In the middle of the street, at the corner of Fifth and Cherry, sat Franz. He sat cross-legged on the hot pavement, right at the intersection itself- far enough from the corner that turning cars could not see him until it seemed too late. There was a breeze, this Wednesday morning, a cool one in March. It ruffled through Franz’s thick black hair, and tickled his nose, but he didn’t mind the current, it kept him company in the street.
-
At times, people on the sidewalk stopped to look at him, this forlorn-looking man, impossibly far from the safe confines of the walkways. As it was a Wednesday, the only people about were men in sharp, angular suits, bustling to different offices with shining briefcases. These men only stole short glances at Franz. Franz looked back at them, his gaze focused on their faces, which were generally round and red. Franz wondered why the men walked so briskly, why their faces were so grotesquely red. Were they angry with themselves? Once Franz called out to one of them, in a navy suit with shining shoes. The man did not so much as look Franz’s way. And so Franz never asked again.
-
The other curious specimen Franz watched were the mothers that strolled by at a lesser pace, some pushing prams as they walked, others held tightly to their toddlers hands. More than once Franz met the gaze of one of the short individuals, he smiled a greeting each time, met usually by glossy-eyed confusion. What was this grown man doing in the street? Why was he not at work? Did his mother know what he was up to? The mothers would notice, and quickly pull their dear ones away, tsk-tsking them as to the dangers of strangers and playing in the streets.You’ll get hit by a car, you know. The words always echoed in Franz’s direction.
-
Only one of occasion, in all of the five hours that Franz sat, did someone ask him if he was alright. A small Chinese woman, with salt-and-pepper hair gripped his arm in alarm. Her gleaming red fingernails matched her lipstick, Franz noted as she spoke in broken English, obviously worried for his health. “You sit in street? Why? Why you sit? Sick? Fever? Go to hospital! I take you there!”
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Franz shook his head, looking at the woman’s deep brown eyes. “No, ma’am. I’m fine, thank you, though. Perfectly alright.” And the woman walked slowly away, looking at Franz over her shoulder several times before she turned the street.
-
That had been at nine am, two hours after Franz had first sat down. Three hours after Franz had woken up that morning, the windows of his apartment had been open all night, letting in the chilly air and night sounds of the city. Franz had awoken smiling, a feat which rarely happened, as he usually had crippling nightmares, which he had only recently discovered were actually just distorted images of his life. But today would be splendid, and Franz knew this. So his smile continued, though he felt like a fool, all through his typical routine(Or, typical since Franz had lost his job two months ago). He gently dropped the cat, who responded with a gruff cry, off of the bed and pulled his glasses from the nightstand. He shuffled to the bathroom and vigorously brushed the night off his breath (something his previous girlfriend had demanded he do, and though she was gone, it left a lasting impression on him). Downing two cups of coffee, black with three sugars, he read the daily newspaper, cover to cover. All of the horrific tales of suicide bombings, recession woes, and even the rather satirical comics.
-
Franz knew today was the day. Despite it felt like any other day, despite he was smiling, Franz knew if it was not today, it would just follow him through tomorrow, and then Friday, and Franz would be forced to deal with this looming monstrosity for the rest of his life. He thought of this, and shuddered as he pulled on his jeans and a rumpled t-shirt that he found on the floor; he was sure it was at least slightly clean, though.
-
And he then sat down at the kitchen table once again, armed with a pen and piece of college-ruled notebook paper.
The paper now lay heavily in his pocket, folded in fourths. Somehow, Franz was more intimidated of his words on the paper now, than he was when he wrote it hours ago. He looked up at the blue sky, littered with see-through clouds that hung in the sky without moving. These were Franz’s favorite type of cloud, he decided, as he looked upwards. He saw the skyscrapers etched against the domed blue, they seemed to stagger inwards, about to topple and fall onto his crouching form. He remembered how the cat would stare at the sky and bat at the clouds, much too fat out of his tiny reach. He had called his friend, Marissa, and told her that he had decided to take a trip to visit his parents in Indiana for a week or two, and that he’d love for her to feed the cat and gather his mail while he was away. She was all too glad to oblige, telling Franz over and over how it was a lovely idea to get out of the city. Marissa knew Franz well, but not well enough to see through his lie. But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the apartment.
-
Franz ran his hands through his hair again, it was becoming rather warm outside, especially down by the pavement, and he was starting to sweat. He wasn’t sure which was going to be better, sitting or lying down. He lay down, just to stretch for a moment, his eyes closed and a faint smile turning the corners of his mouth upward.
He felt the whoosh of the car, heard the slight squeak of the tires as they rounded the corner. And he smiled outright. The last thing he heard was an audible gasp from somewhere to his left. Before all went silent and the sharp pain in his spine dulled, until it was gone.
-
Franz’s form lay crumpled and bloodied in the street as the driver of the blue Lexus got out of the car, and screamed at the ghastly sight. She fell to his side, crying, “No, no…” She shook him gently, her fingers getting covered in Franz’s blood. “No, you aren’t dead… wake up, you’ve got to be alright… Franz… wake up. Franz… oh my god, Franz!” Her voice escalated to shrill scream. “Why did you do this, Franz!? Why!?”
-
An hour later, and Franz was in the back of the coroner’s van, the signature white sheet tossed over him haphazardly, his feet showing from under it. But he didn’t mind, he had always hated covering his feet, it made them feel trapped. The coroner had taken the note from his pocket, and after having read it twice, he handed it to the poor woman who had hit him- his ex-girlfriend, the tooth-brushing one. She took the paper and unfolded it.
-
It was blank.
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