Le Noir de Lenoir by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

Then, there we (Monique, Kirk and I; Agents 32, 666 and 33, respectively) were, driving around Lenoir (NC) on a splendid Saturday fall afternoon, looking for an Asian grocery store that Monique said that she saw in a Google search. Is there really an Asian grocery store in this little town?

I turned left onto Morganton Boulevard SW from Harper Avenue NW. I started to scan for the fair value store.

“Well, guys, what side of the street do you think 2025 is on?” I asked.

Monique, who was riding shotgun in our gray Kia Rio hatchback, gave me a blank-bot look.

Kirk, who was seated behind her, quickly spoke up. “Are we going towards or away from downtown?” he asked.

“We are headed towards downtown, son,” I replied.

“Then 2025 will be on the right,” Kirk confidently announced.

“How do you know that, Kirk?” Monique asked, somewhat surprised by his assured proclamation.

“The OR-OR rule,” Kirk proudly stated. “On returning to the center of a town, the odd address numbers will be on the right. Get it? O for On, R for Returning, O for Odd, and R for Right. OR-OR.”

“Ah, you remembered, Kirk!” I exclaimed. “The corollary is the OL-OL rule, Agent 32. On Leaving, Odd Left.”

“You have way too much time on your maps, Agents 33 and 666,” Monique blurted. Way too much time on your maps? That sure was a strange phrase. I’ll make sure that I use that when I write up this day. / I’m sure that he’s already switched that darn digital audio recorder on. I bet he has it hidden in his shirt pocket. 

Kirk soon spotted an odd-numbered address on the right side of the five-lane highway (NC 18 and US 64). “See there, look at that address number!”

“Ah, I see,” Monique said. “Very smart, Kirk.”

Soon, we were pulling into the grocery store’s parking lot. Once inside the store, Monique frantically searched for the Asian food section. But, it was to no avail.

“I don’t see any Asian food aisles, 33.” I’ll call him by his agent number in here. He seems to like that in public places.

“I don’t, either, 32.” She’s already hip to my recording. / Dad is in psecret psociety mode.

“But, why did it come up in my Google search results?” Monique asked with a confused look on her face.

“What keywords did you enter?” I asked as we stopped in the snack aisle.

“Asian grocery stores Lenoir,” Agent 32 recited.

“Because there are no Asian grocery stores in Lenoir, it probably just gave Asian a strikethrough and searched for grocery stores in Lenoir,” I theorized.

She shook her head. Kirk and I gathered some chips.

At the checkout register, there was a dark-skinned, black-haired, short in stature, middle-age Latino in front of us. He ended up with seven plastic bags full of assorted groceries, including canned goods.

“Could you double-bag them, please?” he asked the bagger in a Central American accent.

“Sure,” the blonde-haired, courteous, high-school-age, male worker replied.

The dark Hispanic man then turned to us and plainly stated: “I have a long walk.” He smiled as he tied several of the bags together. Then he hoisted the chain of plastic bags over his right shoulder and marched out of the store. I wonder how far he has to go with that load. / Should we have offered him a ride? No, it’s too risky in America. This is not the Philippines anymore. / Poor man. I don’t want to end up like that when I grow up. 

A few minutes later, we were back in our car. As we began to leave the parking lot, we spotted the walking man as he ambled diagonally across Morganton Boulevard SW at Fairview Drive SW. He continued walking through the parking lot of a newer cinema. Then he disappeared into the woods behind the freestanding theater building.

“There he goes,” Monique said.

“Yes, there goes Le Noir de Lenoir,” I added. Luh-nwar?

“What does luh nwar mean, dad?” Kirk asked.

“It’s French for the dark-skinned man,” I said.

“A man of swarthy complexion or of dark appearance with bleak prospects,” Monique read from her smartphone. Swarthy? Bleak prospects? I wonder what website that is.

“Also, it’s spelled just like Lenoir – just split it into two words,” I tacked on. “L-e, pronounced luh, means the in French. N-o-i-r, pronounced nwar, means dark or black.”

“This town is named for a poor dark-skinned man?” Kirk asked. That seems very odd.

“No, it’s named in honor of an Anglo Revolutionary War general – William Lenoir,” Monique said, reading from her cell phone. “He was a genuine Whig.” She sure is quick with the Wikipedia today.

Kirk laughed. “A genuine wig? Now, that’s funny! Wig out!” Where did he learn that term? Probably from me, I guess.

“W-h-i-g, Kirk – not w-i-g,” Monique stated, still looking down at her compact LG smartphone’s screen. “It was a major political party of those times.” Whigs in wigs.

When we arrived at the corner of Boundary Street NW and West Avenue NW, I looked over to the right. Coming up to the old Center Theater marquee was no other than the walking man himself, still weighed down by 40 or so pounds of plastic-sacked groceries.

“Look!” I exclaimed to my wife and son. “There’s our man, and he’s still walking.” Our man? / He’s walking himself right into a psecret psociety pshort pstory [sic] with each step that he takes.

“Le Noir really is on a long walk,” Kirk said.

“He certainly is,” Monique added.

A luridly dressed, quite overweight, African American lady was exiting Piccolo’s Pizza. She momentarily arrested our eyes. She had three boxes of pizza in her hands. Her red scarf sailed behind her in the breeze as she began to walk towards Church Street.

The traffic light turned green. I started to go straight across West Avenue. When I looked to the right for Le Noir, he was gone! Where in the world did he go? How did he just vanish like that?

I slowed way down and looked in my rear-view mirror. No one was behind me. I then made a hard right turn onto West Avenue NW, ending up in the far left lane. Now, where did he slip away? / What is dad doing now?

I slowly passed the World War II era, very dilapidated, boarded-up Center movie theater building. A nook between the Center and the smaller, not as old, stucco-and-brick building caught my eye. Did he disappear through one of those doors? Is he secretly squatting in a room in the Center Theater?

“What are you looking at, dad?” Kirk asked.

“Oh, just trying to figure out where that man carrying all those grocery bags disappeared to,” I said.

“Maybe he went into that building [the adjacent, smaller, newer building] for substance abuse counseling,” Monique suggested as she read the words on the front window.

“But, Agent 32, the sign on the door says CLOSED, and there are no lights on in there,” I said. “There’s no one in that building right now.” How can he be sure of that?

“Maybe he has a key to the movie theater,” Kirk suggested.

“Yeah, maybe so, Kirk,” I said as I noticed a trailing Lenoir police car. “Whoops! Time to move along.”

I accelerated back up to 20 MPH (from 5). The police cruiser turned in at the Law Enforcement Center. Whew! Thought I had a light out. Thought I had a ticket coming.

“Well, guys, it seems that Monsieur Le Noir has given us the slip,” I announced as I turned right onto Willow Street NW.

“I wonder if he is really living in that old theater,” Kirk said. “That would be a cool place to live.”

“But, where would you take a shower in there, Kirk?” Monique asked.

“Maybe he has rigged up something,” Kirk offered.

“Well, if nothing else, Le Noir has made himself worthy of a short story.” I knew it. / What?

“But, dad, will he ever know about it? Will he ever find it on the internet? Would he even search for that?”

“You never know, son. You just never know who will read what, when and where.”

“Dad, are you really going to make this little episode into another one of your short stories?”