You Just Do It
The light in the garage shone down the front of Will’s body and caused a glowing halo effect seen from behind. He was in his usual work garb, blue t-shirt, Khaki shorts with cargo pockets. He strapped on the furry, leathery, brown belt with a bit more purpose during the early morning.
His eyes weren’t focused on what he was doing, it was all muscle memory. His thick calloused hand grabbed a handful of nails and just before he placed them in his belt, he thought of an idea.
* * *
He opened the kitchen cabinet and his hands searched through canned food. He paused, for a few seconds, shaking his head in defeat. His right hand went over his brow, rubbing his eyes. He exhaled, then his eyes widened and shook his head again quickly. He opened the cabinet door next to the refrigerator.
The spice rack! He thought out loud. He spun the rack until it suddenly stopped it when the front spice bottle was garlic. He allowed himself a slight smile then his eyes shot at the door that held the bowls. He took out a bowl and shook a bit of the grainy garlic into it. He stopped sprinkling, took the black plastic cap off the garlic bottle “Ah, what the heck.” He dumped the whole bottle into the bowl. Now was not the time for a light touch.
He went back into the garage with the bowl in his hand.
He dumped two to three handfuls of nails into the bowl filled with garlic water. Will stood above the bowl and put his two right fingers to his head and both shoulders. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Several minutes passed He wiped his right eye then loaded a cartridge of nails into his nail gun and loaded a new compression canister. He put the rest of the nails into his front pouch and buttoned it up. Every nail counted this time. As usual, his favorite hammer, hung on the wall. On the handle the words “The Crucifier” were etched into the dark blue handle. He snatched it off the protruding prongs and whirled it around like an old gunslinger about to enter battle. Just before he dropped the hammer in the belt loop another epiphany came to him. He stood, faced forward, and looked up at the lit wooden cross on the wall. He allowed a wrathful idea to wash over him, looked down at the hammer in his hand and allowed himself to smile.
* * *
Will donned plastic goggles as he cut into a two-foot wood 2x4 block with a band saw. He had to be quick about this, no time for perfection. It had to be crude and effective.
After spending a good hour sharpening the end into a point he blew off the sawdust. He held the the wooden handle and his focused blue eyes looked down a the wooden spike-tip. No, it wasn’t perfect but it was good enough for now. He took out his metal hammer from the holster loop and the wood handle easily and smoothly fell into the loop hole. He felt a kind of holy blessing wash over him armed with new weapon and an honorable sense of purpose. Somewhere in his being he felt that he has always meant to construct this new tool. He felt like his father, grandfather and great grandfather were watching him with pride, guiding him, giving him their blessing.
Like Excalibur was to King Arthur, this new Crucifier was Will.
Next, he put on his silver cross necklace, a gift from his late father. It had passed from generation to generation. Where had it originated he wondered? He had no clue, all he knew was that it was here for him to act as a kind of shield. It also reminded him of how physically exposed his neck was, so he went to the garage closet, grabbed an old blue and red scarf and tied it around his neck. It was complete with a blood red cross sewn on it resembling an old communion cloth that went over the shoulders.
He rolled a padded car stool over in front of him, kneeled, folded with leathery hands and silently prayed once more in front of the wooden cross that hung on the back wall. Several minutes passed.
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