Sometimes he looks. Other times he pops his collar up and looks at anything else-a bird, the flickering, busted sign for a restaurant too new to have a flickering busted sign, the traffic.
There’s a curse, a cruel wrinkle, an anomaly in the city bus line.
Buses coming west, all the way down Jefferson and east, coming up under the tunnel from the Lodge, break down right here.
They break down other places too, of course, but disproportionately right here.
In front of the County building.
Where a famous sculpture stands.
There’s a less famous sculpture at the corner of the building.
There’s an anomaly, another one, this one in the design of the building. The foundation of the building wouldn’t allow shrubs to grow. So they needed something for the blank space, the gap in the landscaping.
A sculpture, by a resident, they decided.
It stands there now, abstract, somewhat defiant.Â
An art teacher made it happen, Vance Norwood. Distinguished, respected, venerable.
Vance knew a man in the county hierarchy, a man who had pull for such decisions.
The young sculpture student chosen was thrilled. He was an angry kid, defiant like the sculpture he created.
Vance soothed him, focused him, and in many ways made him feel loved.
The young sculptor loved the opportunity, and loved the distinguished man.
The city, and the critics, both professional and amateur, respected and simply loud, didn’t much love the sculpture. They called it dispassionate, and worse, though the young sculptor was anything but.
His name is on a small, inconspicuous plaque at the base of the sculpture.
The same name that is on the transportation department coat that Richard Rolle pulls up around his chilly face now, as he sets his tool box on the ground next to bus 1048, temporarily deceased next to the County building.
He doodles a bit, during his downtime in the maintenance building, nothing really, though sometimes he finds himself absently sketching a large V, for Vance, the man who was his first love, the man who knew a man in the county hierarchy.
Vance knew that man a little too well.
Richard Rolle got himself a sculpture erected,five minutes of fame, and a lesson.
He doesn’t tell anyone he created the sculpture,though sometimes his co-workers find out.
They ask him why he doesn’t sculpt any more, and he tells them there’s no money in it, which isn’t entirely a lie, but isn’t the entire truth, just the way he shapes it in his mind.
***
I really liked the way you developed this story. Very different. Such an interesting example, it could be used in a teaching class.
Your stories are so much more than just stories.
As always, another winner!
Enjoyed!