Part Three - The Old Man

When he awoke, the apartment was dark. He had been sitting in the chair for hours, waiting for Holly to return. "I must have fallen asleep," he thought, looking at the clock. "Half past eight?" he said to the clock "So, where is she?" He worried that she had changed her mind and wouldn’t be coming back. He pushed himself up out of the chair and made his way into the kitchen to find something to eat. He rummaged through the cupboards and refrigerator, gathering enough to make a small, make-do meal. He finished eating at nine fifteen, late for him, cleaned up the dishes and set them in the sink to be washed. After the dishes were finished, he returned to this chair, clicked on the light next to it, and picked up the book sitting on the table next to his chair. He glanced at the clock again. It was nearly ten.

"Well, I guess that settles that," he said to the silence. He continued reading.
He awoke the next morning, still sitting in the chair, the book laying shut across his lap. "Drat," he said. "I’ll never find my place again." After a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal, toast, and milk, he jumped into the shower, then hurried down to his bench to see if she was there.

The late morning sun warmed him as he walked the few blocks to the park and the bench that faced Fourth Street. He arrived to find no one in sight. He sat down and waited. He waited several hours, finally, feeling unusually tired, he walked home. When he arrived, his eighty years seemed to fall on him like a ton of bricks, leaving him exhausted and feeling sick. He napped until late into the afternoon, waking up only to find something to nibble on before falling back to sleep. At six, he awoke, threw a tv dinner into the oven, made a small salad, then sat at the table to wait for the tv dinner.

After he had finished his meal, he returned to his chair. He picked up his book and started working through it to try to find the place he had reached the last time he was reading. Twenty minutes later, he found the place. He continued from that point until he thought he might break his neck from having his head drop down every time he nodded off. He finally gave up and went to bed. "Maybe tomorrow she’ll be there," he thought.

But she wasn’t there the next day, or the next. The old man was worried, and puzzled. She had seemed to warm to the idea of staying with him and giving up the lifestyle she was living, or, at least, that is what he thought. Maybe she was just pretending to like the idea. Maybe she was planning to rob him and that is why she agreed to go to his apartment. He ran several kindred ideas through his head, finally rejecting each one as just paranoia of an old, lonely man. He would just push the thoughts of having her stay with him out of his head. She would have to decide to help herself before he could help her.

It was anther sunny day, not as warm as the previous few, but nice anyway. The old man sat on the bench warming in the sun. His periodic bench mate, Ben, had just left for a doctor’s appointment to have his vitals checked, as he put it, and the old man was, once again, alone on the bench.

He watched two young women on roller blades approach from his right. He marveled at their grace on the blades, almost seeming to be gliding above the cement. He watched them until they passed him, talking incessantly as they wove back and forth on the sidewalk. As they passed, he turned to watch them continue down the walk. Then he saw her. She was facing the opposite direction, watching the traffic on Fourth Street. He was almost certain it was Holly. She was wearing her trademark knee high, six inch heeled, boots, a black, short micro mini dress with a wide red belt and a short, red jacket. Her hair was pulled into two pony tails at each side of her head. She was a mixed metaphor - part little girl, part Parisian call girl.

He stood and walked slowly toward her, trying to think of something to say to her that would not sound as if he was being critical, yet, in someway, say something that would help him understand why she had not returned. As he approached, she turned her head and looked at him, then, recognizing him, turned away quickly and started to walk away.

"Holly?"

She continued to walk, not looking back or acknowledging him.

"Holly!" he said, sternly, hoping he could get her to stop.

She stopped and slowly turned. As she turned, he saw her face. Her left eye was discolored and swollen, as well as the area under her eye on her cheek bone. Her upper lip was swollen and it looked as if the right side of her face was puffy. The heavy make up, that was applied to cover the damage, wasn't doing its job.

"I’m sorry I didn’t come back," she said, looking at the pavement.

"Did Eddie find you?" he asked.

She didn’t answer for a moment. "No," was her only comment.

"No?" Then what happened to your face?" the old man asked.

She looked at him, a mixture of hurt and anger flashed over her face. "What’s it to ya, anyway?" she snapped. "I don’t get it. Why do you keep buggin’ me? Are you a perv, or somethin?"

He didn’t answer. After a moments reflection, he spoke. "You went back, didn’t you. Was it the drugs?"

She was angry. "So what! I tried, ya know. I just wanted one more taste........... just one more.........that’s all, just one more." Her voice trailed off.

"You can beat this, Holly. You have too much promise to give up now," he said.

"What do you know?" she countered.

"Want to give it another try?" he asked, persisting.

She laughed a short laugh, more an exhale than a laugh. " I didn’t even try it once. I didn’t even get through one day. What makes you think it would be any different this time?"

"All I know, is that the only way you fail is by quitting....or never trying. I think you should try again."

She looked at the old man, still unable to understand why he was doing this. She thought he must be a dirty old man that had something up his sleeve, some other reason than wanting to help her. Everyone in her life had used her for their own purposes and she figured this old man wasn’t any different.

Her father had abused her from as far back as she could remember, up until she left home at sixteen. When she was on her own, she found a job at a car wash as a cashier until the boss tried to get handy. When she refused his advances, he explained that if she wanted to keep her job, she was going to have to ‘cooperate’, as he put it. She ‘cooperated’ until she could find another job. She was working as a waitress when she met Eddie. He immediately made her feel like a woman and treated her as if she were a queen. He gave her expensive clothes and jewelery and took her out to eat at fancy restaurants. And, of course, there was the drugs....the lovely drugs. She loved going away with them where no one could hurt her, where she felt good. The drugs were the anchor that kept her with Eddie. She hated having to work the streets, and she hated the beatings when she didn’t perform the way Eddie thought she should. All the men in her life have wanted something from her. She just couldn’t get her mind around what this old man’s angle was. "It’s too hard," she finally said.

"Anything worthwhile is hard," he countered.

"Why is it you always sound like a stinkin’ motivational poster?" she asked. "Maybe I like doing things the way I am. Did you ever think of that?"

"You like getting beat?"

She looked at him for a moment. "No," she said, quietly.

"Then, try again. I’ll help."

"I don’t think I can," she said, sounding more dejected than he had ever heard her.

"Well, if you don’t try, you’ll never know if you could have done it. At least, if you try and you don’t make it, you’ll know you can’t do it. So, you might as well give it another try," the old man said, trying not to sound like another poster. "I’ll help all I can."

"Why are you doing this?" Holly asked, looking the old man directly in his eyes. "You don’t even know me, I mean, what’s in this for you?"

"I just want to help. You seem like a nice girl......I just want to help," he answered.

"No body just helps someone else like that. There always has to be another motive. What’s yours? There has to be something."

"There is nothing."

"I don’t believe you," she said, putting a hand on her hip and standing hip shot. "What, do I remind you of your dead wife - daughter - niece - girlfriend......what?"

"No," was his only answer.

"Gads!!!" she exclaimed. "You just don’t make sense."

"And getting beat, being strung out on drugs and working the streets makes sense?" he asked.
She said nothing. They both stared at each other waiting for the other to speak. Neither would. Finally, she broke the silence. "Damn it! Okey, I’ll try it one more time - or, at least, one time."

"Great. This time will be different, you’ll see," he said, smiling broadly. "Besides, company is good. It is always good to have company."

End of part three