Wednesday, January 28, 2009

A Short Story

The Old Man

The sun felt good on his face as he sat watching the traffic pass by, racing to, who knows where in such a hurry. He wondered if he had been in such a hurry when he was young and ambitious. He raised a thick hand to his cheek and rubbed it back and forth as he remembered days gone by. Surely, he thought, he couldn’t have been in that much of a hurry. He adjusted his hat to shade his eyes, then sat his hands at his side on the bench. He was feeling spry and young, wearing his new aloha shirt his sister had sent to him for his birthday.

"Eighty years," he muttered. "It went by so fast," he added. "And now I’m here talking to myself," he thought, smiling as the realization came to him.

A young man with several piercings, rushed by on a skate board, his long hair flowing back against the wind. The old man watched as the young man disappeared down the sidewalk, weaving back and forth, occasionally pushing with his right foot to keep up his speed.

"Looks like fun," the old man thought. "I should try it."

He looked up and down the street as if looking for something, or someone. "She is late," he thought.

He lifted his hat and ran his fingers through thin, grey hair. He checked his watch, another present from his sister. One twenty. Yep, she was late. She was usually there by one straight up. He wondered if something had happened to her. Maybe she had been hurt again. He squinted against the bright sun, lifting his hand to just below the brim of his hat, shading his eyes so he could look down the street. He thought he saw her, but wasn’t sure. It was a long distance, and his eyesight wasn’t what it had been. He watched, his gaze unbroken from the lone figure walking up the sidewalk, as if he were a predator eyeing his prey before he started the stalk. The walk was somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t be sure.

The young woman walked toward him, unaware of his watchful eyes. She walked without purpose, meandering more than walking, moving as if she had all the time in the world, completely unhurried.

The old man realized that the young lady approaching was the one he was looking for. The one he watched everyday from his spot on the bench facing into the sun. Sometimes he would try to start a conversation with her, but she didn’t have much to say to him, keeping her attention on the street in front of them. Her livelihood depended on that street. In fact, perhaps even her life. If she didn’t do well, her pimp would exact revenge in the form of a beating, some of which would render her unsuitable for work, thus making her pimp more angry.

Yet, at times, when the traffic was light and no one was stopping, she would talk to the old man. He would tell her stories from his past and make her laugh. He loved her laugh, so full of life and so uninhibited. He was happy to help her forget about her job and all the troubles she seemed to have surrounding her. He could see the tracks on her arm and knew she was supporting a habit as well as a pimp. He wished that someday she would get away from this life and the drugs and live a life of happiness. She seemed like a decent young woman who had, for reasons unknown to him, found herself caught up in the underbelly world of drugs and prostitution.

He smiled at her as she walked up in front of him. The smile was returned, with a quiet "hi". Her extreme high heel boots clicked on the concrete as she walked toward him. The boots reached up to just below her knees, then there was a vast expanse of tanned legs before the hem of her short, red micro skirt. A friend of his, who sometimes sat with him, said that if her skirts were any shorter, she would have two more cheeks to powder. Today’s ensemble was completed by a white, midriff baring, tank top. Her blonde hair, usually cascading over her shoulders, was pulled back in a french braid.

"It is a glorious day," he said, raising his hands and spreading them wide, gesturing to the sky.

"Yeah," was her reply, "Glorious". The sarcasm was thick in her voice.

"There is something wrong?" he asked.

"Something wrong? Hah! I’d settle for just one thing right." she said, looking out to the street to look for anyone slowing down to look at her, a sign they may be looking for some action.

The old man didn’t say anything. Mostly because he didn’t know what to say. Then he said the first thing he could think of, regretting it as soon as it left his tongue. "Business is bad?"

She didn’t seem to mind his intrusion into her life. "Yeah, it is bad, worse than bad. Eddie said that if I didn’t bring home five hundred bucks that he’d make me pay. He even said he’d throw me out on my butt!" she explained. She seemed to want to tell the old man her troubles. He figured it helped to talk about them. He sat quietly and listened, nodding at the appropriate times.

"That stinkin’......." she stopped herself, looking at the old man as if she realized who she was talking to and didn’t want to offend him with foul language. "...bugger won’t help me with my.....you know, problem," she explained, leaving the ‘problem’ to the old man’s imagination. He figured she was talking about the drugs. He nodded, knowingly.

She continued. "Besides, if it weren’t for me, he’d be out on his butt, cuz I bring in all the money, the jerk! I don’t know why I stick with him. He’s a nothin’, a stinkin’ pimp! I hate the bas......bugger." She was animated now, walking back and forth in front of the old man, waving her arms to punctuate her words. "I’ve got a mind to just up and leave. That would show him. Let’s see how good he does without me supportin’ him." She stopped talking and walking as she said the last sentence, as if she was letting that thought sink in to her mind. There was a long pause in her diatribe. The old man waited a few seconds then he spoke.

"Where would you go?" he asked. A simple question, but it seemed to stump the young woman. She looked at him, studying the question out in her mind. The stared at each other for a few seconds before she spoke.

"I don’t know. I guess I’m stuck, ain’t I?" she said, dejectedly. She stood in front of the old man, her back to the street, her hands hung at her side. She looked defeated.

Maybe not," he stated. "Maybe not."

"How do you figure that?" she asked. "I ain’t got no place to stay, no money, cuz I gave it all to that stinkin’ no good son of a b....gun."

"Any friends?" the old man asked.

She thought for a moment. "Naw, not really"

"Do you really want to get out?"

She thought for a second. "Yeah, I think I do. I’m sick of Eddie, and this..." she said, waving her arms at the street.

"What about the drugs?" he asked, not using the word ‘problem’.

She looked at the old man, studying him before she answered, wondering how an old man would know about her problem. She wondered the same thing, what about the drugs. It would be easier to give up hooking and Eddie than the drugs.

"I don’t know. They would be tough" she said.

"Could you do it?" the old man asked again. He looked her directly in the eye, watching for her reaction, watching for a lie.

"I don’t know, I told you," she said, getting a little miffed at the old man for pressing her. "Besides, what’s it to you?", she asked, gesturing at him with her left arm. "Its not like you could help. You’re just some old man that likes to stare at the hookers on the street. You don’t think I see you checkin’ me out? I know your kind, buddy, just a dirty old man!"she said, angrily. She wasn’t really angry at him, more herself for being unable to help herself out of her situation. She walked off, leaving the old man looking after her, feeling bad about prying into her life. He only wanted to help her. Now, he had made her angry and had added to her problems. He sat on the bench and watched her walk away.

She stopped at the next corner and watched the traffic. A small, blue sports car slowed down as it turned the corner, then if drove off down the street. The old man was happy the driver hadn’t stopped, hoping she would come back and he could explain that he wasn’t what she thought he was.

The sports car returned and stopped by the young woman. She bent down and talked to the driver from the passenger side. At one point, she stood up and looked at the old man sitting on the bench. He watched her look at him. She bent back down and continued talking to the driver. The old man couldn’t see her and decided she must have gotten in the car. Then the sports car drove off. The young woman was still standing there, looking back at the old man. She started slowly walking back towards him. He watched her walk slowly toward him until she stood in front of the bench.

"Say, I’m sorry about yelling at you, ya know," she said. "I’m just kinda scared about making any changes right now."

"It’s ok," the old man assured her. "You’re just upset."

"Yeah, upset," she agreed. "Boy, ain’t that the truth?"

"I can help," the old man stated.

"How are you gonna help?"

"Well, for one, you could stay at my place, if you don’t have anywhere to stay. I could help you with your problem," he said, smiling.

The young woman pensively studied the old man’s face, trying to read from it his intentions. She had been offered help too many times with strings attached. She had an idea what the strings were in this case. She was trying to decide if it was worth it.

"No strings attached. You stay as long as you want until you can get things together and can be out on your own," he said, as if he were reading her mind.

"Yeah, right, I’ve heard that before," she said, waving her hand at the old man. "Why should I believe you?" She slung her black purse onto her left shoulder.

"You shouldn’t," he replied. "You should be skeptical. But, what else do you have? Especially, if you really want to get out of this situation and make a change in your life." He paused long enough for that to sink in. "It’s a chance."

End of Part One.

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