When the Great King knew his time was nearing an end he called his three sons to his bedside.
“Sons, as I love each of you deeply I have chosen to divide my kingdom amongst you all.”
“First, “ he began, “to you, my eldest, as you are strong and brave, I grant to you control of my military. The troops, the great ships and the armaments are now yours to command.”
With that the eldest son bowed and left well pleased with what he had been given.
“Next, to you, my youngest, as you have shown both wisdom and compassion, I grant to you the rule of the people.”
And, with that the youngest son bowed and left well pleased with what he had been given.
“And now, to you, my middle son. To you I grant the management of my wealth. The purse of the kingdom is yours.”
And, with that the middle son smiled, grasped the old man's hand and asked, “Oh, Father, why did you bother giving my brothers anything at all?”
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Koan Prayer
Life found God sitting quietly beneath a large tree by the side of the water.
“What are you doing?” asked Life.
“Praying,” replied God.
Life was surprised, and said, “But you are God. Unto whom do you pray?”
“Unto Humanity,” replied God.
“Humanity.“ Life repeated solemnly. “And for what do you pray?” asked Life.
“I pray, “ replied God, “for Humanity to allow that the world turn from what it is to what it ought to be.”
Then God turned from Life and looked out across the water. “Sometimes, “ God said, “I find it a hard prayer. Sometimes, I wonder if Humanity is even there.”
With that Life sat beside God and together they prayed.
“What are you doing?” asked Life.
“Praying,” replied God.
Life was surprised, and said, “But you are God. Unto whom do you pray?”
“Unto Humanity,” replied God.
“Humanity.“ Life repeated solemnly. “And for what do you pray?” asked Life.
“I pray, “ replied God, “for Humanity to allow that the world turn from what it is to what it ought to be.”
Then God turned from Life and looked out across the water. “Sometimes, “ God said, “I find it a hard prayer. Sometimes, I wonder if Humanity is even there.”
With that Life sat beside God and together they prayed.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Fair Weather Could Be Better Than This
Mother always said, keep your enemies close but your friends closer. She was a big believer in friendship though I don’t think she ever had very many of her own, not for very long anyway. She always said that if I had a true friend, I would want for nothing.
I had a few friends in grade school. I remember them. But we sort of drifted apart as we got older and moved into junior-high and high schools where the competition for good friends was tougher. Mother was there for me though. Maybe we were friends, but I don’t like to think of it that way.
Mother was in her mid forties when I was born and started drawing social security by the time I was grown. She always said that our time together on this old world might be short, but we’d sure make of it what there was to make. And we had some good times. We did our best.
When I was 12 mother took up with a truck driver named Rufus. He was a long-haul trucker in his sixties and was only in town for four or five days a month. Mother would leave me with a tv dinner and go off with him for the evening. She said they went dancing, but I remember seeing mother dance at her niece’s wedding once, and I hate to say it, but I don’t think dancing was her thing.
Rufus kept coming by for seven months then stopped. The brakes failed on his truck late one night while taking a turn outside Silver Plume, Colorado. Mother said he never had a chance. Those weeks after Rufus were a dark time for mother. That’s when she started saying that line about keeping friends close. I never knew my father, so Rufus was the first man I ever saw her lose. Dark time.
But mother bounced back. Being so young, I didn’t realize right away that once she’d had a taste of the company of a man, she wouldn’t want to go back to the way things had been before. But I learned pretty quickly. It was only a few months later that Carl started coming around.
Carl was a retired elementary school teacher and didn’t know how to talk to me at all. He only seemed to understand little kids. I was 13, but he treated me like I was eight. One time he bought me a coloring book.
Carl’s heart gave out one night when mother was staying over at his house. She called me after midnight to tell me she’d be coming home and I should unlock the padlock on the front door.
Kevin didn’t last long. A week was all. Mother never did say what happened to him, but she did make me dress nice for his funeral.
After that there was a long spell where it was just the two of us again. Those were good times, but I know mother wasn’t happy. She loved me, no doubt, but part of her really needed a friend.
Roderick was a surprise. He was the first black person I’d ever spent much time with and I think he was my favorite of all mother’s friends. Once he took me to a minor league baseball game. Just the two of us. I really didn’t think it would be my kind of thing, but it turned out we had a great time. He bought me a hot dog and even let me take a sip of his beer. Later, I made the mistake of telling mother about the beer and she yelled at both of us. When mother sent me into the back room, I heard her tell him how our family had a bad history with drinking. He said he was sorry and they made up.
Roderick was killed a few weeks later by a police officer in a mixup over a gas station robbery. Mother said he was just standing there and wasn’t robbing anybody, and I believed her. I still do.
Chester was nearly 70 but in good shape. He had a granddaughter about my age. She went to my school, so I’d seen her around. She was one of the popular girls and I remember thinking that this was a good friendship opportunity for me. But, sadly, it didn’t work out that way. Before mother and her grandfather got together she didn’t know who I was. After, she ignored me on purpose.
I think mother blamed herself when Chester was eaten by that lion. This was on an outing to the zoo. I’d never been and was very excited to see the monkeys, but mother wanted to see the big cats right away, so I never did get my chance. I remember thinking, as the police took us home, that I could try again when we went back for the car, but mother said she’d never set foot in that zoo again. And she was, as usual, true to her word.
I think it’s fair to say mother went into a real funk after that. She spent the next week in her room with the lights off and the drapes drawn. It was a dark time. She only came out to use the john. I made chicken soup for her every day, but she only ever ate the crackers.
After a while she did come out and try to get on with her life, but I don’t think she ever got over what happened.
I graduated with my G.E.D. at 19 and mother told me that very day I should move out. Luckily I’d been working. Summers at the car wash, plus sweeping up at the beauty salon all year round. Having no one or nothing to spend my money on I’d put away enough to rent a room in one of the neighborhoods near the mall. I know mother hadn’t meant to be mean when she kicked me out, but I couldn’t help but feel bad anyway. Like I said before mother was pretty much all I had and I was pretty much all she had. I think now that might be why she wanted me to move out.
About a month after I left home, mother was hit by a drunk driver. She was walking across the road and I guess the guy didn’t see her. They said he was just over the legal limit for driving, but just over was enough to put him away for a few years. It’s hard to blame him too much though. In her day mother had driven much drunker than that.
Somehow making friends got a little bit easier for me after mother was gone. I’ve had a few that I can look back on and really smile.
The first, Leslie, I met in the mall parking lot. I didn’t really know how to act at first, but after a while we got along pretty well. Leslie fell from the roof of an apartment building.
Next came Morgan, who was truly a wonderful person, and choked on a fish bone.
Then, Pat. Drown when swimming in the public pool.
The last is Jamie. We’ve known each other for three months now and are still good friends.
Like I said the main thing mother taught me was to keep my friends close. She said that thing about enemies too, but I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those, so it never stuck with me too much. Honestly, and I never did ask mother about this, but I don’t think I ever understood why I’d want to have an enemy around at all.
I had a few friends in grade school. I remember them. But we sort of drifted apart as we got older and moved into junior-high and high schools where the competition for good friends was tougher. Mother was there for me though. Maybe we were friends, but I don’t like to think of it that way.
Mother was in her mid forties when I was born and started drawing social security by the time I was grown. She always said that our time together on this old world might be short, but we’d sure make of it what there was to make. And we had some good times. We did our best.
When I was 12 mother took up with a truck driver named Rufus. He was a long-haul trucker in his sixties and was only in town for four or five days a month. Mother would leave me with a tv dinner and go off with him for the evening. She said they went dancing, but I remember seeing mother dance at her niece’s wedding once, and I hate to say it, but I don’t think dancing was her thing.
Rufus kept coming by for seven months then stopped. The brakes failed on his truck late one night while taking a turn outside Silver Plume, Colorado. Mother said he never had a chance. Those weeks after Rufus were a dark time for mother. That’s when she started saying that line about keeping friends close. I never knew my father, so Rufus was the first man I ever saw her lose. Dark time.
But mother bounced back. Being so young, I didn’t realize right away that once she’d had a taste of the company of a man, she wouldn’t want to go back to the way things had been before. But I learned pretty quickly. It was only a few months later that Carl started coming around.
Carl was a retired elementary school teacher and didn’t know how to talk to me at all. He only seemed to understand little kids. I was 13, but he treated me like I was eight. One time he bought me a coloring book.
Carl’s heart gave out one night when mother was staying over at his house. She called me after midnight to tell me she’d be coming home and I should unlock the padlock on the front door.
Kevin didn’t last long. A week was all. Mother never did say what happened to him, but she did make me dress nice for his funeral.
After that there was a long spell where it was just the two of us again. Those were good times, but I know mother wasn’t happy. She loved me, no doubt, but part of her really needed a friend.
Roderick was a surprise. He was the first black person I’d ever spent much time with and I think he was my favorite of all mother’s friends. Once he took me to a minor league baseball game. Just the two of us. I really didn’t think it would be my kind of thing, but it turned out we had a great time. He bought me a hot dog and even let me take a sip of his beer. Later, I made the mistake of telling mother about the beer and she yelled at both of us. When mother sent me into the back room, I heard her tell him how our family had a bad history with drinking. He said he was sorry and they made up.
Roderick was killed a few weeks later by a police officer in a mixup over a gas station robbery. Mother said he was just standing there and wasn’t robbing anybody, and I believed her. I still do.
Chester was nearly 70 but in good shape. He had a granddaughter about my age. She went to my school, so I’d seen her around. She was one of the popular girls and I remember thinking that this was a good friendship opportunity for me. But, sadly, it didn’t work out that way. Before mother and her grandfather got together she didn’t know who I was. After, she ignored me on purpose.
I think mother blamed herself when Chester was eaten by that lion. This was on an outing to the zoo. I’d never been and was very excited to see the monkeys, but mother wanted to see the big cats right away, so I never did get my chance. I remember thinking, as the police took us home, that I could try again when we went back for the car, but mother said she’d never set foot in that zoo again. And she was, as usual, true to her word.
I think it’s fair to say mother went into a real funk after that. She spent the next week in her room with the lights off and the drapes drawn. It was a dark time. She only came out to use the john. I made chicken soup for her every day, but she only ever ate the crackers.
After a while she did come out and try to get on with her life, but I don’t think she ever got over what happened.
I graduated with my G.E.D. at 19 and mother told me that very day I should move out. Luckily I’d been working. Summers at the car wash, plus sweeping up at the beauty salon all year round. Having no one or nothing to spend my money on I’d put away enough to rent a room in one of the neighborhoods near the mall. I know mother hadn’t meant to be mean when she kicked me out, but I couldn’t help but feel bad anyway. Like I said before mother was pretty much all I had and I was pretty much all she had. I think now that might be why she wanted me to move out.
About a month after I left home, mother was hit by a drunk driver. She was walking across the road and I guess the guy didn’t see her. They said he was just over the legal limit for driving, but just over was enough to put him away for a few years. It’s hard to blame him too much though. In her day mother had driven much drunker than that.
Somehow making friends got a little bit easier for me after mother was gone. I’ve had a few that I can look back on and really smile.
The first, Leslie, I met in the mall parking lot. I didn’t really know how to act at first, but after a while we got along pretty well. Leslie fell from the roof of an apartment building.
Next came Morgan, who was truly a wonderful person, and choked on a fish bone.
Then, Pat. Drown when swimming in the public pool.
The last is Jamie. We’ve known each other for three months now and are still good friends.
Like I said the main thing mother taught me was to keep my friends close. She said that thing about enemies too, but I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those, so it never stuck with me too much. Honestly, and I never did ask mother about this, but I don’t think I ever understood why I’d want to have an enemy around at all.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Calling All Heroes
The little man sat in a folding chair that had been brought in from the back room. He was in his late 40s with slightly thinning, gray-brown hair, and wore a pink and white vertically striped - worn, but clean - collared shirt, brown cotton pants and a pair of high-top sneakers with the name “Voit” stitched across the tongue. The blue and red rotating lights of the police cruisers parked by the gas pumps shown through the store windows and reflected off his glasses as they spoke.
“Okay, tell me, Mr. Jenkins, what happened,” the female officer asked him.
Jenkins looked up at her, his lip began to quiver and he looked away. “The gun,” he said. “It- it didn’t go off. I watched him. I tell ya, he pointed the gun right at Burt’s face and he pulled that trigger.... I heard the click. But it didn’t go off.”
The officer stood by him taking notes. “Did you see the suspect enter the store?”
“Huh?” Jenkins stuttered. “Oh, no. I was in the back. Burt was behind the counter when he came in. I came out when I heard Burt-” He broke off and wiped his brow with the moist tissue clutched in his hand.
“Was anyone else in the store, sir?” the officer asked.
“No- no, it’s been a slow night,” he said, lowering the tissue and looked up at her. “Some kids were in a little while ago, but they’d gone.” Jenkins shook his head. “I’m glad they weren’t in here when all this happened.”
“Yes, sir. Please continue.”
“Okay. Well I was- I was in the back, like I said, and I heard Burt yell...and...uh... Hey, where is Burt?”
“Mr. Perry was taken to St. Louise,” the office said still jotting in her notepad. When Jenkins was silent for a moment, she looked over to him. “His jaw got a little banged up, but he should be fine.”
“Oh, that’s good.... Yes, I remember that now,” Jenkins said.
“Now, Mr Jenkins, can you tell me what you were doing in the back?”
Jenkins fidgeted in the chair for a moment, then looked at the officer’s belt. “Oh, I was- I was using the facilities, ma’am. I had just... I had just finished when I heard Burt shout.”
“Do you recall what Mr Perry said?”
“Uh, yes, I do. It’s a little- See Burt tends to use...colorful language.”
Once again the office stopped writing and looked down at Jenkins. “It’s quite alright, sir, if there ever was a time for colorful language this is it.”
“Oh... I suppose so. I suppose so,” Jenkins said. “Yes. Well he said, fu-. He said, ‘F you, buddy. You get outta here before I call the cops.’”
“Go on.”
“Well that’s when I came out.” He pointed behind the officer to a short hall beside the drink coolers in the back of the store. “I could see the guy’s back and Burt over his shoulder. I guess I must’ve made a sound or something, ‘cause the guy turned and saw me. That’s when he- Ahh...gosh...I tell ya... Do you have to deal with this stuff every day?”
The officer glanced out the window. The suspect was in the patrol car and she could see another officer interviewing a group of kids out in the parking lot. “Some days are better than others, sir. Please continue.”
“Ah... Well, I had made a sound and this guy noticed me. That’s when he pulled the gun on Burt. He yelled that I’d better get up there or he’d shoot. So, what else could I do? I walked up there. He told me to stand over there by the beef jerky.” Jenkins pointed to a red cardboard display near the small opening that led to the back of the counter. “I did what he said. Then he turned back to Burt. I tell ya, he had the gun right in Burt’s face. He said, ‘Open-’ He said all this really slow. I don’t know if that matters, but it was real slow. He said, ‘Open the register and give me the money.’ Just like that. And Burt... Burt just said, ‘F you,’ again. That’s when-” Jenkins swallowed and shook his head from side to side. “That’s when he pulled the trigger.”
Jenkins sat quietly as the officer wrote. After a few seconds of silence his leg began to shake. He rested his hand on his knee to still it, but was unsuccessful.
When the officer was finished writing, Jenkins continued. “Well, like I said before, the gun didn’t go off, and Burt- Burt didn’t miss a beat, I tell ya. He just reached over the counter and grabbed the guy. I thought he was about to drag him over, but he just held onto him and called for me.” Jenkins nodded his head. “You know, I tell ya, I never thought anything like this would happen. I mean, I know gas stations get robbed sometimes, but this is a pretty good neighborhood and there’s always two of us in the store. Henry - he's the owner - Henry may not be the best boss I ever had, but he’s always been set on having two people at all times. I’ll give him that.
“So when Burt called my name, I came over. I tell ya, I didn’t know quite what to do, but I could see the guy kinda squirming and it looked like Burt might be losing him. So I sorta grabbed him from behind. I reached around him and kinda locked my hands together.” Jenkins demonstrated by forming a loop with his arms and gripping his left wrist with his right hand. “So I had him like this and Burt came around and we both pulled him back up-right.
“And he was cussing and yelling at us and saying I don’t know what, but mostly he was trying to get loose from me. But I wouldn't let him go. I had a real good hold on him. I tell ya, it wasn't easy with him wiggling and moving like he was, but I kept on him. It was something. I'll tell ya, I never thought I'd be in a situation like that. No, si- No, ma'am. I never thought I would. I wasn't exactly a jock in high school, you know. I guess I can tell ya I'd never even been in a fight until tonight. I mean, I got into scuffs with my cousin, Barry. when we were kids, but nothing like a real fight... I never thought I'd be in a situation like that."
The officer had ceased writing in her notebook and was looking around the store. A few moments after Jenkins stopped talking, she looked down at him. His leg had stopped shaking. He sat there, expectantly, still, staring up at her, a slight smile on his face. "You did very well, sir," she said. "You were very brave."
"Oh, well," Jenkins said, his face turning a bright red. "I guess it wasn't much, but it sure was something. I tell ya-" Jenkins paused to cough quickly into is open hand. "Anyway, I had ahold of this guy - the robber - and he was trying to get loose. He swung his arms around and... That was when he got Burt, I think. Must've got him pretty good, too, but I guess it just made Burt mad, and he rared back and punched the guy right in the face.” Jenkins’ smile was large now. He laughed. “Yeah, I tell ya, Burt hit him so hard that his head came back and almost got me. But I dodged it just in time.”
The officer had resumed writing. "And at that point the suspect became unconscious. Is that correct, Mr. Jenkins?" she asked.
"Uhm, yeah," Jenkins said. "Yeah, he went limp and kinda fell outta my arms. You know, just occurred to me- I'm glad he wasn't faking, you know? That would've been pretty clever. Would'a worked too," he said, looking down. His smile fading. He looked out the window to the parking lot and the man in back of the police cruiser. His leg began to shake again.
“Did anyone call Henry,” he asked, suddenly jerking his head away from the window.
The officer stopped writing and flipped back a page in her notepad. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fletcher has been notified. I believe he’s on his way.”
“Good. I bet. Yeah. He’ll want to check the store.” Jenkins looked around him, biting his lower lip. Except for a few packs of gum strewn across the counter, the police woman standing over him and the others in the parking lot there was no sign of the evening’s excitement.
“Ma’am,” he said. He twisted himself around in the folding chair, gripped the backrest and pushed himself up to a standing position. "I mean, Officer. That’s pretty much all I have to say. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No,” she said taking a last look over her notes, “I believe we have everything. We’ll be calling you downtown tomorrow for a line-up.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess- Okay. Sure. So I can go home now?” he asked. “I’m pretty tired all of a sudden.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like someone to take you?”
“Oh, no. No. I don’t live far,” he said. He stepped past the officer to the door. He stood by for a moment without opening it, then turned for another look around the store, then to the window and out into the parking lot, and, finally, back to the officer. “Ma’am, could you do something for me?”
The officer, having completed her interview, was surveying the scene. At his question, she stiffened slightly and turned toward him. “Yes, sir. What do you need?”
“When Henry gets here,” Jenkins said opening the door, “would you please tell him I quit?”
“Okay, tell me, Mr. Jenkins, what happened,” the female officer asked him.
Jenkins looked up at her, his lip began to quiver and he looked away. “The gun,” he said. “It- it didn’t go off. I watched him. I tell ya, he pointed the gun right at Burt’s face and he pulled that trigger.... I heard the click. But it didn’t go off.”
The officer stood by him taking notes. “Did you see the suspect enter the store?”
“Huh?” Jenkins stuttered. “Oh, no. I was in the back. Burt was behind the counter when he came in. I came out when I heard Burt-” He broke off and wiped his brow with the moist tissue clutched in his hand.
“Was anyone else in the store, sir?” the officer asked.
“No- no, it’s been a slow night,” he said, lowering the tissue and looked up at her. “Some kids were in a little while ago, but they’d gone.” Jenkins shook his head. “I’m glad they weren’t in here when all this happened.”
“Yes, sir. Please continue.”
“Okay. Well I was- I was in the back, like I said, and I heard Burt yell...and...uh... Hey, where is Burt?”
“Mr. Perry was taken to St. Louise,” the office said still jotting in her notepad. When Jenkins was silent for a moment, she looked over to him. “His jaw got a little banged up, but he should be fine.”
“Oh, that’s good.... Yes, I remember that now,” Jenkins said.
“Now, Mr Jenkins, can you tell me what you were doing in the back?”
Jenkins fidgeted in the chair for a moment, then looked at the officer’s belt. “Oh, I was- I was using the facilities, ma’am. I had just... I had just finished when I heard Burt shout.”
“Do you recall what Mr Perry said?”
“Uh, yes, I do. It’s a little- See Burt tends to use...colorful language.”
Once again the office stopped writing and looked down at Jenkins. “It’s quite alright, sir, if there ever was a time for colorful language this is it.”
“Oh... I suppose so. I suppose so,” Jenkins said. “Yes. Well he said, fu-. He said, ‘F you, buddy. You get outta here before I call the cops.’”
“Go on.”
“Well that’s when I came out.” He pointed behind the officer to a short hall beside the drink coolers in the back of the store. “I could see the guy’s back and Burt over his shoulder. I guess I must’ve made a sound or something, ‘cause the guy turned and saw me. That’s when he- Ahh...gosh...I tell ya... Do you have to deal with this stuff every day?”
The officer glanced out the window. The suspect was in the patrol car and she could see another officer interviewing a group of kids out in the parking lot. “Some days are better than others, sir. Please continue.”
“Ah... Well, I had made a sound and this guy noticed me. That’s when he pulled the gun on Burt. He yelled that I’d better get up there or he’d shoot. So, what else could I do? I walked up there. He told me to stand over there by the beef jerky.” Jenkins pointed to a red cardboard display near the small opening that led to the back of the counter. “I did what he said. Then he turned back to Burt. I tell ya, he had the gun right in Burt’s face. He said, ‘Open-’ He said all this really slow. I don’t know if that matters, but it was real slow. He said, ‘Open the register and give me the money.’ Just like that. And Burt... Burt just said, ‘F you,’ again. That’s when-” Jenkins swallowed and shook his head from side to side. “That’s when he pulled the trigger.”
Jenkins sat quietly as the officer wrote. After a few seconds of silence his leg began to shake. He rested his hand on his knee to still it, but was unsuccessful.
When the officer was finished writing, Jenkins continued. “Well, like I said before, the gun didn’t go off, and Burt- Burt didn’t miss a beat, I tell ya. He just reached over the counter and grabbed the guy. I thought he was about to drag him over, but he just held onto him and called for me.” Jenkins nodded his head. “You know, I tell ya, I never thought anything like this would happen. I mean, I know gas stations get robbed sometimes, but this is a pretty good neighborhood and there’s always two of us in the store. Henry - he's the owner - Henry may not be the best boss I ever had, but he’s always been set on having two people at all times. I’ll give him that.
“So when Burt called my name, I came over. I tell ya, I didn’t know quite what to do, but I could see the guy kinda squirming and it looked like Burt might be losing him. So I sorta grabbed him from behind. I reached around him and kinda locked my hands together.” Jenkins demonstrated by forming a loop with his arms and gripping his left wrist with his right hand. “So I had him like this and Burt came around and we both pulled him back up-right.
“And he was cussing and yelling at us and saying I don’t know what, but mostly he was trying to get loose from me. But I wouldn't let him go. I had a real good hold on him. I tell ya, it wasn't easy with him wiggling and moving like he was, but I kept on him. It was something. I'll tell ya, I never thought I'd be in a situation like that. No, si- No, ma'am. I never thought I would. I wasn't exactly a jock in high school, you know. I guess I can tell ya I'd never even been in a fight until tonight. I mean, I got into scuffs with my cousin, Barry. when we were kids, but nothing like a real fight... I never thought I'd be in a situation like that."
The officer had ceased writing in her notebook and was looking around the store. A few moments after Jenkins stopped talking, she looked down at him. His leg had stopped shaking. He sat there, expectantly, still, staring up at her, a slight smile on his face. "You did very well, sir," she said. "You were very brave."
"Oh, well," Jenkins said, his face turning a bright red. "I guess it wasn't much, but it sure was something. I tell ya-" Jenkins paused to cough quickly into is open hand. "Anyway, I had ahold of this guy - the robber - and he was trying to get loose. He swung his arms around and... That was when he got Burt, I think. Must've got him pretty good, too, but I guess it just made Burt mad, and he rared back and punched the guy right in the face.” Jenkins’ smile was large now. He laughed. “Yeah, I tell ya, Burt hit him so hard that his head came back and almost got me. But I dodged it just in time.”
The officer had resumed writing. "And at that point the suspect became unconscious. Is that correct, Mr. Jenkins?" she asked.
"Uhm, yeah," Jenkins said. "Yeah, he went limp and kinda fell outta my arms. You know, just occurred to me- I'm glad he wasn't faking, you know? That would've been pretty clever. Would'a worked too," he said, looking down. His smile fading. He looked out the window to the parking lot and the man in back of the police cruiser. His leg began to shake again.
“Did anyone call Henry,” he asked, suddenly jerking his head away from the window.
The officer stopped writing and flipped back a page in her notepad. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fletcher has been notified. I believe he’s on his way.”
“Good. I bet. Yeah. He’ll want to check the store.” Jenkins looked around him, biting his lower lip. Except for a few packs of gum strewn across the counter, the police woman standing over him and the others in the parking lot there was no sign of the evening’s excitement.
“Ma’am,” he said. He twisted himself around in the folding chair, gripped the backrest and pushed himself up to a standing position. "I mean, Officer. That’s pretty much all I have to say. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No,” she said taking a last look over her notes, “I believe we have everything. We’ll be calling you downtown tomorrow for a line-up.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess- Okay. Sure. So I can go home now?” he asked. “I’m pretty tired all of a sudden.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like someone to take you?”
“Oh, no. No. I don’t live far,” he said. He stepped past the officer to the door. He stood by for a moment without opening it, then turned for another look around the store, then to the window and out into the parking lot, and, finally, back to the officer. “Ma’am, could you do something for me?”
The officer, having completed her interview, was surveying the scene. At his question, she stiffened slightly and turned toward him. “Yes, sir. What do you need?”
“When Henry gets here,” Jenkins said opening the door, “would you please tell him I quit?”
Monday, January 31, 2011
Chain of Thought
The road outside the house where I grew up was long and nearly empty of anything but woods and farmland. The only houses were ours and Stewie Anderson’s a half-mile away. The Andersons lived on the corner of our road and a larger highway. I remember when I was very young the school bus stopped at Stewie’s house then came down our road and stopped at my driveway. Since there was no good way for a bus to turn around after that, it would have to travel another 2 miles or so before the road curved back to the highway again. The was not the most efficient way to go so when I started the fifth grade, it was agreed - not by me, of course, but by my mother and Skinny Willie, the bus driver - that I’d walk up to Stewie’s house and catch the bus on the corner with him. I’m sure Skinny Willie enjoyed the extra few minutes he saved, but for us kids, it meant we spent more “quiet” time in the bus room. It also meant I had to walk that half mile.
In the winter months that walk up to Stewie’s house was pitch black. We had one light at our driveway and there was another at the intersection. The road was wooded and made a wide turn such that even with the leaves off the trees I could see neither light for much of the walk.
My mother always reminded me to be careful of cars as she sat perched on a kitchen stool in her nightgown, coffee in hand. But I don’t think I ever saw a car on the road at that time of morning. I was more afraid of what might be out there in the woods, in the dark, lurking.
I was raised in the country, but I am not, and have never been, a country boy. It’s just never been “me”, I suppose you could say. It’s true I’ve done all the chores - there was no avoiding that under my father’s roof whether it was “you” or not. It’s true that I have more of a farmer’s notion of life and death than that of the city people I surround myself with today. There’s a respect that comes from directly taking a life in order to sustain your own. It’s also true that I was raised with a farmer’s practicality and a farmer’s skepticism. I was taught the foolishness of ghost and ghoul stories and even Santa Claus. I was taught that all you can trust in is the good Lord up above, and the concrete - the substantial - that which you can see with your eyes and hold in your hand.
Still that early morning walk in the dark, that was spooky.
At the beginning of fifth grade I was 10 years old. Despite my down-to-earth upbringing I was an imaginative child. I’d lay in bed at night dreaming up stories of epic space battles between the evil slob-people of Poopion VI, and the handsome and brilliant Captain Xander Hooper of the United Earth League. These battles waged on each night and I’ve only recently realized it was a way of keeping myself awake in an attempt to postpone the next morning’s walk.
While my imagination might have been fun at night, the stories I dreamed up in the morning were much less so. Still I found myself unable to stop. Deep in the woods lived an evil old mad woodsman. He had long patchy gray hair and walked with a hunch, his weight resting on a large gnarled staff. He’d roam the woods at night looking for some kid to drag down into his cave to do...well whatever evil old mad woodsmen do. Or sometimes rustling heard off the side of the road would become the scraping claws of a demon-possessed opossum who was stalking me along my way, just waiting for the right time to pounce. On moonlit mornings, the extra light hardly soothed me. The pale moonlight cast eerie shadows turning leafless trees into gruesome skeletal hands reaching onto the road or dead logs into sleeping beasts ready to be roused by the sound of my passing. A howl in the distance was a wolf-man raging with fury and hunger.
At 10 I found myself still young enough to believe in the monsters of horror comics and late-night movies my father sometimes allowed me to watch, but too old to admit it to anyone. I know now that my mother - had she understood the utter terror I faced each morning - wouldn’t have made her deal with Skinny Willie or at least would have given me a ride up the road. But to her - and to my father if he took the time to notice - the whole thing was character building. Part of becoming a man. And, as I said, being the kind of people they were, neither of my parents would’ve considered that I might be afraid of spooks hiding in the woods. It just wouldn’t have occurred to them. Had I come to them worried about bobcats or snakes, then they likely would have understood, and we could have had a conversation about it. But old mad men and demon opossums - that's just silly talk.
Once I made the mistake of mentioning something about how creepy the road was to Stewie. He, of course, immediately pounced on this weakness. He told our fellow bus riders that I was afraid of the dark, and for the next several weeks, I received a lot of “Baby need a night light?” And, “Sissy’s scared of shadows!” Not being a country boy in the country already meant I was at the bottom of the social order, and I certainly didn’t need any more trouble. That was my last attempt to elicit any sympathy from my classmates.
So I carried the fear all alone. And I walked that road, alone, for the next seven years. Right up until I convinced my father to lend me the money for a car. I remember the first day driving to school. I zipped right past Stewie Anderson as he waited for the bus and I didn’t look back.
But before the car, I had the walk. I had the walk and the fear of that dark road. As I grew older the stories my imagination produced changed. For the most part monsters were replaced with men. Biker gangs camping in the woods looking for a plaything. Religious cults practicing human sacrifice. A band of convicts, escaped from prison, hiding out waiting for just the right victim to kick-off yet another bloody rampage. Drug-crazed lunatics, high on marijuana, jonesing for an innocent youth. I’d scan the forest for the glimmer of a camp fire. I’d listen closely for the rumble of a harley-davidson. I’d smell the air for incense or drugs.
Even at 16, while I can’t say I was actively terrified of the road any longer - I had a lot on my mind in those days, school, basketball, the soft warmth of Michelle Bonney - I can’t say I wasn’t afraid either. Maybe it was habit by then. Maybe I just wished it was. But walking that road, looking into those deep woods, I still found myself wandering to the darker places of my imagination. And, I always - from the very first walk at 10 years old - tried to tread very, very quietly.
You know, if I’m to be honest, thinking about those morning walks usually makes me feel a bit silly and embarrassed. In the two and a half decades since I got that first car I’ve driven that road more times that I can count. Driving it - even in the dark - takes maybe a minute and carries absolutely none of the terror walking did. Not even a hint of fear. I think the act of driving isolates you from the world outside the windshield. For me it makes the anxiety of those dark mornings on the road hard to remember. Until today.
This afternoon driving the road with my wife sitting beside me I was once again filled with a sense of dread, though dread of a different sort, I suppose. The time for monsters and maniacs has - mostly - passed. See after dad died we offered to let mom move in with us, but she wouldn't hear it. She wanted to stay at home. We argued but eventually her country stubbornness wore us down and we agreed. Now, though, there can be no arguments. Last night mom called me in a panic saying someone was breaking into the house through the upstairs window. This wasn’t the first call of it’s kind. She's gotten progressively more moody and paranoid over the past year. It’s a change my wife and I have noted with concern. So I had my doubts about the intruder, but still I called the sheriff's office and they sent someone to take a look. Not surprisingly they found nothing.
We spent the morning clearing out some of the clutter that had piled up in our daughter's room since she moved out on her own. I think mom will be comfortable there. It's a big room on the ground floor with a southern exposure. There are trees in the back yard and come spring there will be plenty of green outside the bedroom window. Our's is a nice neighborhood. Safe and quiet - by city standards - and there's a cozy park just down the street.
I know it will be a change for her - a big change - and I worry about that. I worry about the effect it will have on her. Actually, I worry about a lot more than just that. Worst case scenarios have been competing for my attention since I hung up with the sheriff's office last night. It kept me awake late into the night.
And now I'm here in my old bedroom squeezed into my childhood bed with my sleeping wife. It’s amazing how little this house has changed in 25 years - the changes were all saved for it’s inhabitants, I suppose - but after tomorrow this old place will have to move on too. In the morning we'll pack mom into the car and head to the city. I’ll come out in the next week or two with movers to clear out the place. Some of her favorite things will come back with me - to make our house as much like home as possible - and the rest will go to storage for the time being. We'll keep her with us for as long as we can, but I know that eventually - too soon I fear - we won’t be able to take care of her alone. I guess we'll make those arrangements when the time comes. We’ll do what has to be done.
Before all that, though, I believe I'll get up early. I’ve got a mind to take a walk. There’s a nearly-full moon that ought to be shining bright the hour before dawn, illuminating the woods that line the road. I expect the cold morning air will do me good. Might help calm my nerves and clear my head of some of these dark fantasies. Yes, I think that old familiar path is just what I need. At least, I know it won’t hurt.
In the winter months that walk up to Stewie’s house was pitch black. We had one light at our driveway and there was another at the intersection. The road was wooded and made a wide turn such that even with the leaves off the trees I could see neither light for much of the walk.
My mother always reminded me to be careful of cars as she sat perched on a kitchen stool in her nightgown, coffee in hand. But I don’t think I ever saw a car on the road at that time of morning. I was more afraid of what might be out there in the woods, in the dark, lurking.
I was raised in the country, but I am not, and have never been, a country boy. It’s just never been “me”, I suppose you could say. It’s true I’ve done all the chores - there was no avoiding that under my father’s roof whether it was “you” or not. It’s true that I have more of a farmer’s notion of life and death than that of the city people I surround myself with today. There’s a respect that comes from directly taking a life in order to sustain your own. It’s also true that I was raised with a farmer’s practicality and a farmer’s skepticism. I was taught the foolishness of ghost and ghoul stories and even Santa Claus. I was taught that all you can trust in is the good Lord up above, and the concrete - the substantial - that which you can see with your eyes and hold in your hand.
Still that early morning walk in the dark, that was spooky.
At the beginning of fifth grade I was 10 years old. Despite my down-to-earth upbringing I was an imaginative child. I’d lay in bed at night dreaming up stories of epic space battles between the evil slob-people of Poopion VI, and the handsome and brilliant Captain Xander Hooper of the United Earth League. These battles waged on each night and I’ve only recently realized it was a way of keeping myself awake in an attempt to postpone the next morning’s walk.
While my imagination might have been fun at night, the stories I dreamed up in the morning were much less so. Still I found myself unable to stop. Deep in the woods lived an evil old mad woodsman. He had long patchy gray hair and walked with a hunch, his weight resting on a large gnarled staff. He’d roam the woods at night looking for some kid to drag down into his cave to do...well whatever evil old mad woodsmen do. Or sometimes rustling heard off the side of the road would become the scraping claws of a demon-possessed opossum who was stalking me along my way, just waiting for the right time to pounce. On moonlit mornings, the extra light hardly soothed me. The pale moonlight cast eerie shadows turning leafless trees into gruesome skeletal hands reaching onto the road or dead logs into sleeping beasts ready to be roused by the sound of my passing. A howl in the distance was a wolf-man raging with fury and hunger.
At 10 I found myself still young enough to believe in the monsters of horror comics and late-night movies my father sometimes allowed me to watch, but too old to admit it to anyone. I know now that my mother - had she understood the utter terror I faced each morning - wouldn’t have made her deal with Skinny Willie or at least would have given me a ride up the road. But to her - and to my father if he took the time to notice - the whole thing was character building. Part of becoming a man. And, as I said, being the kind of people they were, neither of my parents would’ve considered that I might be afraid of spooks hiding in the woods. It just wouldn’t have occurred to them. Had I come to them worried about bobcats or snakes, then they likely would have understood, and we could have had a conversation about it. But old mad men and demon opossums - that's just silly talk.
Once I made the mistake of mentioning something about how creepy the road was to Stewie. He, of course, immediately pounced on this weakness. He told our fellow bus riders that I was afraid of the dark, and for the next several weeks, I received a lot of “Baby need a night light?” And, “Sissy’s scared of shadows!” Not being a country boy in the country already meant I was at the bottom of the social order, and I certainly didn’t need any more trouble. That was my last attempt to elicit any sympathy from my classmates.
So I carried the fear all alone. And I walked that road, alone, for the next seven years. Right up until I convinced my father to lend me the money for a car. I remember the first day driving to school. I zipped right past Stewie Anderson as he waited for the bus and I didn’t look back.
But before the car, I had the walk. I had the walk and the fear of that dark road. As I grew older the stories my imagination produced changed. For the most part monsters were replaced with men. Biker gangs camping in the woods looking for a plaything. Religious cults practicing human sacrifice. A band of convicts, escaped from prison, hiding out waiting for just the right victim to kick-off yet another bloody rampage. Drug-crazed lunatics, high on marijuana, jonesing for an innocent youth. I’d scan the forest for the glimmer of a camp fire. I’d listen closely for the rumble of a harley-davidson. I’d smell the air for incense or drugs.
Even at 16, while I can’t say I was actively terrified of the road any longer - I had a lot on my mind in those days, school, basketball, the soft warmth of Michelle Bonney - I can’t say I wasn’t afraid either. Maybe it was habit by then. Maybe I just wished it was. But walking that road, looking into those deep woods, I still found myself wandering to the darker places of my imagination. And, I always - from the very first walk at 10 years old - tried to tread very, very quietly.
You know, if I’m to be honest, thinking about those morning walks usually makes me feel a bit silly and embarrassed. In the two and a half decades since I got that first car I’ve driven that road more times that I can count. Driving it - even in the dark - takes maybe a minute and carries absolutely none of the terror walking did. Not even a hint of fear. I think the act of driving isolates you from the world outside the windshield. For me it makes the anxiety of those dark mornings on the road hard to remember. Until today.
This afternoon driving the road with my wife sitting beside me I was once again filled with a sense of dread, though dread of a different sort, I suppose. The time for monsters and maniacs has - mostly - passed. See after dad died we offered to let mom move in with us, but she wouldn't hear it. She wanted to stay at home. We argued but eventually her country stubbornness wore us down and we agreed. Now, though, there can be no arguments. Last night mom called me in a panic saying someone was breaking into the house through the upstairs window. This wasn’t the first call of it’s kind. She's gotten progressively more moody and paranoid over the past year. It’s a change my wife and I have noted with concern. So I had my doubts about the intruder, but still I called the sheriff's office and they sent someone to take a look. Not surprisingly they found nothing.
We spent the morning clearing out some of the clutter that had piled up in our daughter's room since she moved out on her own. I think mom will be comfortable there. It's a big room on the ground floor with a southern exposure. There are trees in the back yard and come spring there will be plenty of green outside the bedroom window. Our's is a nice neighborhood. Safe and quiet - by city standards - and there's a cozy park just down the street.
I know it will be a change for her - a big change - and I worry about that. I worry about the effect it will have on her. Actually, I worry about a lot more than just that. Worst case scenarios have been competing for my attention since I hung up with the sheriff's office last night. It kept me awake late into the night.
And now I'm here in my old bedroom squeezed into my childhood bed with my sleeping wife. It’s amazing how little this house has changed in 25 years - the changes were all saved for it’s inhabitants, I suppose - but after tomorrow this old place will have to move on too. In the morning we'll pack mom into the car and head to the city. I’ll come out in the next week or two with movers to clear out the place. Some of her favorite things will come back with me - to make our house as much like home as possible - and the rest will go to storage for the time being. We'll keep her with us for as long as we can, but I know that eventually - too soon I fear - we won’t be able to take care of her alone. I guess we'll make those arrangements when the time comes. We’ll do what has to be done.
Before all that, though, I believe I'll get up early. I’ve got a mind to take a walk. There’s a nearly-full moon that ought to be shining bright the hour before dawn, illuminating the woods that line the road. I expect the cold morning air will do me good. Might help calm my nerves and clear my head of some of these dark fantasies. Yes, I think that old familiar path is just what I need. At least, I know it won’t hurt.
Friday, January 28, 2011
The Squirrel Hole
He said it was a squirrel hole. I wouldn’t’ve guessed that - I’d say I’m pretty sure squirrels live in trees - but that’s what he said it was and I wasn’t about to tell him different.
He told me if I ever wanted to know the Truth - he said Truth with a capital T - I could stick my hand down into that hole and pull out the answer. He said the squirrels hid it away in there and anyone who came upon one of their holes could just reach right in and find it. Easy as that.
The first note I pulled from the hole told me that my mother was having sweet whoopie with Mr Hooper down the street. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was written out plain as day. I asked him about the writing and he told me squirrels practiced for years and years to have such good pen-man-ship. Not being men, it didn’t come easy to them.
I told mother about the squirrel hole and she told me he was crazy as a crack-house cat and I should never believe a word out of his mouth. I didn’t tell her about the note after that. After that I didn’t tell her about any of them Truth notes.
The next note said Christmas had flown the coop this year. That was another bad one, but turned out to be the Truth.
He told me that I should never check the squirrel hole without telling him about it first. He told me it was dangerous for a body to be the only one to know about some Truths. He said something like Truth with a capital T ought to be shared. It had to be carried with care and co-operation.
Later on I pulled out the note that told me to make plans for a big, joyous, most wonderful trip to a rare sort of place and just the next day he and I went to the mall for hotdogs and a cartoon movie.
Another time the squirrel note said I’d have to spin and spin around and redo the fourth grade. That, turned out, was True too.
It was just like that. The Truth kept on a-coming. Truths about me. Truths about my mother. Truths about people on the street. Truths about school. Truths about all sorts of things. Sometimes it was good. Sometimes it was bad. Sometimes it was neither one - only some no-matter kinda thing. I’d say it was fun though. For a while it got so I wanted to go by that squirrel hole all the time, but he warned me against it. He said there’s some Things that it’s best not to know and every time I stuck my hand in I was taking a risk of finding out one of those Things I wouldn’t want to know. I’d say that disappointed me some, but I remembered that first Truth about my mother and thought he might be right about that one and I’d better believe him.
So then it was only once in a great while that I went by that squirrel hole. I’m going to be truthful - with a lowercase t this time, but you can believe it - after hearing his words, I’d say it got so I was scared of going a little bit. I never told him that, of course, but it got to the point that most of the time it was him that suggested we go down there and not me.
But every time we did go it was some Truth in there just waiting to be pulled out. Them squirrels sure did have a lot of it to spread around.
I’d say all went as normal as could be until he got sick and had to go to the hospital. He went in and I just had to know. I mean I was worried about him and I thought them squirrels might have some sort of Truth that’d help in some kinda way. Well it was the only time I ever went to that squirrel hole without telling him about it. I didn’t want to worry him none since he couldn’t go with me anyway. They wouldn’t let him out of the hospital for anything at all - even for Truth-finding. So I went to that squirrel hole by myself and stuck my hand in and...
I’d say it seems like this is the time for the story to take a little break so you wonder what it was I found. Tension is what I mean. With a capital T.
Well, ok, I’ll tell you now. I found nothing. Not a thing at all was in that squirrel hole. And I didn’t know what to think about that one. I’d say it made me pretty nervous. I thought maybe the squirrels had figured out that we’d found their hole and had moved on to some other place. I thought at last the Truth had run out. But wouldn’t you know it? I was wrong about that one. Lo and behold, turned out that there’s not always a need for a piece of paper in these matters. Turned out that Nothing can be a Truth too.
And that’s just how it was.
He told me if I ever wanted to know the Truth - he said Truth with a capital T - I could stick my hand down into that hole and pull out the answer. He said the squirrels hid it away in there and anyone who came upon one of their holes could just reach right in and find it. Easy as that.
The first note I pulled from the hole told me that my mother was having sweet whoopie with Mr Hooper down the street. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was written out plain as day. I asked him about the writing and he told me squirrels practiced for years and years to have such good pen-man-ship. Not being men, it didn’t come easy to them.
I told mother about the squirrel hole and she told me he was crazy as a crack-house cat and I should never believe a word out of his mouth. I didn’t tell her about the note after that. After that I didn’t tell her about any of them Truth notes.
The next note said Christmas had flown the coop this year. That was another bad one, but turned out to be the Truth.
He told me that I should never check the squirrel hole without telling him about it first. He told me it was dangerous for a body to be the only one to know about some Truths. He said something like Truth with a capital T ought to be shared. It had to be carried with care and co-operation.
Later on I pulled out the note that told me to make plans for a big, joyous, most wonderful trip to a rare sort of place and just the next day he and I went to the mall for hotdogs and a cartoon movie.
Another time the squirrel note said I’d have to spin and spin around and redo the fourth grade. That, turned out, was True too.
It was just like that. The Truth kept on a-coming. Truths about me. Truths about my mother. Truths about people on the street. Truths about school. Truths about all sorts of things. Sometimes it was good. Sometimes it was bad. Sometimes it was neither one - only some no-matter kinda thing. I’d say it was fun though. For a while it got so I wanted to go by that squirrel hole all the time, but he warned me against it. He said there’s some Things that it’s best not to know and every time I stuck my hand in I was taking a risk of finding out one of those Things I wouldn’t want to know. I’d say that disappointed me some, but I remembered that first Truth about my mother and thought he might be right about that one and I’d better believe him.
So then it was only once in a great while that I went by that squirrel hole. I’m going to be truthful - with a lowercase t this time, but you can believe it - after hearing his words, I’d say it got so I was scared of going a little bit. I never told him that, of course, but it got to the point that most of the time it was him that suggested we go down there and not me.
But every time we did go it was some Truth in there just waiting to be pulled out. Them squirrels sure did have a lot of it to spread around.
I’d say all went as normal as could be until he got sick and had to go to the hospital. He went in and I just had to know. I mean I was worried about him and I thought them squirrels might have some sort of Truth that’d help in some kinda way. Well it was the only time I ever went to that squirrel hole without telling him about it. I didn’t want to worry him none since he couldn’t go with me anyway. They wouldn’t let him out of the hospital for anything at all - even for Truth-finding. So I went to that squirrel hole by myself and stuck my hand in and...
I’d say it seems like this is the time for the story to take a little break so you wonder what it was I found. Tension is what I mean. With a capital T.
Well, ok, I’ll tell you now. I found nothing. Not a thing at all was in that squirrel hole. And I didn’t know what to think about that one. I’d say it made me pretty nervous. I thought maybe the squirrels had figured out that we’d found their hole and had moved on to some other place. I thought at last the Truth had run out. But wouldn’t you know it? I was wrong about that one. Lo and behold, turned out that there’s not always a need for a piece of paper in these matters. Turned out that Nothing can be a Truth too.
And that’s just how it was.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Harold and LInda
Harold and Linda were married in a church neither of them had ever attended. They held hands during the ceremony as the sunlight passing through the stained glass shown pale red on Linda’s dress and blue on Harold’s tuxedo. At the minister’s command, they kissed and the onlookers clapped.
They moved into a reasonably priced apartment two and a half miles from the university where they’d met and from which Harold had graduated. They had friends still attending the university and Linda picked the apartment with an eye to convenience.
Harold found a job fitting his field of study. Entry level with a decent starting salary. The company was large, but his team wasn’t. His coworkers were young, and he was the youngest. Half were married and three had children. Once in a while, usually on a Thursday evening, three or four of the group went out for beers. They invited Harold to join them any time.
Linda took a part time position as a receptionist at the university’s clinic. She worked afternoons three days a week and every other Saturday. Her job was to hand a clipboard to red-nosed, or sometimes red-faced, students and ask what insurance they had. She spent much of her time surfing the web until one afternoon in line at the market, she spotted a book of crossword puzzles. She took to these puzzles and soon had a stack of books and newspapers at the reception desk and another at home.
Seven months after they were married Harold and Linda began making the rounds to friends and family announcing Linda’s pregnancy. Both of their mothers were thrilled and Harold’s father vigorously shook his son’s hand and took him into the garage for a cigar. Linda’s friends screamed, and Harold’s punched his arm and kidded him about being a grown up.
Despite their intentions the apartment’s second bedroom had become storage. A place for unwanted wedding presents, childhood memorabilia and other unused items. Soon after their announcement Harold rented a storage unit and they began the process of making piles. To keep. To store. To toss. Linda started touring yard sales with her mother and aunt, and visiting the mall with her friends. By her eighth month she joked that they had brought in more than they’d taken away.
Harold and Linda were home when Linda felt the first contraction. Harold grabbed her bag and they hurried to the hospital. On the way Linda called her mother and left a message with Harold’s parents. Once at the hospital Linda was placed in bed in a small room, and Harold stood by holding her hand. He winced when she cried out. And when the pain subsided he patted her head with a damp cloth. When her head rolled to one side he spoke a word of thanks that she could rest.
Things moved quickly once the nurse spotted blood. Linda was rushed into an operating room while Harold was led into a waiting area. Linda’s mother arrived. Then Harold’s parents. They hugged, spoke softly, and waited. Harold paced and his mother watched him. Three times she started to rise, but each time Harold’s father laid a hand on her arm. Linda’s mother sat with her feet curled beneath her.
When the doctor appeared, she walked toward them slowly. The three parents rose. Harold stopped and stood. The doctor approached, scanned the waiting faces, then focused on Harold. Linda’s mother exhaled sharply. Harold’s parents held to one another. The child, the doctor said, is fine. And Harold collapsed into tears.
They moved into a reasonably priced apartment two and a half miles from the university where they’d met and from which Harold had graduated. They had friends still attending the university and Linda picked the apartment with an eye to convenience.
Harold found a job fitting his field of study. Entry level with a decent starting salary. The company was large, but his team wasn’t. His coworkers were young, and he was the youngest. Half were married and three had children. Once in a while, usually on a Thursday evening, three or four of the group went out for beers. They invited Harold to join them any time.
Linda took a part time position as a receptionist at the university’s clinic. She worked afternoons three days a week and every other Saturday. Her job was to hand a clipboard to red-nosed, or sometimes red-faced, students and ask what insurance they had. She spent much of her time surfing the web until one afternoon in line at the market, she spotted a book of crossword puzzles. She took to these puzzles and soon had a stack of books and newspapers at the reception desk and another at home.
Seven months after they were married Harold and Linda began making the rounds to friends and family announcing Linda’s pregnancy. Both of their mothers were thrilled and Harold’s father vigorously shook his son’s hand and took him into the garage for a cigar. Linda’s friends screamed, and Harold’s punched his arm and kidded him about being a grown up.
Despite their intentions the apartment’s second bedroom had become storage. A place for unwanted wedding presents, childhood memorabilia and other unused items. Soon after their announcement Harold rented a storage unit and they began the process of making piles. To keep. To store. To toss. Linda started touring yard sales with her mother and aunt, and visiting the mall with her friends. By her eighth month she joked that they had brought in more than they’d taken away.
Harold and Linda were home when Linda felt the first contraction. Harold grabbed her bag and they hurried to the hospital. On the way Linda called her mother and left a message with Harold’s parents. Once at the hospital Linda was placed in bed in a small room, and Harold stood by holding her hand. He winced when she cried out. And when the pain subsided he patted her head with a damp cloth. When her head rolled to one side he spoke a word of thanks that she could rest.
Things moved quickly once the nurse spotted blood. Linda was rushed into an operating room while Harold was led into a waiting area. Linda’s mother arrived. Then Harold’s parents. They hugged, spoke softly, and waited. Harold paced and his mother watched him. Three times she started to rise, but each time Harold’s father laid a hand on her arm. Linda’s mother sat with her feet curled beneath her.
When the doctor appeared, she walked toward them slowly. The three parents rose. Harold stopped and stood. The doctor approached, scanned the waiting faces, then focused on Harold. Linda’s mother exhaled sharply. Harold’s parents held to one another. The child, the doctor said, is fine. And Harold collapsed into tears.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)