Those of you who live in the warmer climates would look at the title of this post and wonder about my sanity. Yes, I know that even those who don’t live in warmer climates ponder my claim to sanity, but I’m sure our warmer friends would consider the opening statement as somewhat bizarre, even coming from me. But, I would remind them that in this part of the country, wild, outside water is solid for the better part of three months and we tend to forget, by the time the end of February rolls around, that water is really runny.
The solid water, snow and ice, has been piling up since December until we all were beginning to wonder if it would ever realize it has overstayed its welcome and leave. Finally, it has taken the many hints we have been dropping at every opportunity and has decided to make a hasty retreat, running down the street and disappearing into the storm drains.
As I drove back to work this afternoon, I stopped for just a second to admire the sun shining off the tiny ripplets in the improvised creek streaming around the icebergs and glaciers that adorn our street, on its way to the ocean or the sewage treatment plant, which ever comes first. And this water didn’t even have the hydrocarbon rainbow that is usually associated with gutter water. It was just ordinary, regular, semi-transparent water that one usually sees in the mountains, cascading around fallen trees and rocks. It was beautiful to see - a life changing experience. Alright, maybe not life changing, but certainly mood altering. Who needs drugs when all you have to do is experience melting snow on a nice, near spring day after a miserable Idaho winter? I am euphoric now, almost giddy at the mere glimpse of runny, soft, liquid water. All of the time in the Sixties and the excesses that accompanied that decade can’t compare to the amazing mood alteration that is spring in Idaho.
I feel sorry for those living in the warm climates who have nothing more to look forward to at this time of year other than more nice warm weather. Here in Idaho, we flirt with insanity every winter, nearing the abyss of utter, complete, depression. A complete hopelessness of spirit, doubting that spring will ever come and knowing the darkness will continue forever until we are completely mad. And then, we have a day like today, and we again come to the realization that water is liquid, life is good, and we will again see the sun and the ground and dirt and grass and worms and flies and all manner of insects, two of each kind.......wait, I’ve become biblical here.
And now, all that remains is for a few more days like today to string together and....yes!....we have summer!!! Could we hope for something as great as that? Sure, why not?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Government - You've got to be kidding!
Normally, I wouldn’t use this space for worthless drivel (oh sure, you laugh.), but, on rare occasions, I am want to wander into dangerous ground, taking up your valuable time by babbling about subjects such as one equal to the weather - politics. Just as Mark Twain stated about the weather, "Everyone complains about the weather, but no one does anything about it!", I too have come to the same conclusion about politics. We all complain, but we really don’t change anything when we try to do something. We might as well try to alter the weather.
I want to make myself clear at the front, I’m not, in any way, criticizing the new administration. I think we have to give the new president some time to effect a change. However, when I look at congress, and the bulging, bloated bureaucracy that our government has become, I become despondent and feel like throwing my hands in the air in disgust. But, then I remember that it has been this way for a lot of years and we’re still here and we’re still plugging along. Evidence the sayings of Will Rogers:
A fool and his money are soon elected.
About all I can say for the United States Senate is that it opens with a prayer and closes with an investigation.
Alexander Hamilton started the U.S. Treasury with nothing, and that was the closest our country has ever been to being even.
An economist's guess is liable to be as good as anybody else's.
Be thankful we're not getting all the government we're paying for.
I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.
Last year we said, 'Things can't go on like this', and they didn't, they got worse.
The only difference between death and taxes is that death doesn't get worse every time Congress meets.
Things in our country run in spite of government, not by aid of it.
This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer.
Will Rogers certainly had the government figured out. But, the point is, it stunk then, and it stinks now, yet, somehow, we manage.
As an example, the bailout and stimulus package. Assuming that we have about 130 million taxpayers in this country, which is the number of those filing, and that the bailout at 750 billion dollars, give or take a few billion and the 500 or so billion of the stimulus package, equaling over a trillion dollars, would, if distributed to each tax filer, amount to about $7,500 per person. If that amount were given to each person, they would have two choices, either spend it or save it. Either choice would percolate back to the top stimulating the economy in the process. If we saved it, the banks would invest it or lend it back to some of us, therefore stimulating the economy. If we spent it on debt reduction, those we paid it to would have it to invest or lend, thus stimulating the economy. If we just went out and spent it, we’d stimulate the economy. Why do the powers to be think that giving it to the top will stimulate the economy and benefit us? It will only stimulate the top - the same fools who put us in this mess in the first place. Why give it to them? Percolating to the top benefits everyone, trickling down won’t work and will only benefit the fat cats who only trickle into their own pockets!
Anyway, sorry about the rant. It must be the weather. Can’t somebody do something about it?
I want to make myself clear at the front, I’m not, in any way, criticizing the new administration. I think we have to give the new president some time to effect a change. However, when I look at congress, and the bulging, bloated bureaucracy that our government has become, I become despondent and feel like throwing my hands in the air in disgust. But, then I remember that it has been this way for a lot of years and we’re still here and we’re still plugging along. Evidence the sayings of Will Rogers:
A fool and his money are soon elected.
About all I can say for the United States Senate is that it opens with a prayer and closes with an investigation.
Alexander Hamilton started the U.S. Treasury with nothing, and that was the closest our country has ever been to being even.
An economist's guess is liable to be as good as anybody else's.
Be thankful we're not getting all the government we're paying for.
I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts.
Last year we said, 'Things can't go on like this', and they didn't, they got worse.
The only difference between death and taxes is that death doesn't get worse every time Congress meets.
Things in our country run in spite of government, not by aid of it.
This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer.
Will Rogers certainly had the government figured out. But, the point is, it stunk then, and it stinks now, yet, somehow, we manage.
As an example, the bailout and stimulus package. Assuming that we have about 130 million taxpayers in this country, which is the number of those filing, and that the bailout at 750 billion dollars, give or take a few billion and the 500 or so billion of the stimulus package, equaling over a trillion dollars, would, if distributed to each tax filer, amount to about $7,500 per person. If that amount were given to each person, they would have two choices, either spend it or save it. Either choice would percolate back to the top stimulating the economy in the process. If we saved it, the banks would invest it or lend it back to some of us, therefore stimulating the economy. If we spent it on debt reduction, those we paid it to would have it to invest or lend, thus stimulating the economy. If we just went out and spent it, we’d stimulate the economy. Why do the powers to be think that giving it to the top will stimulate the economy and benefit us? It will only stimulate the top - the same fools who put us in this mess in the first place. Why give it to them? Percolating to the top benefits everyone, trickling down won’t work and will only benefit the fat cats who only trickle into their own pockets!
Anyway, sorry about the rant. It must be the weather. Can’t somebody do something about it?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Winter Rant II
Alright, I know I’ve covered this subject before (see December 8, 2008 - "Snow and Other Swear Words"), but a subject so onerous requires yet another rant. I am compelled, in fact, to comment further upon this season of discontent, this season that even the jaws of Hell pale in comparison. What went wrong in the creation of this world that allowed Winter? Oh, I know the argument - without Winter, we would not enjoy the other seasons. It is an analogy of life, without the heartache and sorrow, we would not appreciate the happiness and joy. Well, in the case of seasons, I’d be content with not enjoying Spring, Summer and Fall as much if I could just do away with the Winter. I’ll hold back on the enjoyment, how’s that? Here’s the deal, Winter is eliminated and I’ll promise to not like Spring, Summer, and Fall as much. That should work, don’t you think? Great, where do I sign up?
So, what makes Winter so bad, you ask. Well, let me count the ways. First, the roads. Anyone who has slid off the road into the ditch can tell you that the fun of Winter fades quickly as you see yourself rushing head long into a snow bank, trying to maneuver between a power pole and a sign post. And who hasn’t enjoyed the adrenalin rush of hitting the brakes at a red light only to discover they are accelerating? What’s even more fun is if there are a few cars already stopped at the light. By the way, it is a proven fact that it is impossible to remove the smile from the owners of tow companies until well after the 4th of July! In addition, who doesn’t love standing in sub zero weather scraping inch thick ice off the windshield. Sorry, did I say scraping? I meant chipping, prying, blasting, kicking, burning. By the way, a weed burner torch is not a good idea. You’ll have to trust me on that. $1500 for a new paint job is hardly worth the savings in effort and time.
And how can we leave the rant against Winter without mentioning white. Ah yes, white and its many shades and hues. Every stinking thing is white, or grey or whitish grey or greyish white, or white turning grey, or some shade in between those two. Gack!!! I’m so sick of white I could scream!!!! When I’m in charge, I’m going to have a variety of colors for snow, depending on temperature - the warmer, the closer to red, cooler will be on the blue/violet side. It will snow rainbows. Yeah, that’s the ticket, rainbow snow. Just imagine the snowmen. ( I could write an entire post on rainbow snowmen, but I don’t want to offend the San Francisco contingent.)
Don’t think I’m not going to mention the temperature during this rant. How could I? Winter would not be complete if, when we step outside, the moisture in our noses didn’t freeze solid. I mean, after all, in what other season can we say we haven’t felt our feet for weeks?
A few weeks ago, we had a blizzard. For those of you who don’t know what a blizzard is - how lucky can you be!? Anyway, a blizzard is where you shovel the same snow out of your driveway several times. And, if you think you are going to outsmart it by throwing the snow down wind -ha! Just wait a short time, and the wind will turn around and blow it back so that you can shovel that snow again in the opposite direction. You don’t win with blizzards!
And, when the snow starts to melt and you begin celebrating, the weather turns cold and turns all the melted snow -read water - into ice. Then, we get to enjoy the semi-flips, half somersaults, unscripted break dancing, prat falls associated with ice under a thin layer of snow. And these are just a few of my favorite things - tra, la, la.
And so, dear reader, that is just a bit of what I’m feeling about Winter. The rest of it is unprintable amongst mixed company. And that is all I’m going to say about that. For now.
So, what makes Winter so bad, you ask. Well, let me count the ways. First, the roads. Anyone who has slid off the road into the ditch can tell you that the fun of Winter fades quickly as you see yourself rushing head long into a snow bank, trying to maneuver between a power pole and a sign post. And who hasn’t enjoyed the adrenalin rush of hitting the brakes at a red light only to discover they are accelerating? What’s even more fun is if there are a few cars already stopped at the light. By the way, it is a proven fact that it is impossible to remove the smile from the owners of tow companies until well after the 4th of July! In addition, who doesn’t love standing in sub zero weather scraping inch thick ice off the windshield. Sorry, did I say scraping? I meant chipping, prying, blasting, kicking, burning. By the way, a weed burner torch is not a good idea. You’ll have to trust me on that. $1500 for a new paint job is hardly worth the savings in effort and time.
And how can we leave the rant against Winter without mentioning white. Ah yes, white and its many shades and hues. Every stinking thing is white, or grey or whitish grey or greyish white, or white turning grey, or some shade in between those two. Gack!!! I’m so sick of white I could scream!!!! When I’m in charge, I’m going to have a variety of colors for snow, depending on temperature - the warmer, the closer to red, cooler will be on the blue/violet side. It will snow rainbows. Yeah, that’s the ticket, rainbow snow. Just imagine the snowmen. ( I could write an entire post on rainbow snowmen, but I don’t want to offend the San Francisco contingent.)
Don’t think I’m not going to mention the temperature during this rant. How could I? Winter would not be complete if, when we step outside, the moisture in our noses didn’t freeze solid. I mean, after all, in what other season can we say we haven’t felt our feet for weeks?
A few weeks ago, we had a blizzard. For those of you who don’t know what a blizzard is - how lucky can you be!? Anyway, a blizzard is where you shovel the same snow out of your driveway several times. And, if you think you are going to outsmart it by throwing the snow down wind -ha! Just wait a short time, and the wind will turn around and blow it back so that you can shovel that snow again in the opposite direction. You don’t win with blizzards!
And, when the snow starts to melt and you begin celebrating, the weather turns cold and turns all the melted snow -read water - into ice. Then, we get to enjoy the semi-flips, half somersaults, unscripted break dancing, prat falls associated with ice under a thin layer of snow. And these are just a few of my favorite things - tra, la, la.
And so, dear reader, that is just a bit of what I’m feeling about Winter. The rest of it is unprintable amongst mixed company. And that is all I’m going to say about that. For now.
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Other Cowboy Poem
(Just a note: The idea for this poem came from a friend of mine who lived the experience in the corral. That part is true, the rest I made up to make the poem more interesting, especially the first part. A shout out to Kent for the great story!)
TINY’S BAD DAY
By Dee L. Martin
Tiny was a man who’s edges were rough.
He was short and stocky and down right tough.
As a boy he was ugly, like a nasty train wreck.
To get the dogs to play, they hung meat on his neck.
He used his head, so he got along in life.
With a turn of good luck, he found him a wife.
They moved to New Mexico on a wing and a chance.
With hard work and luck, he ended up with a ranch.
He raised a few horses, had some odd jobs in town.
His luck had been good, being more up than down.
But one darkening day he tempted his fate,
As he walked to the corral and climbed on the gate.
In the corral was a horse the new hands were breakin’
His nostrils were flared, his legs sprayed and shakin’
The hands had him haltered, though it wasn’t much use.
They all knew in time the horse would be loose.
As you would guess, they were all on the money,
Soon he was running and it ceased to be funny.
So Tiny jumped down to stand in its way.
It was pure danged meanness is all they could say.
That colt flared its nostrils and laid back its ears,
And the sound of its snort fired mens’ fears.
The look in his eyes took away any hope,
But Tiny was fearless and grabbed holt the rope.
The colt lunged and jumped and pushed Tiny down
So he was caught between the hooves and the ground.
He was trampled and drug and just plain mistreated.
Tiny was worried but he wasn’t defeated.
He held fast to the rope and cursed at the colt
And tried to remember all that he’d been tolt
About horse and training and breaking and such.
And he decided he didn’t care for this one much.
After he’d been drug a couple’a more rounds
And the skin he’d lost was amounting to pounds.
He decided to let go and give it a rest.
Of all Tiny’s ideas, this was the best.
He lay on the ground and stared into the sky.
He had rocks in his mouth and dirt in his eye.
Tiny was beat and tired with nothing to prove.
He started to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move.
It would seem, if Tiny’s thoughts were on track
That blasted colt had broken his back.
His legs were stiff and he couldn’t feel anywhere.
It looked like Tiny would now ride a wheelchair.
With that thought in mind, he wished he were dead.
He just sat there, his legs felt like lead.
The cowboys rushed over to give him a hand.
Soon they discovered his pants full of sand.
The pants filled up while he was drug by the horse.
The weight of the sand was the problem of course.
His back wasn’t broken, his legs weren’t numb.
All of this news made Tiny feel dumb.
The horse just stood there, strong and steady.
Whatever would come, he would be ready.
Now this should be kept just between you and me.
That horse ended up at the glue factory.
TINY’S BAD DAY
By Dee L. Martin
Tiny was a man who’s edges were rough.
He was short and stocky and down right tough.
As a boy he was ugly, like a nasty train wreck.
To get the dogs to play, they hung meat on his neck.
He used his head, so he got along in life.
With a turn of good luck, he found him a wife.
They moved to New Mexico on a wing and a chance.
With hard work and luck, he ended up with a ranch.
He raised a few horses, had some odd jobs in town.
His luck had been good, being more up than down.
But one darkening day he tempted his fate,
As he walked to the corral and climbed on the gate.
In the corral was a horse the new hands were breakin’
His nostrils were flared, his legs sprayed and shakin’
The hands had him haltered, though it wasn’t much use.
They all knew in time the horse would be loose.
As you would guess, they were all on the money,
Soon he was running and it ceased to be funny.
So Tiny jumped down to stand in its way.
It was pure danged meanness is all they could say.
That colt flared its nostrils and laid back its ears,
And the sound of its snort fired mens’ fears.
The look in his eyes took away any hope,
But Tiny was fearless and grabbed holt the rope.
The colt lunged and jumped and pushed Tiny down
So he was caught between the hooves and the ground.
He was trampled and drug and just plain mistreated.
Tiny was worried but he wasn’t defeated.
He held fast to the rope and cursed at the colt
And tried to remember all that he’d been tolt
About horse and training and breaking and such.
And he decided he didn’t care for this one much.
After he’d been drug a couple’a more rounds
And the skin he’d lost was amounting to pounds.
He decided to let go and give it a rest.
Of all Tiny’s ideas, this was the best.
He lay on the ground and stared into the sky.
He had rocks in his mouth and dirt in his eye.
Tiny was beat and tired with nothing to prove.
He started to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move.
It would seem, if Tiny’s thoughts were on track
That blasted colt had broken his back.
His legs were stiff and he couldn’t feel anywhere.
It looked like Tiny would now ride a wheelchair.
With that thought in mind, he wished he were dead.
He just sat there, his legs felt like lead.
The cowboys rushed over to give him a hand.
Soon they discovered his pants full of sand.
The pants filled up while he was drug by the horse.
The weight of the sand was the problem of course.
His back wasn’t broken, his legs weren’t numb.
All of this news made Tiny feel dumb.
The horse just stood there, strong and steady.
Whatever would come, he would be ready.
Now this should be kept just between you and me.
That horse ended up at the glue factory.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A Comboy Poem - The New Truck
This is a poem I wrote a few years ago. I was reading some Cowboy Poetry and thought it would be fun to write. So, I sat down and wrote two. This is the first one. I'll post the second tomorrow or so.
THE NEW TRUCK
By Dee L. Martin
There was a rule in our family you’d better not buck.
It was, Daddy would cuff you if you got near his truck.
Yes sir, Dad was proud of that brand new Dodge.
If it wasn’t drivin’, it was parked in the garage.
It was shinny and new and without scratch or dent.
And Daddy would lecture us on the money he'd spent.
There’s no doubt to us, it was his joy and pride,
And it wasn’t too often we got to ride inside.
But one summer day, we weren’t going far.
We all jumped in the truck, cuz Mom had the car.
We headed for Stump Creek to pull a cow from the mire.
We just crossed the creek when we heard the pop of a tire.
Daddy cut loose a colorful word, maybe three,
And pulled the truck over by a big poplar tree.
We all jumped out to look at the blankety, blank flat,
Then Daddy hit his knee with his dusty cowboy hat.
He kicked the tire then looked at Emmy and me
And told us to go sit in the shade of the tree.
We sat and watched while Dad fixed the tire.
We could tell from his face, he was still hot on fire.
Well, maybe it was Emily or it could have been me,
Or maybe it was Dad, there was only us three.
It is hard to remember thinking back that far,
But it was one of us who left that truck door ajar.
It was one of those rare things, just who’d a thunk,
That through that open door would waltz a skunk.
And Dad soon discovered when he reached for his hat,
That his brand new truck was full of pole cat.
It don’t take a genius or a very big thinker
To figure out Dad was gonna get that stinker.
But there was a problem in solving this puzzle,
With Dad and the skunk standing nose to muzzle.
Dad slammed the door and then jumped back,
Cursing his luck - the gun was in the rack.
Emmy and me, we were enjoying the fun.
Watching Daddy trying to retrieve his gun.
He tried the other door without much luck.
It wasn’t looking good for Daddy’s new truck.
Daddy was fummin’ and so was that critter.
It was looking hopeless, but Dad was no quitter.
He kicked at the dirt and let go a shout.
"If I can’t shoot you, then I’ll smoke you out!"
He grabbed a bucket and hose and our hearts sank.
Dad was sucking gas from out of the tank.
He started a fire with the gas and some old clothes
And I reckon he just plain forgot the siphon hose.
It was sill in the tank, pumpin’ out gas.
The fuel was heading for the fire real fast.
I gave a yell and Emmy started to cry.
Dad dove for cover as the truck blew sky high.
We all sat there staring, amazed at our luck.
That no one had died when Dad blew the truck.
Losing the truck was bad, but what really stunk
Was out of the smoke came a waddling that skunk.
THE NEW TRUCK
By Dee L. Martin
There was a rule in our family you’d better not buck.
It was, Daddy would cuff you if you got near his truck.
Yes sir, Dad was proud of that brand new Dodge.
If it wasn’t drivin’, it was parked in the garage.
It was shinny and new and without scratch or dent.
And Daddy would lecture us on the money he'd spent.
There’s no doubt to us, it was his joy and pride,
And it wasn’t too often we got to ride inside.
But one summer day, we weren’t going far.
We all jumped in the truck, cuz Mom had the car.
We headed for Stump Creek to pull a cow from the mire.
We just crossed the creek when we heard the pop of a tire.
Daddy cut loose a colorful word, maybe three,
And pulled the truck over by a big poplar tree.
We all jumped out to look at the blankety, blank flat,
Then Daddy hit his knee with his dusty cowboy hat.
He kicked the tire then looked at Emmy and me
And told us to go sit in the shade of the tree.
We sat and watched while Dad fixed the tire.
We could tell from his face, he was still hot on fire.
Well, maybe it was Emily or it could have been me,
Or maybe it was Dad, there was only us three.
It is hard to remember thinking back that far,
But it was one of us who left that truck door ajar.
It was one of those rare things, just who’d a thunk,
That through that open door would waltz a skunk.
And Dad soon discovered when he reached for his hat,
That his brand new truck was full of pole cat.
It don’t take a genius or a very big thinker
To figure out Dad was gonna get that stinker.
But there was a problem in solving this puzzle,
With Dad and the skunk standing nose to muzzle.
Dad slammed the door and then jumped back,
Cursing his luck - the gun was in the rack.
Emmy and me, we were enjoying the fun.
Watching Daddy trying to retrieve his gun.
He tried the other door without much luck.
It wasn’t looking good for Daddy’s new truck.
Daddy was fummin’ and so was that critter.
It was looking hopeless, but Dad was no quitter.
He kicked at the dirt and let go a shout.
"If I can’t shoot you, then I’ll smoke you out!"
He grabbed a bucket and hose and our hearts sank.
Dad was sucking gas from out of the tank.
He started a fire with the gas and some old clothes
And I reckon he just plain forgot the siphon hose.
It was sill in the tank, pumpin’ out gas.
The fuel was heading for the fire real fast.
I gave a yell and Emmy started to cry.
Dad dove for cover as the truck blew sky high.
We all sat there staring, amazed at our luck.
That no one had died when Dad blew the truck.
Losing the truck was bad, but what really stunk
Was out of the smoke came a waddling that skunk.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Old Man - Part Five
A week into the job, Holly walked into the apartment to find the old man fixing a large meal.
"Wow, this is something else," she exclaimed. "What is the occasion?"
"It is your one week anniversary," he explained. "And I thought we should celebrate."
Holly helped set the table and finish with the salads. They sat at the table and began eating.
"How was work?"
"It was ok. I saw one of the girls in the store."
"One of the girls?" he asked.
"Yeah, one of Eddie’s girls. We used to work together sometimes. She walked by when I was fixing up the display in the window. She stopped in to see what I was doing."
"What did she say?"
"Nothin’."
"She just stood there and stared at you?" the old man asked.
"No, I mean she didn’t say anything worth repeating. She was surprised I was working there, that’s all."
"Anything else?"
"Like what?"
"I don’t know......just, anything else."
"She said Eddie was wondering where I was."
"Why?" the old man asked, becoming worried.
"Why what?"
"Why was he looking for you?"
"He wasn’t looking for me, he was wondering where I was. There is a difference."
"Maybe," the old man said, rather pensively.
"You’re just paranoid. Eddie doesn’t care about me anymore."
"I hope you’re right."
"What happened to Mr. Poster? All this positive crap, where’d that go?" she said, teasing the old man.
"It is just that you’ve done so well, I don’t want anything .........getting in the way right now, that’s all," he explained.
"You worry too much. I was reading the other day that worry can shorten your life. You don’t want a short life, do you?"
The old man laughed. "No, I guess not." They both laughed. After dinner, they sat in the living room and talked. Holly asked the old man where he came from. He paused for a moment before he spoke.
"I come from Poland. I was born in a small town outside of Warsaw. It was very beautiful there, so green and lush and the people all seemed so loving and caring for each other. It was like heaven. At least until the Germans invaded in thirty nine. Soon after they came, they started persecuting the jews. They wanted to gather us all up and put us in Ghettos to keep us away from everyone else. The night they came for our family, my brother ran to our house and warned my wife and me about the Nazis. We ran as fast as we could into the woods. There was shooting and.....my wife was killed." He paused for a moment to gather his emotions, then continued. "I ran with my two small sons into the woods and we lived there for four years, hiding from the Germans and fighting when we could. When the war ended, I found a way to come to America and work. I came to this city and found job making furniture. I raised my boys, who became very successful here in America. I also had what was left of my family come to America to live. My sister is still living yet, and she comes to visit sometimes".
"What about your sons?" Holly asked.
"One is still alive and lives out West in Arizona. He calls sometimes, but has a busy life. The other died last year of cancer."
"That’s too bad," Holly said.
"Yes, but life goes on, you know, and we have to go on living, as well."
"Well, Mr Poster is back," Holly said, smiling.
"What about you? Where are you from?" the old man asked.
"I really don’t have a story to tell. Not like yours, anyway," Holly said, looking at her hands in her lap.
"But I’m sure it is very interesting, nevertheless,"the old man said.
"Whatever." She looked up to see him looking at her with an interested expression on his face. "Ok......I was born in Houston, but we moved to San Antonio when I was a baby. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters for awhile, then I had a little brother come along. My dad drank a lot and used to......" She stopped to gather her thoughts. "Well....., he would, you know.....do things to me.....and I hated it...and him. I hated him so much!!" She stopped talking for a moment. The old man waited, letting her talk when she felt comfortable.
"I didn’t want to hate him, I wanted to love him like daughters should, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I left when I was sixteen and moved here cuz I had a friend who was here. She said she could help me, but when I got here, she was in jail for drugs, so I was on my own. I found some odd jobs and got set up in an apartment with a girl I met at my first job. After that, Eddie took care of me. And then some weird old man conned me into living with him so he didn’t have to sit on the bench to watch me." She smiled at the old man. He smiled back.
"It saves on sun screen," he said. "And now, what is your future?"
"My future? I don’t have a clue."
"You should think of the future. It will come whether you have a plan or not. A plan is better than not."
"Some how, I get the idea you have a plan for me."
"You need to go to school. You are smart and you should get a degree and make something of yourself. This is America, the land of unlimited opportunity. You should go to school."
"Are you saying you think I should go to school?" she asked, playing with him.
"Yes."
"And what should I be?"
"I don’t know. What would you like to study?"
"Well, I suppose being a pharmacist would be out of the question," she said, smiling. She stood up and walked into the kitchen to get some juice. "Do you want some juice?" She asked.
"Yes, thank you. Why not pharmacy? You could do that."
"I was kidding. I think I’d like being a nurse."
"Good, then tomorrow we start looking into nursing," the old man said, as he took the glass from Holly. She sat down in the chair where she was sitting before she went into the kitchen.
"You just don’t waste any time, do you?" Holly said.
"At my age, I don’t know how much time I have left. I can’t afford to waste any," he said, a glint in his eyes.
"I don’t think I’m smart enough to go to college, besides, I don’t have a high school diploma," she informed him.
"Then that is the first step," he explained.
"Yeah, whatever. I’ll think about it, okey?"
He decided not to press to hard on the schooling. He would be patient and wait a bit. "You think about it."
They finished talking then they retired to their respective rooms. Each to contemplate the future of Holly.
The old man pulled his coat collar up around his neck to protect it from the cold wind as he hurried along the sidewalk. He was late for dinner and Holly had told him to be on time because she wanted to surprise him with a special dinner she had read about in one of the books at the shop. Besides, it was their two week anniversary.
He had been talking with Ben, his old friend, at the senior center where they played chess every Thursday. It was a long match and he had lost track of time. As he turned the corner near his apartment, he saw the car parked in front of his place. It was a pink Continental with wide, white sidewalls on the tires. He had a bad feeling about that car. It didn’t belong in this neighborhood.
He hurried up the stairs, scrambled for his key, nearly tearing his pocket as he pulled the keys out. Once in, he rushed up the stairs. As he neared his door, he heard the glass break. He quickly pushed the key in the lock and shoved open the door. Across the room stood Holly, her blouse ripped open and a trickle of blood dripped from her nose. She was terrified.
The old man looked to the other side of the room and saw a man dressed in a white suit holding his head, blood running between his fingers from a cut on his scalp. The shattered glass on the floor, the remnants of a vase that once sat on a table in the living room, must have been the cause of the cut.
The man charged at Holly, cussing as he ran at her. The old man moved toward them, catching the man just as he hit Holly with a crushing right hand, knocking her to the floor. The old man, his hands still strong from so many years making furniture, grabbed the man by the neck and held him up against he wall, strangling him. He squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to stop this man from ever hurting Holly again. As the old man held the man, he heard Holly scream. "No!!"
The old man felt a strike to his stomach, then an extreme burning, as if his gut was on fire. His breath left him and his grasp on the man’s neck loosened. He felt another strike, then another. He was becoming weaker and his grip loosened some more. He tried to squeeze harder, but he was unable to. Why couldn’t he squeeze? What was wrong? He looked down and saw the blood. Then he saw the man stick the knife into him again. He let go of the man and grabbed his stomach. The front of his shirt was becoming wet with his blood. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor. The man ran out of the apartment. Outside, the sound of sirens could be heard. The neighbors must have called the police, the old man thought.
"Paul?" Holly said, as she kneeled at his side. "Paul, I’m so sorry." She was crying. "I don’t know how he found me. It must have been that girl that saw me in the store. I’m so sorry."
"Don’t worry, Holly, it will be ok."
"Help is coming. Don’t you die on me," she said, sobbing as she held his head.
The police came in, saw the old man, examined his injuries, then called for an ambulance. Holly stayed by his side until the paramedics arrived and started attending to him. She stood by as they moved him onto the stretcher and then followed them down the stairs and into the ambulance.
"Are you a relative?" one of the paramedics asked.
"She is with me," the old man said, weakly. "It’s ok."
"Hop in," the other paramedic said as they closed the door.
She watched the paramedics work on the old man, trying to get IV’s in him, covering his face with an oxygen mask, and trying to get the bleeding to stop. She reached in and grabbed the old man’s hand, squeezing it. He squeezed back very slightly. It was the last communication they would have. He died on the operating table later that night.
The sun felt warm on her face as she stood facing Fourth Street. The sound of the traffic drowned out the sounds of kids playing in the park behind her and the birds singing. She wasn’t able to hear any of that, just the sound of the cars driving by. She stood there, waiting, like before. Holly watched the oncoming traffic, watching for a car to stop. She impatiently paced up and down the sidewalk, watching each car as it passed. Occasionally, one of the cars would slow and the man driving would look at Holly, his eyes searching her face for an indication of why she was standing there. A grey sedan slowed and pull to the curb in front of her. She stepped to the car, opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
"Hi, how’s things?" she asked, as they pulled into traffic.
"Ok, how about you?"
"I’m ok," she answered. "Thanks for giving me a ride. This class schedule makes it hard to get to school if I have to ride the bus."
"Hey, I’m happy to have the company," the young lady driving said.
"Yeah, company is good," Holly added, looking out the window at the bench where the old man used to sit. "Company is good."
The End
"Wow, this is something else," she exclaimed. "What is the occasion?"
"It is your one week anniversary," he explained. "And I thought we should celebrate."
Holly helped set the table and finish with the salads. They sat at the table and began eating.
"How was work?"
"It was ok. I saw one of the girls in the store."
"One of the girls?" he asked.
"Yeah, one of Eddie’s girls. We used to work together sometimes. She walked by when I was fixing up the display in the window. She stopped in to see what I was doing."
"What did she say?"
"Nothin’."
"She just stood there and stared at you?" the old man asked.
"No, I mean she didn’t say anything worth repeating. She was surprised I was working there, that’s all."
"Anything else?"
"Like what?"
"I don’t know......just, anything else."
"She said Eddie was wondering where I was."
"Why?" the old man asked, becoming worried.
"Why what?"
"Why was he looking for you?"
"He wasn’t looking for me, he was wondering where I was. There is a difference."
"Maybe," the old man said, rather pensively.
"You’re just paranoid. Eddie doesn’t care about me anymore."
"I hope you’re right."
"What happened to Mr. Poster? All this positive crap, where’d that go?" she said, teasing the old man.
"It is just that you’ve done so well, I don’t want anything .........getting in the way right now, that’s all," he explained.
"You worry too much. I was reading the other day that worry can shorten your life. You don’t want a short life, do you?"
The old man laughed. "No, I guess not." They both laughed. After dinner, they sat in the living room and talked. Holly asked the old man where he came from. He paused for a moment before he spoke.
"I come from Poland. I was born in a small town outside of Warsaw. It was very beautiful there, so green and lush and the people all seemed so loving and caring for each other. It was like heaven. At least until the Germans invaded in thirty nine. Soon after they came, they started persecuting the jews. They wanted to gather us all up and put us in Ghettos to keep us away from everyone else. The night they came for our family, my brother ran to our house and warned my wife and me about the Nazis. We ran as fast as we could into the woods. There was shooting and.....my wife was killed." He paused for a moment to gather his emotions, then continued. "I ran with my two small sons into the woods and we lived there for four years, hiding from the Germans and fighting when we could. When the war ended, I found a way to come to America and work. I came to this city and found job making furniture. I raised my boys, who became very successful here in America. I also had what was left of my family come to America to live. My sister is still living yet, and she comes to visit sometimes".
"What about your sons?" Holly asked.
"One is still alive and lives out West in Arizona. He calls sometimes, but has a busy life. The other died last year of cancer."
"That’s too bad," Holly said.
"Yes, but life goes on, you know, and we have to go on living, as well."
"Well, Mr Poster is back," Holly said, smiling.
"What about you? Where are you from?" the old man asked.
"I really don’t have a story to tell. Not like yours, anyway," Holly said, looking at her hands in her lap.
"But I’m sure it is very interesting, nevertheless,"the old man said.
"Whatever." She looked up to see him looking at her with an interested expression on his face. "Ok......I was born in Houston, but we moved to San Antonio when I was a baby. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters for awhile, then I had a little brother come along. My dad drank a lot and used to......" She stopped to gather her thoughts. "Well....., he would, you know.....do things to me.....and I hated it...and him. I hated him so much!!" She stopped talking for a moment. The old man waited, letting her talk when she felt comfortable.
"I didn’t want to hate him, I wanted to love him like daughters should, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I left when I was sixteen and moved here cuz I had a friend who was here. She said she could help me, but when I got here, she was in jail for drugs, so I was on my own. I found some odd jobs and got set up in an apartment with a girl I met at my first job. After that, Eddie took care of me. And then some weird old man conned me into living with him so he didn’t have to sit on the bench to watch me." She smiled at the old man. He smiled back.
"It saves on sun screen," he said. "And now, what is your future?"
"My future? I don’t have a clue."
"You should think of the future. It will come whether you have a plan or not. A plan is better than not."
"Some how, I get the idea you have a plan for me."
"You need to go to school. You are smart and you should get a degree and make something of yourself. This is America, the land of unlimited opportunity. You should go to school."
"Are you saying you think I should go to school?" she asked, playing with him.
"Yes."
"And what should I be?"
"I don’t know. What would you like to study?"
"Well, I suppose being a pharmacist would be out of the question," she said, smiling. She stood up and walked into the kitchen to get some juice. "Do you want some juice?" She asked.
"Yes, thank you. Why not pharmacy? You could do that."
"I was kidding. I think I’d like being a nurse."
"Good, then tomorrow we start looking into nursing," the old man said, as he took the glass from Holly. She sat down in the chair where she was sitting before she went into the kitchen.
"You just don’t waste any time, do you?" Holly said.
"At my age, I don’t know how much time I have left. I can’t afford to waste any," he said, a glint in his eyes.
"I don’t think I’m smart enough to go to college, besides, I don’t have a high school diploma," she informed him.
"Then that is the first step," he explained.
"Yeah, whatever. I’ll think about it, okey?"
He decided not to press to hard on the schooling. He would be patient and wait a bit. "You think about it."
They finished talking then they retired to their respective rooms. Each to contemplate the future of Holly.
The old man pulled his coat collar up around his neck to protect it from the cold wind as he hurried along the sidewalk. He was late for dinner and Holly had told him to be on time because she wanted to surprise him with a special dinner she had read about in one of the books at the shop. Besides, it was their two week anniversary.
He had been talking with Ben, his old friend, at the senior center where they played chess every Thursday. It was a long match and he had lost track of time. As he turned the corner near his apartment, he saw the car parked in front of his place. It was a pink Continental with wide, white sidewalls on the tires. He had a bad feeling about that car. It didn’t belong in this neighborhood.
He hurried up the stairs, scrambled for his key, nearly tearing his pocket as he pulled the keys out. Once in, he rushed up the stairs. As he neared his door, he heard the glass break. He quickly pushed the key in the lock and shoved open the door. Across the room stood Holly, her blouse ripped open and a trickle of blood dripped from her nose. She was terrified.
The old man looked to the other side of the room and saw a man dressed in a white suit holding his head, blood running between his fingers from a cut on his scalp. The shattered glass on the floor, the remnants of a vase that once sat on a table in the living room, must have been the cause of the cut.
The man charged at Holly, cussing as he ran at her. The old man moved toward them, catching the man just as he hit Holly with a crushing right hand, knocking her to the floor. The old man, his hands still strong from so many years making furniture, grabbed the man by the neck and held him up against he wall, strangling him. He squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to stop this man from ever hurting Holly again. As the old man held the man, he heard Holly scream. "No!!"
The old man felt a strike to his stomach, then an extreme burning, as if his gut was on fire. His breath left him and his grasp on the man’s neck loosened. He felt another strike, then another. He was becoming weaker and his grip loosened some more. He tried to squeeze harder, but he was unable to. Why couldn’t he squeeze? What was wrong? He looked down and saw the blood. Then he saw the man stick the knife into him again. He let go of the man and grabbed his stomach. The front of his shirt was becoming wet with his blood. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor. The man ran out of the apartment. Outside, the sound of sirens could be heard. The neighbors must have called the police, the old man thought.
"Paul?" Holly said, as she kneeled at his side. "Paul, I’m so sorry." She was crying. "I don’t know how he found me. It must have been that girl that saw me in the store. I’m so sorry."
"Don’t worry, Holly, it will be ok."
"Help is coming. Don’t you die on me," she said, sobbing as she held his head.
The police came in, saw the old man, examined his injuries, then called for an ambulance. Holly stayed by his side until the paramedics arrived and started attending to him. She stood by as they moved him onto the stretcher and then followed them down the stairs and into the ambulance.
"Are you a relative?" one of the paramedics asked.
"She is with me," the old man said, weakly. "It’s ok."
"Hop in," the other paramedic said as they closed the door.
She watched the paramedics work on the old man, trying to get IV’s in him, covering his face with an oxygen mask, and trying to get the bleeding to stop. She reached in and grabbed the old man’s hand, squeezing it. He squeezed back very slightly. It was the last communication they would have. He died on the operating table later that night.
The sun felt warm on her face as she stood facing Fourth Street. The sound of the traffic drowned out the sounds of kids playing in the park behind her and the birds singing. She wasn’t able to hear any of that, just the sound of the cars driving by. She stood there, waiting, like before. Holly watched the oncoming traffic, watching for a car to stop. She impatiently paced up and down the sidewalk, watching each car as it passed. Occasionally, one of the cars would slow and the man driving would look at Holly, his eyes searching her face for an indication of why she was standing there. A grey sedan slowed and pull to the curb in front of her. She stepped to the car, opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
"Hi, how’s things?" she asked, as they pulled into traffic.
"Ok, how about you?"
"I’m ok," she answered. "Thanks for giving me a ride. This class schedule makes it hard to get to school if I have to ride the bus."
"Hey, I’m happy to have the company," the young lady driving said.
"Yeah, company is good," Holly added, looking out the window at the bench where the old man used to sit. "Company is good."
The End
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Old Man - part four
On the way to the apartment, they stopped at a drug store and picked up some toiletries and sundry items, then a quick stop at a small second hand store for some clothes.
"Lovely," she said, holding up a sweater with reindeer on it. The sarcasm was thick as she examined the various clothes hung on the racks. "I don’t think I can wear these....things," she said, searching for a word she could use in public.
"You can’t go to school or work wearing, or almost wearing, the clothes you are used to," the old man said.
"Oh, so now you’re a clothes critic. That didn’t take long, did it? Thanks, Dad!" She looked at him with her eyes wide in mock anger.
"You should always look your best," he added.
"Thanks, for the advice, Mr. Poster. How about, mountains are climbed in many steps, or, do onto others........." she said, failing to finish the last. "These clothes stink!" she added, throwing the clothes she held in her hand on the top of the racks.
"Keep looking, you’ll find something you’ll like," he instructed.
"That would be a miracle."
"So, we wait for a miracle," he said, smiling.
Eventually, she found a few things she could tolerate and they continued to the apartment. Once there, the old man saw that she was settled in her room. She hung the few clothes she had bought in the closet, arranged the bathroom items in the small cabinet hanging over the bathroom sink and met the old man in the kitchen. She was acting nervous.
"Are you settled in?" he asked.
"Ya, all at home here." She was having second thoughts already.
The old man, sensed her reluctance. "You’ll get used to it."
"Sure," was all she said. "What do you do all day....besides stare at hookers?"
"I read, sometimes I visit with friends, watch tv, listen to music.......I do things," he said, ignoring her comment and thinking hard to make a list.
"Oooh, party hardy," she said, dancing in place a little. " I don’t know if I can stand the pace. I hope you don’t think I’m going to do that."
"You can do what you want," he said, then added, "as long as it doesn’t include drugs and street walking."
"Right." She walked into the small living room and fell into the green stuffed chair near the window. "Right," she repeated.
The old man followed her into the living room and sat on the matching sofa. "First things first, though. First we have to find you a real job. After that, we should see about getting you in school."
"Ya know, I’ve done that job thing and it didn’t work out to good," she said.
"To well," he corrected.
"What?"
He realized he had corrected her and thought better of it. "Nothing. This time you can do it. I’ll talk to some of my friends, maybe they can help."
"Whatever," she said, looking out the window.
"Why don’t you try on your new clothes."
"Oh, a fashion show. That would be sexy, huh?" she said, implying the old man had other motives.
"No, I just thought if we are going to look for work, you should look like something besides a street walker."
"We’re looking today?" she asked, incredulous he would think she should be doing something so soon.
"Why not. We’ll go talk to Mr. Benson at the book store. He said he was thinking of hiring some help. Maybe we can get something there."
"I don’t know if I’m ready yet. Ya know, it might be too soon to....ya know......go looking for work.....I just don’t think I’m ready," she said, pausing as she looked for words, stalling for time. "Shouldn’t we just wait awhile?"
"How long?" the old man asked.
"I don’t know, maybe a day or two."
"I think it would be best if you jumped right in. The best way to get in to cold water is to jump right in."
"Really, Mr. Poster, is that how you do it?"
"Yes, why not? Are you doing anything else right now?"
She turned and looked out the window, not answering him. He watched her, realizing she was afraid. He gave her a little time before he spoke.
"We might as well start now in case it takes some time to find something. I’ll go with you and introduce you to some of my friends. Maybe we’ll find something you’ll like," he said, standing.
"And just who are you going to introduce me as?" she asked.
"A friend."
"A friend? Do you have a lot of young women as friends?"
"Just one," was his simple answer. She didn’t say anything, just sat looking out the window in obvious contemplation of her options. He waited for her answer. When she didn’t speak, he walked into the kitchen, pulled some juice out of the refrigerator, poured two glasses and returned to the living room. "Here, this will help you think," he said, handing her a glass. She sat quietly sipping the juice and continuing to look out the window. Finally, he spoke.
"Well?"
She looked at him, turned to look out the window and spoke. "Ok, I’ll give it a try."
After she had changed into tan skirt with a matching jacket and a white blouse, they walked down to the street and up a few blocks to the Book Worm Book Store.
"You look very nice dressed like that," the old man said, admiring Holly's new look.
Holly smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had given her a legitimate compliment. She looked at her reflection in a shop window and was amazed at how attractive she looked in her new outfit, even though she was completely covered. Maybe the old man knew what he was talking about.
There were two customers browsing the shelves as the old man and young woman walked in. A small, bald man with glasses hanging down on his chest held by a black band, walked up to them. His squinty blue eyes studied Holly as he approached. Even though his suspenders held his pants above his large belly, he pulled at the waist line of his pants as he walked toward the old man and Holly.
"Hello, Paul. You’ve brought a friend?" He said, holding out his hand to Holly.
"Yes, Bernie, this is Holly. Holly, this is Bernard Benson, the owner of this fine book store," the old man said.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Holly," Bernie said, shaking her hand enthusiastically with both hands. "A friend of Paul’s is a friend to mine. Are you looking for a book?"
Holly looked at Paul, not knowing what to say.
"Well, Bernie, Holly here is looking for a new line of work and we thought you could use a good worker here in your shop," the old man said, smiling at Holly.
"Oh, I see," Bernie said. "What kind of work are you in now?"
"Uh.....sales," the old man said before Holly could answer.
"Sales......that is a very good field," Bernie replied.
"So, do you need any help here?" the old man asked, trying to redirect the conversation away from Holly’s current employment.
"Yes, yes indeed I do. Have you had any experience with books?"
"You mean besides reading them?" Holly answered.
Bernie laughed a squeaky little laugh. "Yes, besides reading them."
"No."
"Well, that’s ok, I can teach you what you need to know. When can you start?"
"I can have the job?" Holly asked, not believing it could be that easy.
"Sure, if Paul brings you in here, then you have to be ok. Would tomorrow work for you?" Bernie pushed.
"Uh.....ya....sure," Holly stammered.
"Great, stop in tomorrow at nine and we’ll get you oriented," Bernie explained.
"Thanks, Bernie. Nine in the morning it is," Paul said. They left the book store and started walking back to the apartment.
"So, there you are. See how easy it can be?" the old man said trying to encourage Holly.
"But, what if I don’t do a good job? What if I really screw up and get fired? Did you ever think of that?" Holy asked.
"You’ll do fine, Holly. Have some faith in yourself. You seem to be smart, you know how to deal with people, your personable and likable, and your pretty. You’ll be great!
"Right," she said, sarcastically. "I’m glad your convinced."
The old man spent the rest of the day trying to convince her. Later that night, just before they retired for the evening, she came close to buying into his enthusiasm.
"Ya know, maybe I can do this," she said. "Maybe I can beat my demons."
"So far, so good," the old man added.
"Yeah, so far so good."
The demons had been held at bay. But, they wouldn’t stay gone for long.
End of part four
"Lovely," she said, holding up a sweater with reindeer on it. The sarcasm was thick as she examined the various clothes hung on the racks. "I don’t think I can wear these....things," she said, searching for a word she could use in public.
"You can’t go to school or work wearing, or almost wearing, the clothes you are used to," the old man said.
"Oh, so now you’re a clothes critic. That didn’t take long, did it? Thanks, Dad!" She looked at him with her eyes wide in mock anger.
"You should always look your best," he added.
"Thanks, for the advice, Mr. Poster. How about, mountains are climbed in many steps, or, do onto others........." she said, failing to finish the last. "These clothes stink!" she added, throwing the clothes she held in her hand on the top of the racks.
"Keep looking, you’ll find something you’ll like," he instructed.
"That would be a miracle."
"So, we wait for a miracle," he said, smiling.
Eventually, she found a few things she could tolerate and they continued to the apartment. Once there, the old man saw that she was settled in her room. She hung the few clothes she had bought in the closet, arranged the bathroom items in the small cabinet hanging over the bathroom sink and met the old man in the kitchen. She was acting nervous.
"Are you settled in?" he asked.
"Ya, all at home here." She was having second thoughts already.
The old man, sensed her reluctance. "You’ll get used to it."
"Sure," was all she said. "What do you do all day....besides stare at hookers?"
"I read, sometimes I visit with friends, watch tv, listen to music.......I do things," he said, ignoring her comment and thinking hard to make a list.
"Oooh, party hardy," she said, dancing in place a little. " I don’t know if I can stand the pace. I hope you don’t think I’m going to do that."
"You can do what you want," he said, then added, "as long as it doesn’t include drugs and street walking."
"Right." She walked into the small living room and fell into the green stuffed chair near the window. "Right," she repeated.
The old man followed her into the living room and sat on the matching sofa. "First things first, though. First we have to find you a real job. After that, we should see about getting you in school."
"Ya know, I’ve done that job thing and it didn’t work out to good," she said.
"To well," he corrected.
"What?"
He realized he had corrected her and thought better of it. "Nothing. This time you can do it. I’ll talk to some of my friends, maybe they can help."
"Whatever," she said, looking out the window.
"Why don’t you try on your new clothes."
"Oh, a fashion show. That would be sexy, huh?" she said, implying the old man had other motives.
"No, I just thought if we are going to look for work, you should look like something besides a street walker."
"We’re looking today?" she asked, incredulous he would think she should be doing something so soon.
"Why not. We’ll go talk to Mr. Benson at the book store. He said he was thinking of hiring some help. Maybe we can get something there."
"I don’t know if I’m ready yet. Ya know, it might be too soon to....ya know......go looking for work.....I just don’t think I’m ready," she said, pausing as she looked for words, stalling for time. "Shouldn’t we just wait awhile?"
"How long?" the old man asked.
"I don’t know, maybe a day or two."
"I think it would be best if you jumped right in. The best way to get in to cold water is to jump right in."
"Really, Mr. Poster, is that how you do it?"
"Yes, why not? Are you doing anything else right now?"
She turned and looked out the window, not answering him. He watched her, realizing she was afraid. He gave her a little time before he spoke.
"We might as well start now in case it takes some time to find something. I’ll go with you and introduce you to some of my friends. Maybe we’ll find something you’ll like," he said, standing.
"And just who are you going to introduce me as?" she asked.
"A friend."
"A friend? Do you have a lot of young women as friends?"
"Just one," was his simple answer. She didn’t say anything, just sat looking out the window in obvious contemplation of her options. He waited for her answer. When she didn’t speak, he walked into the kitchen, pulled some juice out of the refrigerator, poured two glasses and returned to the living room. "Here, this will help you think," he said, handing her a glass. She sat quietly sipping the juice and continuing to look out the window. Finally, he spoke.
"Well?"
She looked at him, turned to look out the window and spoke. "Ok, I’ll give it a try."
After she had changed into tan skirt with a matching jacket and a white blouse, they walked down to the street and up a few blocks to the Book Worm Book Store.
"You look very nice dressed like that," the old man said, admiring Holly's new look.
Holly smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had given her a legitimate compliment. She looked at her reflection in a shop window and was amazed at how attractive she looked in her new outfit, even though she was completely covered. Maybe the old man knew what he was talking about.
There were two customers browsing the shelves as the old man and young woman walked in. A small, bald man with glasses hanging down on his chest held by a black band, walked up to them. His squinty blue eyes studied Holly as he approached. Even though his suspenders held his pants above his large belly, he pulled at the waist line of his pants as he walked toward the old man and Holly.
"Hello, Paul. You’ve brought a friend?" He said, holding out his hand to Holly.
"Yes, Bernie, this is Holly. Holly, this is Bernard Benson, the owner of this fine book store," the old man said.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Holly," Bernie said, shaking her hand enthusiastically with both hands. "A friend of Paul’s is a friend to mine. Are you looking for a book?"
Holly looked at Paul, not knowing what to say.
"Well, Bernie, Holly here is looking for a new line of work and we thought you could use a good worker here in your shop," the old man said, smiling at Holly.
"Oh, I see," Bernie said. "What kind of work are you in now?"
"Uh.....sales," the old man said before Holly could answer.
"Sales......that is a very good field," Bernie replied.
"So, do you need any help here?" the old man asked, trying to redirect the conversation away from Holly’s current employment.
"Yes, yes indeed I do. Have you had any experience with books?"
"You mean besides reading them?" Holly answered.
Bernie laughed a squeaky little laugh. "Yes, besides reading them."
"No."
"Well, that’s ok, I can teach you what you need to know. When can you start?"
"I can have the job?" Holly asked, not believing it could be that easy.
"Sure, if Paul brings you in here, then you have to be ok. Would tomorrow work for you?" Bernie pushed.
"Uh.....ya....sure," Holly stammered.
"Great, stop in tomorrow at nine and we’ll get you oriented," Bernie explained.
"Thanks, Bernie. Nine in the morning it is," Paul said. They left the book store and started walking back to the apartment.
"So, there you are. See how easy it can be?" the old man said trying to encourage Holly.
"But, what if I don’t do a good job? What if I really screw up and get fired? Did you ever think of that?" Holy asked.
"You’ll do fine, Holly. Have some faith in yourself. You seem to be smart, you know how to deal with people, your personable and likable, and your pretty. You’ll be great!
"Right," she said, sarcastically. "I’m glad your convinced."
The old man spent the rest of the day trying to convince her. Later that night, just before they retired for the evening, she came close to buying into his enthusiasm.
"Ya know, maybe I can do this," she said. "Maybe I can beat my demons."
"So far, so good," the old man added.
"Yeah, so far so good."
The demons had been held at bay. But, they wouldn’t stay gone for long.
End of part four
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