*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Ethen Mollenkay sat in the cramped airplane seat and wished he had taken a sleeping pill. The man seated next to him was a very large man; he did not fit in the small seat. He crowded against Ethen, and his body odor was quite strong.
Thankfully, though, the plane began its descent. The pilot made the announcement they would be landing in Porasch, Poland in twenty minutes.
And again, his companion's elbow up against him.
"Pardon," he said.
Ethan did not answer; the one time he had answered, the man had used it as an excuse to start a conversation. Ethan had smiled and answered the large man in English. He had looked at Ethan American hairstyle and American clothing and had assumed he was American.
Then he tried to speak English and Ethan had politely told him his English was deplorable.
It was five forty two in the morning when they landed. By seven o'clock, Ethan was seated on the train that would take him from Porasch to Tremblink, his small hometown. And his airplane companion was traveling from Porasch to Amstern, the town just past Tremblink. So, again, he attempted to seat himself next to Ethan and engage him in American English.
Ethan made a point of getting to his feet and sitting in another seat away from him.
"He is rude American," the embarrassed man said to the few passengers that were staring at him.
"But I am not fat bore," Ethan called out in perfect Polish.
The man waddled to another car as the passengers laughed.
It was just after twelve o'clock when Ethan directed the taxicab to the apartment building his mother lived in. His mother had considered herself fortunate to secure a two bedroom apartment forty nine years earlier, during the Communist regime that had held Poland in its fierce grip. Even after the fall of the Communist powers, his mother kept the large apartment, rather than move to a smaller and more modern apartment. His mother did not believe that the Communists were no longer in power.
The taxicab driver carried Ethan's eight large cardboard boxes up the flight of stairs. On each trip, he complained bitterly of his back.
Ethan and his mother, Anna Mollenkay ignored the driver; they were too busy laughing and crying and hugging.
Finally, Ethan paid the driver his fare and gave him a little extra for his troubles.
Ethan smiled sadly; his bedroom was exactly as he had left it twenty five years earlier, when he'd left the apartment to marry Elena. There was a small bed, an Army cot, actually. His father had bought it for him when he was nine years old, and it had excited him then to think that he was sleeping on the bed that a brave soldier in the Polish Army had slept on. Now, at age forty seven, it was not nearly as exciting to think of sleeping on such an uncomfortable bed.
His dresser was still there, and sliding open the top drawer, Ethan smiled; his old undergarments were still there.
Each drawer held his old clothing.
"Mother, really, why did you not throw this out?" Ethan asked.
"We paid good money for those things," Anna answered, then coughed again.
His mother must have been waiting to see her son again; she passed away in her sleep four days after Ethan's arrival.
His ex-wife was at Anna's funeral; she and Anna had maintained a friendship even after Ethan had asked for a divorce.
"So, you will be staying?" Elena asked, not introducing Ethan to the bored looking muscle bound teenaged boy that stood next to her.
"I suppose so," Ethan said.
He given his home and automobile in Bender, Louisiana to his last lover, a sweet faced blonde eighteen year old girl. So Ethan did not have that to return to. And truthfully, his entire time in America, Ethan felt more like a visitor than a resident.
Here, he did feel like he was home.
"Good, good, ever need anything; you just call, all right?" Elena said, kissed his cheek fondly and turned to leave.
"Uh, whatever became of Walter?" Ethan asked, mildly curious.
Walter had been the muscle bound young man he'd found in Elena's bed, the reason he'd asked for a divorce.
"You did not hear?" Elena asked eyes wide.
"Walter Pemikan?" the muscle bound boy asked, but both Ethan and Elena ignored him.
"You remember Sophia, right? The beautiful red head?" Elena asked. "Anyway, Sophia and Walter; they're in my movie and they meet and fall in love and they get married.
"The French girl, right?" Ethan asked.
"And she's on the set and she is feeling sick so I send her home early," Elena continued. "And she come in and she catch Walter in bed with his lover..."
Elena paused, enjoying the dramatic.
"...Ivan. Yes, Walter is soft," Elena laughed. "And Sophia starts screaming and she will tell everyone that Walter is soft and he takes his gun and he kills her."
"Oh my God!" Ethan gasped, horrified.
"And Walter is arrested and he tell Ivan at his trial, Ivan should confess, then at Ivan's trial Walter will confess and that way, they will both go free," Elena continued her tale.
"Oh, ho, that is smart," Ethan agreed.
"And at Walter's trial, Ivan gets on witness stand and cries and confesses that he is one that killed Sophia," Elena said. "Then, at Ivan's trial, Walter screams at Ivan why did you kill my Sophia, we were in love and we were going to have babies."
"No!" Ethan gasped.
"And then Ivan goes in front of firing squad and Walter gets away with murder," Elena said, delighted with the sordid tale.
"So where is Walter now?" Ethan asked.
"Oh, Ivan had older brother, Peter, and Peter pay Walter little visit and no one ever see Walter again, and Peter? He is not saying what happened to Walter," Elena concluded the tale.
"And so Elena Mollenkay's next movie will be..." Ethan suggested.
Elena's eyes opened wide and she abruptly turned to leave.
"Come on, Timothy, I've got a movie to write," she ordered her muscle bound companion.
"Uh, it's Thomas," the young man said, but dutifully followed.
Six days after his mother's funeral, Ethan roused himself out of his lethargy. He'd been sitting at his mother's apartment, doing little but eating and sleeping. He had not even bathed since the day of the funeral.
So, he scraped his face clean of the thick beard of stubble, careful not to nick himself. He then fiddled with the taps until he finally got a warm spray, quickly lathered up and rinsed and got out before the hot water ran out.
Then he dressed in American Levis jeans, a fashionable shirt, pulled on a pair of well-worn sandals, found his swimming trunks, and walked the four blocks to the community swimming pool.
When he had been a teenager, the community swimming pool had been the place to go, to see the girls, to talk and laugh. And every now and then, he'd meet a girl that would allow him some liberties.
At the community swimming pool, Ethan found a locker, stripped out of his clothing and wiggled into his trunks. A few of the men and boys in the changing room did look at his swimming trunks, which had the American flag sewn into the right leg.
Because it was the middle of the day, there were only a few people at the pool. Most of the girls paraded back and forth in their bikinis, but they did not get into the swimming pool. Ethen put his towel onto a stool, and then climbed the ladder to the three meter board.
The water was ice cold. Had he not been underwater, Ethan would have screamed. That was one of the things he had forgotten about the community swimming pool; it was kept very cold.
"Quite cold, isn't it?" a cute red headed girl giggled as Ethan surfaced and gasped.
Despite the chill, Ethan couldn't help but smile at the girl's giggle.
