The sun peeked over the mountains on the quiet Colorado town of Dewford, a quiet secluded mountain town, starting the morning for the citizens. John awoke with a rough headache, a reminder that he worked too hard yesterday. He took the pain medication he kept in his drawer. Looking at the clock, he noticed his day had started late. He rushed to his kitchen to make a quick breakfast out of last night’s steak, eggs and salsa. Just another meat-filled meal. He remembered that ever since he was small, his family would eat some sort of meat for breakfast. A memory of his father from his youth sparked . He didn’t have much to say about him.
“Bastard,” he muttered to himself.
The house was silent. All he had with him was the morning paper and his meal. Then a familiar sound played, one which had become annoying. That sound of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture Finale was normally soothing to him. It now meant that he was late for something.
John grumbled to himself stating that, “just because something was in a movie you like, it doesn’t mean you should have it as a ringtone.” He rushed around his house to shut off the alarm.
As he scoured the rooms looking for the infernal object, John found a framed photo of a woman just a few years younger than he. He lost himself in the photograph. He reminisced about that scene, the smell of the cut grass, the sounds of children playing in the distance, the good times they had. Through the bliss he could recall a name.
“Lucia…” he whispered in a mellow tone. The sound of the cymbals woke him up. He found his phone and realized he had his appointment today.
Rushing out of his two bedroom house, he jumped into his car. A sedan, once clean and silver color, was covered in dirt from the farm he worked on. He was headed off to the clinic, a six-block trip, for a long overdue checkup.
Waiting wasn’t as bad as he thought. They had finally fixed the television, which was now playing a children movie. It was the Disney version of Tarzan. He watched from the scene in which the gorillas took hold of the camp, the most annoying part of the film. John didn’t care that Phil Collins himself wrote that, John just can’t stand it.
“Juan Alvarez,” called the receptionist.
The closest elderly woman whispered to him. “You’re up, Sonny.” Being the only Mexican-born Spaniard, or Mestizo, in town had some disadvantages.
“It’s John.” He quietly tried to get them to change it for the fiftieth time.
“I’m sorry, but your social security says Juan, so we can’t change it,” said the clueless receptionist. John had tried to blend in to this ‘white bread’ town, but things like this made it hard for him. He was only five foot nine, while the average man was six foot.
John sat on the bench shirtless and waited for the doctor to finish his inspection, which was faster now that they installed computers. He had a healthy figure, but still had a bit of fat on his belly. Even so, the office was as cold as a butcher’s fridge.
“John, your constipation is caused by a lack of vitamins in your intestines.” The doctor summarized. “Probably from eating too much meat.”
“So what are you saying? I have to skip out on the meat?” John responded with irritation.
“Oh, no,” he retorted, “you can still eat meat, though limited amounts. Try to eat more fruits and vegetables, probably a salad or two a day.”
John didn’t like the doctor’s idea. He was raised to eat meat in every meal, and vegetables were his worst enemy. He couldn’t stand the taste of a salad.
“Perhaps you can try some of the peaches from the farm.”
John was annoyed by the offer to embezzle the produce of the farm he worked on. The doctor continued to chuckle at the joke.
“I’ll give you some supplements to raise your vitamin levels, but you have to be responsible and eat your vegetables.” The doctor handed him a prescription. John grabbed it out of his hand, showing some disappointment.
Upon leaving the clinic, he looked to the skies, hoping to get the weather report in a town with little internet. Several rain clouds were rolling in. John groaned and walked over to his car. He was called over by a young boy’s voice with quite a bit to say.
“Hey, killer,” he called. “Find any good women lately? I mean you need a new car, don’t you?” The boy laughed at John’s expense, trying to get him riled up.
John didn’t look. He lifted his shirt and revealed his handgun, pretending to scratch an itch. The boy took one look and rushed of. Though their comments were hurtful, John had grown accustomed to them.
“John?” Asked the voice of an elderly woman. John turned to the woman. It was Mrs. Evans, his boss’s wife and the co-owner of the farm.
“How are you doing, Mrs. Evans?” John replied kindly, hiding his pistol again. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
“Well, Joe has been feeling down, and I needed to pick up his medicine.” She said with a smile. Then she jumped as if she remembered something important. “I just remembered that Andrea is coming back from college. She wanted to let you know,” she said before she headed into the pharmacy. John didn’t understand why Andrea, her daughter, was so interested in him. She took one look at him when he was hired and immediately took a liking to him. It was beyond his understanding.
As he drove home, he wondered what he was doing in this town. John was originally from a big city, states away from this Dewford, Colorado. This town was completely different from that city he refused to name. The streets were somewhat empty, everyone knew each other, and the guns were more tolerated than what he was used to. Though he came here years ago, he still felt out of place.
~~~~
John rushed over to The Hopping Deer, his favorite restaurant, as dinner time came around. Unfortunately, as he recalled, the doctor ordered less meat and more salads.
“One garden salad to go,” he ordered at the counter. The chef and waitress looked at him curiously.
“Just a salad?” said a man standing behind him. The voice was familiar, a scratchy voice with a hint of European.
“How you doing, Sheriff?” Replied John to his good friend, Sheriff Leiber.
“Well, I just got another complaint about you,” the Sheriff answered. “Apparently you pulled your gun on the Waverly’s kid.”
John knew what he was talking about. “I just scratched an itch, and he saw my gun and ran,” John explained, knowing the sheriff would take his word. “Besides, he was trying to start trouble. You know how kids are now.”
“People are still getting used to you. I remember it took them some getting used to me when I was appointed sheriff. I still have trouble with my accent getting in the way.” The sheriff rubbed his head. John knew he was in the clear, as always.
The bell rang, signaling his order was done. “John,” The waitress called out. In her hand was a foam clamshell with ‘Salad’ written in black marker on the lid.
John hurried home, seeing as his favorite cartoon was about to start. As soon as he entered the house, he rushed to the living room and turned on the television. The show was about to start. Only a few minutes left until some little girl’s show about spies ended so Angry Jack could start. He took a bite of his salad, and then stopped in his tracks. The taste was lacking from the food.
As he walked out of the kitchen with a piece last night’s steak, he received a call. It’s seven in the afternoon, who is going to call? he thought to himself. He took his phone and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, John,” said a familiar voice. “It’s Joe. We have a problem.”
John didn’t want to do this work late at night, but it would look bad if he refused. “What’s the problem?”
“We got a call that someone, or something, is getting close to the ranch, hiding in the orchard. I need you to investigate.”
“And I was your first option?” John knew his question was inappropriate, but felt it needed to be said.
“Well, the missus said if it was a person you wouldn’t kill them, especially with those rubber bullets and all. The others carry live ammo and would kill them.” John felt like a pansy.
“Alright, I’ll get on it.” He hung up, taking a bite out of his steak before heading off.