waycross

by nick nelson

a man with a scar on the left side of his face walked up to a boarding house in waycross wyoming , kicking up dust as he went, and rang the doorbell just as the sun was going down. the boarding house was painted brown. you don’t see too many brown painted houses any more. the man waited patiently. finally a woman with her gray hair in a bun answered the door. “hello, mrs wilcox.” the man said. “my name isn’t mrs wilcox,” the woman said. “not mrs wilcox?” the man replied pleasantly. “then who might you be?” “do you want to rent a room, mister? this is a boarding house and i can rent you a room, even though my name isn’t mrs wilcox.” “what kind of pies do you bake?” the man asked. “i don’t bake no pies - they ain’t worth the trouble. i can give you a decent breakfast though.” “don’t bake no pies! in a boarding house, yet! i knew the world was in trouble, but i didn’t know it was in this much trouble.” “do you want to rent a room, mister? i ain’t got all night to stand here.” “do you know what happened to mrs wilcox?” “i never heard of her. you must have the wrong place, or the wrong town.” “every place is the right place, and every town is the right town, if our hearts are in the right place.” “that’s a beautiful thought. are you selling bibles, or encyclopedias maybe?” “you don’t see too many houses painted brown these days, especially boarding houses.” “it’ a long story, mister, you don’t want to hear it.” “oh, but i do want to hear it, i assure you.” “well, this feller, his name was stevenson, or miller or some name like that, and he offered to paint the house, and supply the paint, for two months board and rent. he didn’t say he only had brown paint.” “that’s an amazing story. it just goes to show how you never know how things will work out.” “i am glad you found it so. now, if you will excuse me, i got some mending to do - “ “wait, i haven’t told you what i wanted to see mrs wilcox about.” “is it any business of mine?” “it might be. i had a proposition for her - “ “i ain’t one for propositions, mister, in any way, shape, or form. now, if you will -“ “wait! wait!” the man with the scar on the left side of his face stuck his foot in the door. “it as about building a new jerusalem, a new jerusalem, right here in waycross, that people from all over the world will flock to -“ “a new jerusalem? new babylon more likely. we don’t truck with such nonsense here. take those apples to st louis or chicago, not here in waycross.” “that will change the face of the earth -“ “i don’t think so.” “and the way the human race lives - like it says in the bible - and in the teachings of the ancient mystics - “ “if you scrape the paint on my door, mister, i will call the sheriff.” * the man with the scar on the left side of his face trudged down the dusty road with a slight limp. what could you expect, he thought, from a woman with no name who didn’t even bake pies? * a man with a patch over his right eye approached a boarding house in wendell idaho just as the sun was coming up. he heard a rooster crow, and sat down on a tree stump by the side of the road to wait for signs of life in the house. the house was painted pink, and had a wide window ledge, suitable, he thought, for placing pies on.