At the Track

At the Track

  Nelson Lynch

  Copyright 2011

  “Look at him. He doesn’t have a care in the world.” Ruthie reached over and patted Smitty’s shoulder. “The poor boy. Is he always like this? Ignores everyone and does his own thing?”

  Smitty kept on looking at the clouds and humming aimless tunes. Every so often, he would hum a recognizable tune, usually country like ‘Your Cheating Heart’ or ‘You are my Sunshine.’ Sometimes he would close his eyes and go into a light sleep.

  Rosalie sipped on her gin and tonic. “I’m getting so I can understand his signals and body language. For instance, when he wants another beer, he taps his glass on the table.”

  “Well hell, I’d understand that and I’m not married to him.” Ruthie waved her hand in front of Smitty’s face.

  “That’s true, but he won’t stop tapping until another beer is set in front of him. He takes dozens of short naps all day long and then sleeps like a log all night.”

  “I missed some of what happened to him.” Joanne stared intently at Smitty’s face. “I was on vacation. What actually happened to him? I heard lots of different stories. One person said you shot him for fooling around. Someone else said it was a stroke. Most people mention lightning. Is that what happened?”

  Rosalie smiled at her husband. “He wasn’t fooling around. I would have broken the shotgun over his head.” She patted his cheek. “He was in the garden, as usual, hoeing around his prize tomatoes. He just can’t stand a weed or bug in his garden. I was sitting on the deck wondering whether I should go help him when all of a sudden out of a cloudy sky came a bolt of lightning. No warning. No dark clouds. No distant rumblings. Just crash bang, blazing blue lights and an ozone smell. I think it hit him dead center.” She paused to sip her gin and tonic.

  “You mean this bolt came from nowhere.” Joanne eyed Smitty looking for scorch marks.

  Rosalie nodded. “Smitty was thrown ten feet into the air. Luckily, he fell into freshly tilled soil. He jumped up and began taking his burning clothes off. He ran to the house, grabbed a garden hose and hosed himself all over. The only thing he had on was his shoes and they were smoking.”

  “I bet that was a pretty sight.” Ruthie looked for the waitress. “How was he right then? Could he talk or has this condition gotten worse?”

  Rosalie thought for a few seconds. “Right then he was jumping up and down, moaning and groaning and still spraying water all over his body. I ran and got a few towels and started rubbing his back. That’s when he woke up the neighborhood with his screaming.” She rolled her eyes toward the sky. “How was I to know he was burnt all over? I called 911. They took him to the hospital. The doctors said to keep him moist and sent him back home.”

  “What about his mind? Didn’t they notice anything wrong?” Joanne looked at Smitty’s hands. “I don’t see any burn scars.”

  “The doctor said he had a bad case of sunburn and would be fine. His mind would return to normal in a few days. At least that’s what they said.” Rosalie pointed her finger at a fly crawling on Smitty’s hand. “Watch.”

  Smitty’s eyes eased open staring at the fly on his left hand. He slowly moved his right hand over and crushed the fly with his thumb. He brushed the fly to the floor and began humming.

  “How in the hell did he do that? Why didn’t the fly just fly away?” Joanne looked at Ruthie. “What did he do?”

  Rosalie raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Smitty can control some things with his mind. Somehow he slowed the reaction time of the fly. That lightning bolt rearranged a lot of his thought patterns. Before, a great deal of his brain was used for talking. Now I think it’s doing something else.”

  Ruthie leaned forward on the table. She lowered her voice. “How else is he different? Did this bolt of lightning effect him in the bedroom?”

  Rosalie turned two shades of red and tried not to grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “What does he do? What is different?” Ruthie looked at Smitty.

  Joanne shook her head. “Don’t worry about Smitty’s new sexual habits. What else can he do with his mind?”

  Rosalie tore off a corner of a tissue and placed it on the table. She shook Smitty awake and pointed at the tissue. “Watch this.”

  Smitty stared at the tissue and moved his hand slightly. The tissue quivered and turned over.

  “Holy shit! Did you see that?” Ruthie looked Smitty over carefully. “He made that tissue move just by thinking about it.”

  “It could have been a breeze or someone blew on it.” Joanne blew the tissue off the table. “He could have done that.”

  Rosalie shook her head and grinned. “He didn’t cheat. He can do a whole lot of tricks with his mind.”

  “I don’t want to hear about Smitty’s bedroom tricks.” Joanne waved a quarter at Smitty and flicked it into the air. “If he can influence this quarter, we’re going to Atlantic City and play the slots.” She caught the coin and looked at Smitty. “I want ten heads in a row.”

  Smitty drained his beer bottle and began using the bottle to tap on the table.

  “Damn, the first two were tails. What’s wrong with him? I want to see those wheels turn and stop on the jackpot signs.”

  Smitty kept tapping on the table and humming a tune.

  Ruthie waved at the waitress. “Bring us a round of drinks and hurry up with that beer before he cracks the bottle.” She looked at Rosalie and raised her voice to be heard over the tapping. “Why didn’t Smitty influence that quarter?”

  Rosalie watched the waitress trot from the bar with only the beer. She set it on the table and took the empty from his hand. Smitty grinned and caressed the beer bottle. “I think it has to do with the speed the coin is turning and the duration of the flip. Smitty never was too fast in his thinking.”

  Ruthie waited until she had a fresh drink. “What about race horses? Do you think Smitty could speed one up or slow one down?”

  Rosalie wrinkled her forehead and looked at Smitty for five seconds. “He might be able to slow a horse down. I doubt if he could speed one up.”

  Ruthie grinned from ear to ear. “Did you hear that? Smitty might be able to slow a horse down. I think it’s time to go to the harness races at Ocean Downs.”

  Joanne slowly shook her head. “There are usually eight horses running. Can he slow down seven horses?” She tugged on Smitty’s arm. “Can you slow down more than one horse?”

  Smitty looked at the clouds, grinned and spoke for the first time at the café. “Lucy.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” Ruthie glanced at Rosalie. “Smitty is in bad shape. He’s in a horse race with only one horse running.”

  “He does that sometimes,” Rosalie said. “He usually does it as a prediction. Smitty is saying that Lucy will soon be here.”

  “No, no, he’s wrong this time. Lucy said she and Janet were going fishing for hardheads.” Ruthie looked at the entrance. “There are plenty of them along with rockfish and trout. She wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

  “Lucy.” Smitty used his beer bottle to point at the entrance.

  All heads turned in time to see Lucy step into the patio. She pulled up a chair and yelled for a beer. “What’s going on? How is Smitty these days? Is he improving?”

  Ruthie nodded her head and caressed Smitty’s cheek. “Guess what he just did? He was able to slow a fly up enough to crush it with his finger and then he predicted you were coming. What do you think he could do at Ocean Downs?”

  Lucy looked first at Smitty and then at Rosalie. “Can he do that?” She waited until Rosalie nodded. “Well, I got to go to the bank and get a little cash for tonight.” She looked at each of the women. “We are going to Ocean Downs tonight, aren’t we?”

  That n
ight they settled on a bench in front of the grandstand about fifty feet from the track one hour before the first race. Smitty was tapping on the bench with his hat brim. The women were studying their racing programs.

  “For God’s sake, Rosalie, go get the poor boy a beer. He is driving me crazy. I’m trying to study the program and he’s beating on the bench.” She waited a few seconds. “Bring us all a gin and tonic. I’ll get the next round. I’m so excited. We’ll soon be rolling in the money.”

  Joanne grabbed Smitty by the arm and pulled him up. “I’m taking Smitty to the track fence. He can lean on the fence and get a good look.” She pointed her finger at the racing program. “Yellow is the colors for the first race and red the second. Do you understand?”

  Smitty nodded and began walking to the fence. He watched the trotters and pacers circle the track during the warm up period before each race. Rosalie brought his beer and Joanne’s gin and tonic.

  “What horse do you like, dear?”

  Smitty sipped on his beer and watched the horses. Three minutes went by before he indicated anything. He pointed at a red horse with yellow colors and the number eight. He looked at Joanne’s program. “Lonesome Dan.” He grinned at Joanne and began humming ‘Oh Lonesome Me.’

  Joanne brushed at her hair and sat on the bench. “Smitty says Lonesome Dan in the first race is a sure thing. I left him with instructions to look at pacers with red colors.”

  Ruthie