Apocalypstick by Gregory Carrico, Greg Carrico Page A

boy.
    “We’ll see. If you can behave.”
    I could. I knew I could. To prove it, I drove for three more
hours without drifting off once. The sun had come up behind us, and cast its
rosy light over the whole world.
    “Look!” I said, pointing at a giant billboard. It showed an idyllic
neighborhood with big trees, and beautiful homes with flower gardens, and it
said, ‘If you lived at Greenwood Gardens, you’d be home in three minutes. Exit
Now.’
    Now that was a sign! I knew for certain that it had been
put there just for me. My other voice knew it, too.
    “There’s a Marriot at the next exit,” he said. “Pull off, and we’ll
get a room.”
    At the bottom of the ramp another sign said, ‘Open House, 108
Maple Drive, Greenwood Gardens. All day Saturday and Sunday.’
    The Billboard was true to its word. In less than three minutes, I
had followed the signs, and was turning onto Maple Drive. Red and blue balloons
floated above the third mailbox on the right, and an ‘Open House’ sign on the
lawn welcomed us. A bluish Toyota SUV on the curb was the only car there.
    “It’s just like the picture on the billboard,” I said reverently.
“Except for the trees.” It was a new development with sod yards and shrubs, but
too new for full grown trees. I stopped the van on the curb across the street
and admired this little slice of perfection.
    A middle aged woman in a grey skirt suit opened the front door
and stepped out onto the patio. She spotted the van and waved. I forced a smile
and waved back.
    “I’m going in,” I said. “I want to see the house.”
    “Someone lives here, idiot. Remember what happened last time?”
    “I don’t care. This could be the one. I’m going in.” I pulled my
Red Sox cap down over my oily, messy hair, and walked up to the patio.
    “Good Morning. Welcome to Greenwood Gardens. How did you find
out about us?”
    I smiled. I wanted to say something glib, clever, or charming,
but I searched and searched for just the right words without finding a single
thing to say. So I stood there. Smiling.
    She stood there smiling back. I could tell that she was looking
for the right thing to say too, and I felt a bond with her because of it. We
understood each other. We didn’t need words. I nodded my understanding of her
troubles, and walked around her into the house.
    “Um, so, you can see that the owners have made a bunch of real
nice upgrades. Just look at the fantastic tile work in the foyer. The entire
house has colonial crown and base molding. It really helps give the home a
special atmosphere.”
    That was exactly what I thought. “Special,” I said, still
smiling and nodding. My attention was on the coat closet, though. Behind the
double folding doors with tiny nobs that didn’t turn, I found pure gold: a man’s
black cashmere jacket, umbrellas, shoes, dog leashes and collars, women’s coats,
a five foot level, and a broom.
    I was almost overwhelmed by its normality. If this were my home,
I would hang my coat here after a long day at the office. Would I grab a leash
and take Fido for a walk? Maybe I’d have a glass of wine first. Isn’t that what
normal people did when they came home from work?
    “I don’t know where my manners are today,” the realtor said. My
name is Kristi. Kristi Halladay.” She held out her hand.
    I hesitated half a second before taking it. I was always worried
about touching people, but my other voice was quiet, so I reached out. People
like a firm grip, so when she let out a little gasp, I knew I got it right.
    “That’s a strong grip you have there, Mister… Mister…”
    I smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. I meant it to sound
bold and strong, but my voice cracked, and it came out as a hoarse croak. I
squeezed her hand, still smiling, because people like a good smile. Then my
imagination ran wild.
    It wasn’t early in the morning anymore; it was the end of the
day. With her soft, warm little hand engulfed in mine, I imagined that she