Pitch

A walk in the life of a woman

Lady White

She rounded the corner, stepped diagonal on a yellow flower, and entered the moon’s bone white mash. The shadow of a telephone wire bisected her form until she stepped on a pavement broken by tree roots. Beyond that, in the blackness, stood a wall of questions bent inward, folded, and made to appear vanished, but nothing had occurred.

She gathered her skirts and moved carefully across the street. Flurries landed on her ear and nose. It was snowing again.

The moon and stars were gone, now embroidered on the sky’s back, and the snow fell harder. She tucked her hands in the hem of her skirts and stepped inside a daisy chain of shadows. When she next emerged, she was walking a new pace.

She came to another street crossing, tightened her coat, and toed through rusted slush. Ahead lay an embankment of snow. She maneuvered beyond a pair of sewer grates to an opening and disappeared in a plume of steam and white.

Boy Watch

He exited the rear entrance and descended steps to the sidewalk, then worked to fit his left arm through the sleeve of his coat. There was a break in snowfall, but the winds had strengthened, making whistles and funnels of snow dust. He heard the rumble of a train but couldn’t see it.

He checked his watch. The minute hand was stuck on forty-two minutes ago. He muttered to himself, then, thinking the gears might be frozen, breathed hot air until the watch face filled with dew. He cleaned the condensation, inspected it closely, then smacked it with the heel of his hand. The second hand swung free. He returned the watch to his wrist and followed the line of symmetry where the second hand pointed.

The garage door was stopped six inches off the floor, leaking black hole pitch. He tried to shut it closed but it wouldn’t lower, so he stepped back to inspect the gap. Barely enough room for a raccoon. He turned and left.

The moon imprinted snow-covered concrete, but after a while the moon was gone. He walked a while longer, and when his hands caught blue, he stuck them in his jeans pockets, and after several blocks, complained: fucking watch.

Man Shadow

The sound of percolating coffee cut the silence. He tugged his lip and looked in the bathroom mirror. A broken molar was abscess and made him wince. He rubbed his cheek and reached for a bottle of mouthwash. He unscrewed the cap and filled his mouth, pursed his lips together, and observed himself in the mirror.

The dining table was loaded with stacks of envelopes, mostly unopened, in no real order. He carried a bottle of window cleaner to the table then rifled through his pocket for a rag and sprayed the glass. Grime had collected along the sashes. A web curtained across the top, but the spider was missing.

He finished his work then stepped back. The pane began to shudder, and far beneath the window, beneath the floorboards, and under the foundation were thunderous reverberations. He listened when the trains had something to say.

Lady White

She felt something and quickened her pace. Ice, proximity, fingers—these things felt the same in darkness. She looked over her shoulder when she could bear it, but looking back was an invitation, and she was leaving that part of town. She was moving this direction now.

Lamps don’t walk, but they followed her, shedding cone-shaped light. Amber-light angels gazed upon her and she experienced relief. The feeling of ice, proximity, and fingers, abated. Two young girls approached, giggling softly in conference. Their heads were pitched down and forward, observing their next steps. She thought about saving them but girls like them didn’t listen to women like her.

The angels had fallen away. Seemed they’d gone back to being lamps, and the darkness wrapped her tighter, and the lights were less, and she didn’t know about the garage door six inches open, or the leaking black hole pitch, but she felt it.

Boy Watch

He’d been standing at the intersection where the wooden fence bisected the sidewalk for some minutes now. He guessed no more than ten, but with his broken watch he wasn’t sure. It had to be close.

He closed his eyes and soaked the image. All the ways he’d imagined it: various permutations, the order of events, the detail on her face. He still didn’t know how it would happen. If he didn’t know how it would happen, maybe that meant it wouldn’t. But then he looked at his hands filled with the jittery excitement of predation.

It would happen.

His crotch was hard. He adjusted himself and crouched in the dark of no moon.

Man Shadow

He collected his jacket off the coat tree and stepped inside a black envelope. When he entered, he was met by the pitch. The pitch disguised what he wanted, muffled their screams, kept his fingerprints from sticking. He’d been working this profession for a long time, and he’d never been found in the pitch.

Neither had they.

Lady White

She saw a small rectangle of golden light. It presented small then grew as she strode toward it. The feeling returned: ice, proximity, and fingers. For the first time she slowed her pace. Her pupils were skates, left, right, left. She scrunched her face and pulled up beside a wooden fence.

Boy Watch

He would do it. Of course he would. He’d made a promise. Worst thing a boy could do was break a promise to himself. If you can’t keep the promises you make yourself, what good are you?

Man Shadow

He came down like a mamba from a tree and garroted the boy’s throat and dragged him away from the light to a lake of black by two dumpsters. He was a large man, so the act of dragging the boy was easy.

Lady White

She couldn’t explain the intuition, but the ice, proximity, and fingers subsided, and she unfroze. Night opened, and the moon broke through the clouds. She saw things she hadn’t seen before. A couple birds settled on a power line. Across the street was a birdhouse, and on her left, a house with green shutters. Growing out the pavement beside her shoe was a yellow flower.

She passed the fence then crossed the street. A trio of folks had gathered by the front door of the tavern. Two of them were smoking.

A tall woman in a maroon coat turned and furrowed her brow, studying, then smiled. She waited for her friend to cross the street. When she was close, she opened her arms. And embraced her. And the woman fell into them.

---

Hey, I’m Roman. I’m working on my debut novel, 20xx, a work in magical realism. I write on Substack.