Part Two: Leroy Spaklovitch

Leroy Spaklovitch
That’s right, Walter Watson works for a muffin company. However, it is not merely a muffin company. It is the most powerful muffin company in the world. The Stuffin’ Muffin Muffin Company was created in a place just as any other baked goods company might be—the oven. Maybelle George, Mr. Kronx’s mother, was a dainty woman. She was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas in a tiny house that consistently smelled of newspapers and pickles of which she attributed to her grandmother who seemed to visit much too often for comfort. On a Spring day, as it seems that all good things happen in the Spring, when Maybelle had grown old enough to move out and too tired to take the smell (pickles and newspaper) into her nasal cavity, she laid her eyes on the most beautiful muffin she had seen. If only I could taste this muffin, she thought, my life might be that much more interesting. She imagined baking the very same muffin and intended to do so as soon as possible. Before unpacking anything else, Maybelle put her kitchen neatly together and began to mix the ingredients to what she believed to be the most delicious muffin anyone might taste. The smell of cinnamon and sugar began to swirl about the kitchen and Maybelle couldn’t do anything else but dance in its delectable delight. She imagined the smell to take form as swirls of smell and fantasy as she swayed to and fro. She felt the promise of hope and bright mornings build within her. Remembering the haunting smell of her previous home, she vowed that hers would only smell of sweetly baked goods. Who can have a bad day when a muffin so scrumptious melts in one’s mouth? When her muffins came out of the oven, however, they were not the best creations anyone had ever seen—or tasted for that matter. It took Maybelle several tries, years in fact, to produce an edible form of a muffin. However, the day that she concocted the perfect recipe was a day to be remembered because it was the day that she found out she was to have a son. Maybelle had, in the few years of her muffin trials, fallen in love and married a man named Charles Kronx. They met in the grocery store—the baked goods aisle, of course—as Charles reached for a package of mini muffins. Maybelle wasn’t sure what overcame her, but she couldn’t stand the thought of this particular man eating anything but her own freshly baked muffins. Of course, none of her muffins were any good, but Charles didn’t seem to notice and continued to eat them as they came out of the oven. On the day she discovered she was with child, Maybelle pulled out a baking tin containing what would eventually create the most powerful muffin company in the world and suddenly became nauseous. Motherly instinct and affection wasn’t the only thing developing within her through the years. Besides, the smell of muffins could never make her swell up with vomit, what else would it be?
As Mr. Kronx grew up, he only knew the sincerely sweet smell of his mother’s muffins because they were the only source of food placed on the dinner table. This is why he decided to create a muffin company—or so every package of Stuffin Muffins claimed.
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Walter walks. He doesn’t enjoy driving in Boston; instead, he walks. He finds that walking helps him sort out his thoughts and while some people think and drive; Walter prefers not to endanger the human race as he would be too distracted. Today, Walter affirmed that his decision to walk was a wise one because the questions from the meeting with Mr. Kronx continued to circle furiously like a cyclone in his mind. It was nearly seven o clock in the evening and the sweet air was beginning to cool, giving Walter a reason to walk and think his way straight home to light the fireplace he adored.
On days like today, when his thoughts are a whirlpool and the weather presents a stinging to his warm flesh, Walter likes to channel his energy towards a more creative outlet. That is to say: Walter paints. He has painted his whole life. At first, his drawings were nothing but abstract lines and circles—as may be the case with any two year old boy. But as he grew into his teen years, he began to create beautiful works of art that seemed to breathe and take life. Walter had a relatively easy childhood. He lived with his grandmother and grandfather in a little town in the outskirts of Boston and couldn’t complain about the quaint cottage he came home to every day. When he was sixteen years old, Walter found what looked like to be the remains of an abandoned warehouse. He quickly gathered all of his painting supplies from the crowded corner of the living room he’d been given and transformed his new discovery into a studio where he felt comfortable painting as he pleased. Walter disappeared for hours at a time to escape from the hustle of responsibility to find a world—his world—of creativity. His paintings were capable of explaining the thoughts that he never imagined to be deciphered.
Now, since Walter is forced to live in the city because of his current job situation, he cannot use his creative genius in the make-shift studio any longer. Instead, he uses his small apartment. His empty living room complete with various paintings, some finished and some hardly begun, carried the perfect tone for his creation. Tonight, he was anxious to continue his current project: a space-themed universe he only dreamed of living in. As he pulled out his favorite supplies and lit the fireplace, Walter’s chaotic mind settled to a familiar dance where his hands connected with his brain and a steady back-and-forth motion brought him comfort.
Walter believed that he was subject to a boring life. He had committed no crime, hadn’t been victim to a traumatic event, and had certainly never fallen under the pressure of depression. There was no reason for him to be tortured and upset and therefore, he was doomed to live a life of tedious office work.
He took a step back. Something isn’t right, she needs to have longer hair, his mind refocused onto his painting.
Why, then, did his mind fill with confusion? The answer was obvious, the solution clear.
Walter continued to constantly check between the few scenes in his apartment. He needed to make sure she was consistent. He had to get her facial features right, her hair had to be the same color.
What might have been a peaceful night next to the fireplace now turned into a furious outlet of passion and frustration. Walter was purely and utterly conflicted and the only way he knew to deal with it was through her. He gave her the qualities he wished to see off of the canvas.
As he finished the last bit of outer space, Walter sat in the middle of his empty room to look at his masterpiece.
I wish I could jump into that painting. I would be better off. I would never worry about anything. I would be able to live without having to answer to--
Walter abruptly returned to his current predicament. Tomorrow, he had to answer to Mr. Kronx. He had to come up with an answer to his proposition. Should he take the job and possibly risk his life? Should he leave town and find a different yet dreadfully similar job? All of his life, Walter had dreamed that he might be able to be a part of his paintings where life seemed better and more interesting. Here in front of him was the perfect opportunity for a more exciting life.
Just as Walter began to feel the excitement build within him, his apartment phone rang. “Leave a message.” Walter always let the answering machine receive his calls.
“Leroy, it’s Melanie. You’ve got a request for another exhibit downtown. They love your art…as usual—I don’t know who wouldn’t. Listen, just mail everything to me and I’ll take care of it like normal. People want to know who you are, you know? It would be nice to put a face to these brilliant works of art. Oh, almost forgot. There’s a man that wants a painting for his office. He’s willing to pay millions for it. Okay, that’s it. Alright. Bye.”
Walter let out a great sigh, grabbed a permanent marker and signed the corner of his painting:
Leroy Spaklovitch