Further Joy by John Brandon Page A

leaned against the closedwindow, his posture content, as if they’d pulled off on a scenic overlook in the mountains.
    After another moment, as Kim half expected, her phone made its own buzzing signal. A text message. From Rita. She was asking how the museum was. Kim wished she could just not answer, like Franklin. Ignore whatever didn’t suit her at any given moment. But no, she had to say something. She wrote, super crowded—fun though , and hit SEND . And in an instant her phone buzzed again. Rita asking where they were now. Kim looked over toward Franklin, the back of his shirt pressed against the window. His arms were folded on his chest, she could tell. He was gazing at something in the distance, or just staring into space. She typed in, grabbing a bite. battery dying—sorry! She sent the text and then held down the power button on the phone until it shut down. Guilt was present in her, but at this point it was something she understood more than she felt. And part of her resented it, to be honest. Resented Rita and maybe resented the whole idea that someone with as little as Kim had was supposed to feel guilty at all. She slid the phone into her purse and stuffed the purse under her seat. When she opened the car door, fresh air rushed in.
    Just like at the old lady’s farm, they walked around the outside of the house instead of knocking on the front door. The house was a pale blue split-level with peeling paint, and there was a low chain-link fence enclosing the backyard. Franklin pulled the gate open and stood aside, beckoning Kim to enter. He said the guy who lived here was on the road, but he didn’t mind people stopping by to look. Kim went into the yard and Franklin followed, reclosing the gate.
    This man’s art, Kim saw, was a dozen or so enormous padlocks spread over his property. The bodies of the locks were tin sheds, and the steel loops on top were some kind of light, flexible pipe. Kim and Franklin strolled toward the center of the yard, but the effect was mostly lost once they were in the middle of the locks; you had to see them all at once. The sheds had no doors on them. Franklin said the next step was the guy putting big combination wheels on the front of each one. They walked all the way to the rear of the lot. Kim could still hear that same dog barking in the distance.
    Franklin was facing away from the locks, out past the fence, where the land fell into a hollow and grew marshy. “It’s not a museum, but it’s better,” he said. “We’re seeing this before it’s institutionalized.”
    Kim could feel the sun on her face, the mild warmth of spring. She closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s pretty great,” she admitted.
    â€œYou really think so?” Franklin said. He turned to face her, taking a step closer. “I thought you would like it. It’s one of the coolest things I know of, so I thought you should see it.” He was close enough to Kim that he seemed taller than before, almost towering over her, wielding his enthusiasm.
    â€œYou’ll dream about these things,” he said. “Once you get them in your mind, they never leave. I find myself drawing them in school, doodling them, like a compulsion.”
    The sun was focusing on them now, coming into its full strength, bringing a rich odor forth from the ground they were standing on.
    â€œThis is the reason to envy artists,” Kim said. “Because they get to have these nutty consuming projects going, instead of being consumed with, you know… whatever.”
    â€œWhen I saw these the first time I thought how I’d like to be locked away for a while. Not like in prison, but totally alone. Not in trouble, just away from everything for a long time. I don’t know how long, but it would be a long time. Have nothing to look at and nothing to listen to. I think that would be really good for me. I could figure out what my business is and mind