Morty and Leo

Morty was not a good looking man. He was a man for whom the best part of life had passed by quickly, the remnants were moth eaten and frayed by the passage of twice as many years. His few remaining lengths of dark hair were combed haphazardly over his scalp. No shampoo could ever fully rinse away the grease of middle age and decades of poor food. Any scrap of plainness was a gift to Morty, and he took it with humility. He still had his teeth, the ones that were important, at least, and if he dressed in his Sunday best, one could believe that he might have a family somewhere.

The shack was grey. When the damp crept in, the walls would be stained a darker shade and the cement would blacken as it seeped into the corners. There weren't many things in the shack. A desk, a bed, a lamp and a tired radio. The radio had been fixed many times, bits of duct tape held the chipped edges together. It didn't look like it could have ever been new, something that had been bought for a few dollars at the low end shops, dealers of cheap plastic and worse craftsmanship. It worked though. That's what counted to Morty.

The bed was heavy, something that a working man could be proud of, solid steel construction, perfectly fitted and welded. It was a better bed than some, and until you noticed the bolt holes in the flanged metal feet, it didn't seem extraordinary. Thick bars and many springs supported a metal mesh covered by a thin mattress. The mattress had seen better days and worse owners, it was lumpy in the few places it wasn't defeated. Morty's back complained, but he had never figured complaining made a difference. If it got too bad, he'd sometimes sleep on the floor, while his big metal bed loomed overhead. The floor was too cold in the winter, so in that season he soldiered on, tossing and turning whenever he thought it might fix a kink, or at least buy it some time.

Morty sat in his chair as he usually did, listening to the radio. The chair was as worn as the radio, but it had been nice, at one time. Overstuffed and reclining, it was where Morty did his sitting. Sometimes he would think while sitting, but usually he would enjoy the quiet of the rain, watch the walls seep and just sit. Right now he was looking at a crack in the wall, trying not to stare, waiting.

It had been a rainy quiet night, much like this one, when Morty had met Leo. It had been mid-slice that he had noticed. Morty remembered this with a clarity that his mind seldom found. He had been eating bread and cheese, carefully making thin slices for each piece of bread with his knife. Mid-slice he had seen a shadow scurry out from the crack in the wall, pass under the bread and head straight for his chair. Morty had sat stock still, watching quietly. Just moments before he had brushed some crumbs off of his shirt onto the floor. He watched as his uninvited guest scurried over to the crumbs. It scuttled over, then scuttled back. It looked around and up and down. Morty raised his hand to shoo the cockroach away, when it stood up on its hind legs and did something very unusual. It roared. Not a very big roar, but a very little bug-sized roar. Morty was amazed and he pulled his hand away slowly. This was something entirely new to Morty. He wasn't about to kill the cockroach, roar or not. He hadn't been eager to eat the crumbs off the floor anyway. So Morty did what came naturally, he sat and watched.

After finishing the meal of crumbs (with maybe the odd peck of cheese) the cockroach cleaned itself, turned to look at Morty one more time, then scurried back the way it had come. Not as fast this time, full as crumbs as it was. That was the first time Morty met Leo.

It was the same almost every week, whenever Morty brought food home and ate in his armchair, Leo would come and eat the crumbs. Whenever Morty would reach for the food, Leo would let out his little roar, but otherwise they had a quiet peace. As it turned into a nightly affair, Morty came to count on Leo being there, to eat the crumbs and give his little roar. Sometimes Morty would pretend to forget, and he would see Leo waiting patiently in his hole. After a short time, Morty would let a few crumbs slip then Leo would dash out and grab them, holding them up triumphantly before stuffing himself full. Morty wondered which kind of bread cockroaches favoured, so every so often he would experiment with different kinds. Morty hadn't much experience with different breads, and it was a pleasant surprise each time he sliced a new kind of loaf, since it was just as much of an experiment for himself as it was for Leo. It turned out that neither of them were picky eaters, but the variety kept things interesting and gave Morty something new to think about.

Eventually, Morty decided that if he wanted to expand, he'd have to visit the grocery store on the other side of town. Morty didn't venture out often, just for the necessities and the odd sunday brunch. He wasn't a church-going man but he would nod politely at the pastor when he saw him on the street. He spent a great deal of time with his books, reading in his chair with the radio tuned to a quiet channel. He could go out, but he had never really seen any reason for it. When he was inclined to be active he would use his old pickup to do odd jobs, and he still maintained it well. As the engine rumbled, Morty carefully turned the truck out of the narrow alley and made his way to the store.

The large supermarket was fairly new and well-stocked. Morty was impressed by the shining aisles and the tall shelves of plastic containers. All manners of food, all shapes and sizes and colours, catering to the fattest of the land. Most of it was corn. Morty normally only shopped around the aisles, avoiding the inside lanes. The food there was cheap and unhealthy, and Morty did his best to avoid it. Health consciousness only comes after a great deal of experience in unhealthiness. Today Morty decided to venture into the centre aisles, to look for a treat for his friend.

Morty was holding a package of cookies when he noticed a family coming down the aisle. Wailing kids tugging at the dress of their mother, a bedraggled woman. She pushed the cart morosely down the aisle while the children screamed for candy and the latest advertised piece of junk. Wearily, she piled in a box of cut-rate food smeared with a benignly smiling cartoon character. “Yes that's exactly right, you have no choice but to buy me.” The package seemed to say, an aristocrat in its own right, a prince in the realm of food. It wasn't until she and her gaggle of children paused beside Morty. He tried to seem busy examining the cookies, he wasn't sure he wanted to be involved with whatever drama might erupt from interacting with this family. He was sure that amount of sodium per cookie was begging for a stroke. It was when she reached one flabby arm towards the cookies that her eyes glinted and he saw something real fire within her eyes. He knew those cookies she deftly snatched were for herself.

The glint in her eyes set off a fire of recognition within him. He almost gasped and turned abruptly, but he managed to contain it. A memory, dusty and old, had erupted from the ether. He remembered her smile, her hair, the beauty as she twirled in the dance hall. All of that youth and vitality, the endless possibilities of innocence. He had taken the chance, emboldened to action for one of the few times in his life. The laughter as she turned him down, the shame and humiliation. The wallflower now with nothing to do but wilt, no moon and stars, no sun and sky to ignite something precious. He thought he had forgotten, but the recollection had lain in wait, ready for a moment like this. Morty turned beet red, but the woman didn't notice. Cookies in the cart, she grunted as she returned to her porcine stupor. The children smiled shyly as they walked past the silent old man. One waved and Morty managed a smile.

As she passed, relief swept over Morty. He was glad that she hadn't noticed him. He wouldn't have known what to say if she had. The feeling of awkwardness lingered, but Morty was glad that he was the only one who knew, it made it easier to endure it. His hands stroked the stippled metal of the shelf as his heart went back to normal. Morty wasn't sure what to think, having seen his angel in another light. He was almost grateful for his life, but he still wondered if he could have helped keep that glint lit in her, through hardship and turmoil. He wondered if those lines in her face would have been as deep, if his shelter would have been a great home, bright and spacious. Wondering was all he had left; as she turned at the end of the aisle and disappeared from view, he slowly returned to reality.

Leo had enjoyed the cookies, Morty had made sure to break the crumbs into small bits, Leo had some difficulty on the chocolate but the devoured it all the same. Things continued like this for a while, but Morty remained in a peculiar mood. He didn't go to that grocery store on the same day anymore and he always felt nervous when he entered it.

It was a nice spring night when Leo brought his friend. Smaller and sleeker than Leo, she timidly followed him to the crumbs. Morty was a bit taken aback but he didn't mind, together they didn't eat very much. A few weeks later it was Leo followed by her and three others, small, bright eyed and inquisitive. Morty still didn't mind and enjoyed their antics as the younger ones tussled over particularly soft crumbs. Sometimes if he broke off a large, hard, round piece they would push it back and forth like a game of football. It put him in a particular mood and it gave him something to look forward to after a long day mopping floors, fixing heaters or changing the oil on his landlord's 67 chevy. It helped to have something to do besides paying the rent. Some nights the family would come in and play for hours, other times they were in and out, with only a brief greeting from Leo. Leo was always appreciative and would trace out perfect circles on the ground or run in zig-zags. He would pause as Morty laughed, and roar in counterpoint to the laughter, which only made Morty laugh harder.

One night Morty had attached a piece of crust to a string in order to tease the young ones when he remembered his old boat and trailer. It had sat rusting for far too long, Morty dropped the string and sat upright. Exactly at that moment he decided to go fishing. He packed his gear, enough food for a week and left a piece of bread under his chair for Leo and the gang. Hitching up his trailer, he took one last look at his small corner of the world he called home and left for the lake. He had a pup tent, and summer was starting, he would be fine. He left a note for his landlord, in case he didn't come back, and smiled as the old engine rumbled to life.

Morty enjoyed the solitude over the next few weeks, letting nature lift his spirits to new heights. The sunrises kissed his cheeks and his face regained a colour it hadn't had in many years. He ate fish and canned food, walked for hours up and down trails, sat and looked at stars, warmed himself by his small campfire and slept peacefully until dawn. Two weeks passed languidly and Morty left with great hesitation.

The truck rumbled into the alley as Morty's shoulders slumped a slightly more. It had started at the outskirts of the town and each block had seen another progressive degree of defeat layered onto his shoulders. Morty had considered turning around many times, but he had wondered about Leo and missed the companionship. Morty took his time unloading, leaving the trailer attached for the next day, when the light would be better.

As he walked down the hall with a full cooler of smoked fish, he passed a wizened man with thick eyebrows. He was walking down the hall with a plastic mask, two oversize cups on either side, on his back was a silver backpack. A hose led out of the backpack to a plastic wand that dripped with a foul smelling liquid. Morty hoped against hope, but the man waved as he walked past “I got 'em all Mister, they won't be bothering this place anymore.”

His heart sank as he walked to past each door, typed notes taped upon them. “The premises have been sprayed for pests, thank you for your cooperation as the exterminators do their jobs.” Morty pushed open his door and the stench of pesticides wafted out. Putting his cooler and packages down, he sat upon his chair with a heavy heart. Checking underneath he found a third of the bread still left over, dripping with something oily. Morty threw it into the trashcan.

That night, Morty put out the usual crumbs, but neither Leo nor his family showed even an antenna. The room was empty except for him, the rustle of legs, the bumping of carapaces and the little roars were all replaced with a crushing silence. The next night Morty put out a few more crumbs, hoping. Still, each night passed as quietly as the last.

Two weeks passed. Eventually the breadcrumbs had piled up into a tall pyramid. Entirely undisturbed, they had gone to illustrate their own mathematical principle. That night, the topmost crumb, perched precariously on top of all the others, finally gave up the apex and tumbled slowly down the heap.

Morty thought about what would have happened if he had never returned. Perhaps it would have been better. He slowly started packing his fishing gear again. He counted what little money remained, it would be enough for a one way trip at least.

Morty moved from his chair, putting the bread back into the plastic. He placed the bag back into the fridge then sat down on his bed. The springs on the metal frame squeaked as the mattress sank below the bars, curving beneath Morty's weight. For a long time, he sat very still. Outside, rain rattled off the metal roof, running into the dim alleyway. The hours passed, then the last light faded faded in the little shack.