Larry Cain and the Strangers

Larry Cain and the Strangers

Larry Cain was down to his last $36.50 in his checking account. He was quite aware of this after ordering a Chinese takeout for $13.50 when an alert on his balance rudely interrupted his food daze. Two minutes later, the phone rang. However, Larry let the phone rang out, then on the 4th ring, he picked it up. He didn’t speak immediately, but he didn’t have a chance to either. The voice on the other end of the line sounded far away in the distance as he said “hello,” faintly. Hello, said Larry, raising his voice loudly as though to cue the stranger to speak up. Is this Larry Cain? The voice echoed. “Who is this?” Larry questioned, suspiciously. He had been screening his calls because the barrage of phone calls from bill collectors has been absurd. However, today Larry was expecting a call from a friend of a friend about picking up some work on the docks by the waterfront, in Cambridge Heights, an artsy neighborhood in downtown Chicago. He was in desperate need of some serious cash since moving to Chicago from New York 2 months ago. Hence, that call meant everything to him and his livelihood. So, he swallowed his nerves and anchored himself to push back the knots that had formed in the back of his throat and said, “Yes, this is he!”

“Hello Mr. Cain, I am Henry Trident, a lawyer at Edmond and Trident Law Firm.” The unfamiliar voice didn’t register nor was it a name Larry had heard before. “Mr. Cain, I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Earl Ellington, my client and I was wondering if you have any available time to sit down with me to discuss a few things. It’s very important that I speak with you, Mr. Cain,” said Mr. Trident. Larry rebutted, “What exactly do you want to talk about Mr. Trident? And who is Earl Ellington?” The phone went quiet on both ends “Call me Henry,” the voice said invitingly. “Mr. Cain, I promise you, you would want to have this conversation with me. Also, I am only in town for the next 2 days and will be heading back to New York City. Larry was also from NYC but kept that to himself. Still unsure about who these people were, He scanned his scantily furnished room, cleared his throat, and though he was at a loss, he agreed to meet with Henry the next day at Logan’s Café a local spot in town at 4 p.m. in Cambridge Heights.

The phone call with Henry was 40 minutes ago, but Larry was still restless about the conversation. He decided to go for a walk to clear exploding the waves of thoughts that flooded his mind. Seemingly his life growing up in Brownsville, Brooklyn NY flashed before his eyes. The unanswered questions had weaved a nest of more questions, but no answers. Could it be about his life in NY, he pondered. After all, he had his fair share of run-ins with the law for minor infractions, like public urination on drunken nights, smoking in a public space when it was prohibited, smashing an empty vodka bottle against a storefront of a local bodega, and cracking the glass along the exterior. But Larry’s life took a different turn a few months ago when he almost causes a stranger to lose their life as well as his own.

Larry had his last drink about 2 months ago. But he was an alcoholic for the past 5 years and on occasions was known to indulge in illicit drugs too. As a bass player, alcohol and drugs were accessible to him at the drop of a dime. Larry’s days were consumed by Alcohol, his poison of choice, though cocaine, molly, ecstasy, and Marijuana, made their way in Larry's life on occasion. However, for 2 months he was forced into changing his life as a result of the circumstances relating to an incident involving railroad tracks, stranger, and alcohol.

He had gone to that side of town to play a gig in one of the local bars under the bridge near flushing railroad tracks. He arrived at the venue about 45 minutes before his band was scheduled to go on stage. So, he went for a stroll around the neighborhood to kill time. Somehow, he found himself at a liquor store. He purchased a bottle of Johnny Walker and put $4 on a Lotto Scratchy ticket. The store clerk handed him the bottle of liquor and the lottery ticket which he placed in a little black book that he writes music in. He then walked out of the store, took a gulp full of liquor, pushing the bottle down in his back pocket, and began to walk some more to burn up the 18 more minutes he had left before heading back for the gig.

They played a 30-minute set, which was 5 songs then packed up their instruments for the night. It was after midnight and the lottery numbers for that evening were already up on the lottery website. Before heading out, Larry pulled out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight to scratch the ticket. He laid the ticket on the table gingerly, pulls out a nickel from his left pocket, and began to scratch the 6 money boxes. His index finger crept over each box as he scratched 4 of the 6 boxes all revealed $20,000 dollars. His fingers rattled like a bag of old bones and his alcohol-flavored breath shortened and deepened. He looked down at the ticket again to make sure his eyes weren't betraying him, but they bulged out of their sockets with confusion, butterflies came alive in his stomach and had given birth to more butterflies. He could feel them as they fluttered around in his ribcage tickling him out of his chair and onto his feet. He paced around in circles with both hands-on heads and his eyes glaring like a deer caught in headlights. His quiet excitements blistered his tongue because he wanted to scream, “I won.” But instead, he gathered the pieces of himself and his little black book and safely took the 20-thousand-dollar ticket back in between its pages and headed out. Right then, he remembers the Johnny Walker in his back pocket and begins to celebrate as he walked.

And celebrate he did! When Johnny Walker ran out, he hit up a bar on his path and ordered a round of drinks for everyone too. After his 3rd drink, he left the bar and headed towards the underpass in the direction of the railroads, stumbling along the way. At some point, Larry's senses were gone from him because he woke up in the hospital the next day with cuts and bruises all over him. He was unaware of what had happened. Later that same day, he learned from the cops that questioned him that he had fallen onto the railroad tracks in the path of a train and a stranger had saved his life. But unfortunately, the stranger was in a coma and they were unaware of his identity. Larry began to sob like a baby, he couldn’t control the flooded gates that had opened up. All the pain he had felt, all the hurt that was sitting at the seat of his soul, all the regrets and emptiness took over him and he just wanted to escape it all.

He visited the stranger once because couldn’t accept what his drunken bender had caused. A few days later he packed up his belongings and he moved to Chicago after being released from the hospital. Larry was heartbroken over the fact that he had almost lost his life and undoubtedly hurt another person in the process, and he had also lost his little black book with the winning lottery ticket in it. When he arrived in Chicago, he quickly realized that the little black book that had the ticket in it wasn’t in his pocket as he thought. It was simply gone.

Tomorrow seems like a lifetime away as his strides hastened. 'What in the world does this Trident character— I mean Henry wants with me?' He lamented. 'Could it be about my past?' But he kept on walking with his head down, mumbling to himself, tracking his feet to the pace of the questions swirling in his head, until the sounds of live music trumpeted louder than his thoughts. He is wide awake now and the perplexing thoughts melted away into the dusk. He gathers his eye spill off the ground and skims for where the music was coming from. The eargasmic music that had disturbed his rant was now in focus and he couldn’t turn it off. He could feel the pull of the saxophone strumming his pain. Melancholy came rushing over him, through him, and around him. Nostalgia nipped at his feet as waves of his old musician’s life washed over him unapologetically. He walked away from his shadow and put one foot in front of the other as his feet involuntarily began to move in the direction of the door leading to the music. He entered, sat down far left at the back of the crowded café, and submerged in the musical stylings of John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps.” Who is that on the Sax, he pondered? Larry followed the spotlight trail from the back of the restaurant to the lit section on the stage where the band was playing to if anyone seemed familiar to him. But his eyes failed him, he still couldn’t see the frames that were illuminated by lights. He slid the tips of his fingers across his eyes to adjust his vision, but that didn’t help either. So, he ordered a cup of coffee and settled into the graciousness of Coltrane, his absolute favorite jazz musician.

The Sax played on with a deep poignancy, eloquence, and a tensity that liquefied Larry in his chair. The dark spaces in him began to fill up with warmth, beauty, a sense of calm. Nostalgia crept in as he thought about his love affair with the saxophone back in the good ole days. But he pacified the echoes of the past and held his attention in the present. He sipped his coffee and continued to be serenaded by the stranger’s musical stylings. The jam session was coming to an end, so Larry walked to the front of the stage for a meet and greet with the musicians, the sax musician, of course. He hadn’t heard such polished beauty from a sax in a long time, after all. Larry was drawn to the stranger and came up with questions to ask as he waited to meet him. One thing about Larry is that he is passionate about music and was considered to be one of the best jazz musicians growing up.

It took about 15 minutes for the band to finish putting away their instruments. The sea of people that bum-rushed the musician had parted, and Larry knew the clear opening was a sign. “Hello, I am Larry!" he said and extended his ready right hand confidently to marry the stranger’s left hand to his. "Nice to meet you, Larry," the stranger said. "I am Mr. T, well at least that is what I’m called in these circles, my name is Henry Trident." Larry's breath was cut short. "Oh my God, I don’t believe it," said Larry, "Henry it’s me, Larry Cain, I think we spoke earlier today about Mr. Trident—" and before Larry could utter another word, Henry pulled out the little black book and handed it to Larry. "I think this belongs to you, Larry." His mouth fell wide open along with the pages where he had tucked the lottery ticket between. And there it was, the 20 thousand-dollars lottery ticket. Tears rolled down Larry’s face as he and Henry sat down to have that conversation.