Cement Dust
He grew out of the concrete that the construction workers were pouring onto the city sidewalk that day. An amorphous blob of gray gathered together and grew in height, until that blob hardened into the structure of a businessman– clean-cut, chiseled, charming. The construction workers were on their lunch break when the blob manifested, their backs turned to the sidewalk and faces turned towards the busy street and their lovingly packed lunches instead. There was a fleeting moment when they could feel the coolness of a shadow on their backs, but by the time they turned around, there was nothing to be seen. The blob-turned-businessman had walked away.
It was a hot, humid, crowded day. People were battling both each other and water molecules for air. Even the tiniest fly in the sky or the smallest crumb on a cheek took up too much space. Amidst the distracting suffocation, the hardened blob carved its place into the scene. Most people were too focused on miniscule details that something as large as a person could go relatively unnoticed. His grayness was unique, so he wasn’t completely invisible, but most people thought he was a statue impersonator on their way to their next tourist destination. Everybody has to make a living somehow people would think to themselves as they saw the hardened blob walk by.
He walked with purpose as soon as his life was formed. There was no sense of aimlessness in his steps. His shoes didn’t click against the sidewalk like dress shoes normally would, but rather made a noisy, offputting clang. Once he turned off of the busy street into more residential areas, the neighborhoods were silent, everyone away at school or work. It was just the hardened blob and the dogs left behind, but all the dogs could do was stare through the living room windows at the concrete object-turned-man.
For a long time he walked straight, and one could believe that he didn’t actually have anywhere to go, but then he turned right, and then he turned left. And he kept walking with purpose until he reached the front doorstep of the only woman in the neighborhood that was home for the day, Martha.
The hardened blob clanged up the concrete front steps to the glass screen door that separated the wooden door from the outside world. He rang the doorbell, and there was some absent-minded shuffling inside until a woman with dark curls and a white robe answered the door. She opened the wooden door without much thought, but had the foresight to look at who rang the bell before opening the glass one. A sense of panic flowed through her veins like lead, gruesomely slow. She found it hard to breathe.
Martha pushed through this feeling, and stared at him. Although he was stone, his suit and pants looked ill-fitting. His tie wasn’t tied properly. His features were relaxed into themselves, a sense of melancholy that was overwhelming to look at. He was a statue that was also disheveled.
After minutes of staring, she became exasperated. “What the hell are you doing here?” she said. He stared back at her, stone-faced.
“I’m not letting you in until you answer me,” she continued. The hardened blob continued to stare, statue-like.
“Look, I said I was sorry.” No response.
Her face grew hot and tight as tears started to build underneath her face. “Please, Sean. Please,” she managed to get out, before warm lines streamed down her face.
The hardened blob remained silent.
“Don’t make me do this again.”
Still, no answer.
Martha sighed. She wiped her tears, and she beckoned him inside the house.
The blob’s weight threatened to crack the hardwood floors as they moved through the space. Dirty pots and pans filled the sink of the kitchen. There were piles of clothes high enough to form a tiny city on the couch. Dead plants lined the windows. Scattered books made obstacles on the floor. But more disconcerting than anything, was the layer of cement dust that lined every object in the house.
Martha opened the backdoor and the two of them stepped into the yard. Scattered along the grass and the fence were different blocks of concrete, all leading towards the shed. Martha walked towards the shed, and absentmindedly weaved her way through the rubble of concrete noses and eyes and elbows and arms and knees and ties and shoes.
“Wait here,” Martha said as she entered.
The concrete blob stood patiently outside the shed as she rummaged around. It was a minute or so before she came back outside, a sledgehammer in tow.
