"You're
going to want to meet up with Evan Partain again, I'd venture," he stated.
"Especially after you've had a day or two to think about this." He reached
into his pocket and removed a small brown paper bag, which had been folded
up around a square object and taped shut. My first thought was that it was
a Christmas present - all that it needed was a bow on top, although it was
a very small box. He handled the package with care, perhaps even with some
sort of reverence (or, more accurately, caution and respect). I looked out
of the windows, checking to see if any of the people walking the streets
outside of the car were exceedingly interested in what we were doing in
the car.
I remembered how she had scored the opium, so long ago, towards the part
where things were getting bad. I remembered how we had started searching
outside of ourselves and far away from our hearts for things to numb us,
hoping anything would be the salve that would ease the ache of a love
falling from its course. I remembered feeling paranoid, then, too, in her
car, as she removed a small plastic bag with a square block inside of it.
She handled that small gift with equal reverence, though her awe was
misguided, and her respect for things had diminished to a point that it
seemed at times to be nothing at all.
"What's in the package?" I asked, returning my attention to the informant.
He didn't respond.
He continued unwrapping the brown paper, revealing a small metal box. He
discarded the wrappings onto the floor of the car and removed the top of
the box by sliding it open. I leaned closer to him to get a better look
inside of the box as he shook an object out into his hand. He closed his
fist around the object and cleared his throat.
"This object
is like a sign post," he began.
"It points you in a
direction that might help you find your way, though the answers you're
seeking won't ever come to you easily." |