playing cards

Henry has had about enough of his uncle. About enough of a lot of things, actually. His parents weren't bad per se, but not good enough to love, his uncle was much the same. John lived outside a small town about 12 miles out from Houston, Texas. Henry’s parents thought it to be a good idea to leave him there for the summer. The entire summer, and Henry has had it with them and their attempts at toughing him up. He shut the book on his lap with little thought, Some coffee table hardback about old cars. It was one of five books in the house, three of which he brought himself. He leaned back in the old armchair. The army green upholstery was scratchy like cheap yarn and was warmer than it had any right to be. Henry looked up at the ceiling, resting his head on the back of the chair and thought for a moment. There was a chess board in the upstairs hall closet; it was missing two pawns and a knight. He could improvise pieces and play against himself. There was bread in the kitchen, he could make a tower, maybe make up a game. John didn't like it when touched the food outside of mealtimes though. Maybe if he put it back before he got home tomorrow morning. Actually, now that he thought about it, he could do a lot of things if he put it back before John got home. He was observant so Henry would half to be careful. There were the big jackets in the hall closet, the kayak in the garage. The keys to the truck. He could drive to town, buy a novel with the money he brought. The money John took on day one and put somewhere, Henry had no idea where.

Hey, while he might not drive to town (being a person with a brain) he could find his wallet. He got up from the chair, stretched for a minute (the judo training his dad put him through finally being good for something) and started the search.

After a four hour long hunt, you would expect the house to be trashed. Henry, however, has been hyper vigilant in putting things back and the house looked identical to when he started. He had begun in the living room and worked his way through the kitchen, bathroom, both bedrooms, and all three of the closits. Right now he was working through the garage, bin by bin. Taking down another one, opening it revealed, gasp, more camping supplies. John seriously had a problem. He took out a hiking backpack and started going through the pockets. At this rate we should just run away and get a job, he had more than enough supplies for it, clearly. Actually, this hiking bag was kind of roomy. Twice the space of the one he came here with. “You know what”, Henry stood up, hands on his hips, “that, is a great idea”. he reopened the bin he had just put down, taking out anything that could possibly be useful. Dragging them out to the living room on a tarp. He opened another bin after that, Then another one, found his wallet in the eighth. It was a black rectangular card holder with rainbow slots and a zip up coin pocket going down the side. Reminded him of a polaroid camera. The driver’s license he got just before he left for his uncle’s was moved from the clear pocket to the coin pocket and 14 out of the original twenty dollars were missing. No matter, it just makes him feel less guilty about raiding the safe under John's bed.

in the end, henry ended up taking the hiking pack, a one person tent, sleeping bag and the nice camping mattress (a delightfully inflatable thing), package food from the kitchen, his clothes, the books he brought, two hundred and thirty seven dollars from the safe, a zippo lighter from john’s night stand, and of course, the catalyst for this whole operation, the harbinger of his freedom, his wallet. He also grabbed a flashlight on the way out, as it was already dark outside. The house was clean, the lights were off, and John wouldn't know he was gone until he tried to make the pile of pillows in his bed do the dishes.

John lived along a two lane highway off highway 35. It was a two hour walk to the closest town and by proxy, the 35. The desert was cold at night. The sun baked sand growing cold in the absence of the sun. Little plants ran along the cracks on the side of the highway and played peekaboo in the dunes. Cacti stood like sentinels in the sand. Henry, having spent the first ten years of his life in a lovely place called northern canada, thinks that this is a well deserved break from the hell that is the summer daytime.

“Hello”

Henry paused, there was a coyote in the road.

It wasn't big, only coming up to his thigh. Although it was far out enough in the desert he could be wrong. Its face was ponty and triangular. Its eyes were orange like egg yolks, shining gently and its ears pointed to the sky like they were hung there on wooden polls. like scarecrows.

“On a journey, are you?”

It did not open its mouth to speak. He could tell even from this distance, it stood still. it’s voice sounded like a whisper from right beside him.

As strange as this all was, the coyote was not creepy. More like an estranged older brother.

“Yep”, nothing better to do than respond.

“Hmmm”

It was a soft melodic sound like elevator music.

“I have a gift for you then”

Before he could get a word out, the coyote disappeared, like they ran off into the desert then Henry immediately forgot they moved. Maybe they didn't move at all and they just closed their eyes and it was too dark to see them otherwise.

About two hours later sitting in the diner, the waitress brought him a deck of cards with his food. It was old and yellow, the faces were simplistic and the backs had no branding, just a white floral design over a blue background. They didn't have a box so Henry took a rubber band off the floor to keep them together. They made themselves at home in his pocket.