautifully manicured vibrant green lawns soak up all of the water they needed. He would try to taking in the peace and calm of it all, before he had to start making his way to work.

Everything was so serene and quiet during the early morning hours. Before all of the hustle and bustle and scurrying about. He took a look at his watch: 5:15am. It was early to be sure and certain by a normal nine to five -- clock in and clock out schedule -- but not early by his measure.

***

He passed by one of the newer Danish modern one-story houses and slowed down and stopped in front. A freshly sleeved shining gem of The Daily Mirror Statesman sat impeccable and pristine in the morning sun. The Milner’s house he believed.

He already combed through the first rate and cutting-edge journalism and consumed the delicious sass, wit and frivolity of the lifestyle section. One rollicking column caught his attention, which he dog-eared to revisit at a later date:

Dear God, it’s me, Mayonnaise,

I know you are busy and aren’t we all?! But, God, I just have to ask, “What’s with all of the different mayonnaise’s? I can understand one, (meaning me, Classic Mayonnaise) but, there’s four to five or six styles of Mayonnaise next to me. And not only Light Mayonnaise. I get that. We all get that. We’re all watching our jar. But, Garlic Mayonnaise? Chipotle? Sweet Red Onion...Mayonnaise?

Again, I know we are all very busy, but if you have a moment please look into possibly cutting back on all of the Mayonnaise varieties.

Thanks, and all the best!

Mayonnaise

Harmon let out an audible chuckle and then bookended and memorialized it with a, “Golly! Mayonnaise. What will they think of next?!” He smiled, patted his knees and got going. “Those guys,” he added, with a grin.

He pointed his tawny Plymouth Reliant towards Commerce Avenue and marveled at the clean city streets. Someone was doing one heck of a job at keeping this shining beacon of a city in tip top shape. Another smile wrinkled the side of his mouth.

He decided to dip into Mary Lee’s Diner on his way. It was so early, people weren’t in yet. He knew nobody would mind if he poured himself a nice cup of coffee and grabbed a bear claw; just as long as he slapped a nice crisp fiver on the counter before ducking out.

As he drove leisurely yet intently, he watched store lights come to life; perpendicular to him on the left and right. Manhaim and Sons department store, The Buttered End Pastry and Confectioners and The Keen Bean Coffee Roasters lit up, among others down side streets and avenues. Such a lovely burgeoning town, he thought.

He drove through the roundabout, minding his right and minding his left and gave a wink to the bronze statue at the center. A magnificent rendering of Thurston A. Pepp, the town beneficiary, mentor and guiding light of the city. Thurston stood with a strong fist to his side and dynamic finger pointing ahead off into the distance and into the future. He inherited his parents Pepp’s General Store as a young lad, but managed to heed his family’s mantra, “keep building,” which he did; and he and the city prospered because of it.

Harmon briefly thought about goosing the engine up to forty-five, but he quickly quashed the zany thought and relegated it to potential “hot doggin’,” which was rightly frowned upon. There was also the bright yellow, stern but kind, caution sign, showing a pictogram of a family of four crossing the road. He punctiliously slowed down a smidge more to thirty-five, just to be on the safe side.

He would never consider shirking his responsibilities for the greater metropolitan area. They had built from the western ridge crest and now they were approaching the east. All of the concerted effort and shared common goals of further expansion had come to fruition and couldn’t be allowed to break down and lay fallow.

His Reliant’s steel belted radials hugged the spiraling incline of Lookout Circle. He looked up at the handsome architecture with a proud nod. He then tucked into the parking lot of The Daily Mirror Statesman and rolled into an open space. He grabbed his worn leather satchel and decided to stroll over to the lookout’s landing to take a moment for himself. Shutting the door, he stood in awe; as he always did, when he gazed upon the beautiful trio of pine trees standing guard like gorgeous and proud sentries. Mr. Pepp loved the pine trees and allowed these three to remain and thrive.

***

His hand ran over the battery of light switches, gently clicking them on. A few quick snaps and soft electric pops signaled the awakening of all of the overhead lighting. He sat his satchel in an empty chair, realizing he had to tidy up a bit, before getting to work.

He spun out two static dust collecting pads from the janitor’s closet and gripped one in each hand. The dust mostly came from the cracks in the windows and the carpet fibers; his skin didn’t fleck off much debris. He stretched both arms out straight to his side and began his slow sweep of the top of the cubicles and monitors. He looked like a reverse crop duster. He looked silly, but no one was around to snicker or take much notice.

Pulling out his favorite chair at his favorite desk, he laughed at the image of a yellow and orange fluffy kitten hanging by its paws. He sat and turned on his favorite monitor and waited for the electric green cursor to appear and blink. He looked up to the ceiling and thought for a moment and then typed:

A Musing from The Editor:

Will I ever grow tired of building more buildings?

Will I ever grow tired of marveling at their majesty?

Only when the sun sets and more building needs to commence.

But after work, I shall return to stare and dream.

“Who am I?” I once questioned, once upon a time.

“I am Harmon. I am a builder and that is enough. And it is quite worthwhile by the way,” I responded.

Harmon smiled and hit the print icon. It wouldn’t take long. He had already written the daily news briefs, weather forecast and horoscopes. He took a second to scan the office. The office phones were all lined up neatly in every matching cubicle. No blinking red lights flashed, indicating a waiting message. Maybe they ran into inclement weather that wasn’t on the forecast. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, he thought, arching an eyebrow out to the clear blue sky.

He stood at the window and waited for the paper to print. Harmon gazed at the horizon, past all of the stunning buildings and watched the programmed bulldozers doing their jobs diligently; carving out space for the next structures to take their place. He wondered whether or not, once the townspeople returned, the bulldozers would be manned by workers once again. It was a thought. A mere mental dalliance. Nothing more he decided. It would all be figured out once they returned.

His gray eyes twinkled and shone with admiration amidst the breathtaking majesty of the never-ending sprawl. Beyond the sheer beauty of the town, it was important in its grand scope and vision. From the monolithic big box stores to quaint mom and pop specialty shops, this vibrant metropolitan area offered anything and everything anyone could possibly imagine.

Maybe they got lost along the way, was that possible? he thought and then scoffed it aside. They told him they’d be back soon. But, in the meantime: he would hold down the fort, keep the lights on, keep expanding, keep building and keep the coffee warm.