(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.
Monday, February 9, 2009
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
Friday, January 30, 2009
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
"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
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Short Story, Part 2
The Old Man
Part Two
The young woman changed her purse from her left shoulder to her right as she pondered the offer from the old man. It would be a real gamble to stay at his place. She wasn’t really worried about what he’d do, she could take care of herself in that regard, but what about Eddie? He’d kill her if he ever caught up to her. And then, there was the drugs. Could she really beat them? She walked a bit down the sidewalk, then returned to the bench.
"Room and board free," the old man explained. "But, you’d have to help keep the place clean." Then, as an after thought, he added, "And, you’ll have to either go to school or find a job, or maybe both."
"I never was too good at school," she said. "Or a job," she added.
"Now, you will be," the old man said, an encouraging smile on his face.
"Yeah, right,"she said. "I’d be crazy to do this."
"Maybe you’d be crazy not to."
She paced up and down the sidewalk, a few yards on each trip. At the end of each lap, she’d stop and look at the old man. He waited for her to make her decision, not wanting to upset her like before. She stopped in front of him.
"No strings," she said, a statement, not a question.
"No strings. You can leave anytime you want. You just have to get a job or go to school." Then he added. "And, you have to stop using drugs and stop working the streets."
"Yeah, I know that part," she stated. She paced a few more laps. This time she stopped about ten yards from the bench and looked back into the park behind the bench. She thought for quite awhile, moving her purse back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, then she would resume her pacing, working things out in her mind. The old man watched. She would stop and stare into the park, swaying back and forth as she pondered her future. She stopped pacing, looked over at the old man on the bench, and walked up to him.
"Ok, I’ll do it. But, no strings and I can come and go as I want. And no nagging from you."
"I won’t guarantee the no nagging part," he replied.
She mulled over that for a moment. "I can handle nagging, I guess. So, now what?"
"So now, we go to my...our place and we’ll get you moved in," he said, standing up. He was unusually spry for a man his age, standing without a lot of the stops and starts and grunts and groans of his friends.
"I can’t go back to Eddie’s to get any of my things. I know he’ll know something’s up and I’ll be in a whole world of hurt," she stated.
"So, we’ll get new things," the old man offered as he started walking down the sidewalk. He looked back. "Coming?"
She hesitated only a moment, then hurried to catch up with him, having a hard time running in the high heeled boots.
"What’s your name?"she asked, when she caught up with him.
"Paul, Paul Wojoinski," he answered.
"I’m Holly," she offered
"Nice to know you, Holly," the old man said, smiling.
"Yeah, well, it’s nice to know you too, Paul."
The two of them walked down the sidewalk, not saying much as they walked. She was heavy in thought, wondering if she had made the right decision, then deciding that, no matter what happened, she would always have the option of going back on the street. "How bad can it be?" she thought. Living with an old man, room and board paid. All she had to do was find a job or go to school and she would have it made. That sounded alright to her. Especially the part of not having to put up with the beatings from Eddie. She could go her whole life without those. Her feet began to get tired as they continued to walk at a good pace.
"How much farther is it?" she asked.
"You’re not going to start with the ‘are we there yet?’ are you?" he asked.
"No, it just that my feet are getting tired walking in these boots. They really aren’t made for walking, you know," she stated.
"Those boots aren’t made for walking?" he asked, smiling.
"No, they are not."she answered, emphatically.
"Well, they must not belong to Nancy Sinatra then," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
"What?"
He started to explain, then thought better of it. "Never mind, it’s just a vague reference from years ago," he said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand. "We’re almost there."
A few more blocks and they arrived at a brownstone walk up.
"Here we are, home sweet home," he said, looking up at the building. "Second floor."
They walked up the outside stairs and then into the building using his key.
"We’ll have to get you keys made," he explained.
They walked up to the second floor and opened the door. The old man waited for Holly to enter, motioning with his hand for her to go first. She wasn’t used to that. The bunch she ran with weren’t into being very gentlemanly.
"Thank you," she said, stepping into the apartment.
"Your room will be down here," the old man said, walking down a short hall to his right. "This is the bathroom," he said, indicating the room on his left as he passed the door.
"Only one?" she asked.
"How many do you need?" he asked.
"Just one, but, I mean, for the both of us?" she added.
"We’ll work out a schedule," he offered.
He opened a door at the end of the hall. "This is your room. I’ve kept it furnished for company, occasionally, I get some,"he added as an afterthought.
She walked past the old man and stepped into the room. It was about twelve feet square with a twin bed, two night stands on each side of the bed, a dresser on the wall at the foot of the bed, and a door where the closet must have been. A picture of a table of dogs playing cards was hung on the wall over the head of the bed, representing the only decorations in the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was clean and neat and she thought she could fix it up a bit.
"It is nice," she said, smiling.
"You’ll grow to like it."
"I like it, already,"she lied. Life would certainly be different here. Eddie’s place was posh and spacious, with expensive art hung throughout. And there were the drugs. Eddie always had drugs laying around, almost like candy. She would miss the drugs. But, that was behind her and she was determined to change things, to get clean and be free of Eddie.
"So, we should make a list of the things you need and get you situated," the old man said, pulling her back to the present situation. "Come into the kitchen and I’ll get a piece of paper and a pen."
They walked into the kitchen and the young woman sat at the small table sat against one wall. Across from the table was the stove and oven. A refrigerator sat to the right of the stove. The old man pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer and handed it to Holly.
"I have a pen around her somewhere," he said, digging through the drawer. "Maybe it is in the living room," he added. "I’ll be right back."
Holly sat at the table while the old man searched for a pen. She watched him as he headed off into the living room. He was taller than she was, making him about six foot or so and well built for an old man. He had fairly broad shoulders, with the thick waist old men sported, and a slight bow to his back, probably from years of heavy work. She thought he must have been nice looking when he was younger, maybe a real ladies man. But, she couldn’t really tell now, because of his age. She looked around the kitchen. It was small with little counter space and a single basin sink. The neatness of the place struck her. She always thought old people were messy, and smelly. The place was nice enough, but she was starting to have second thoughts about her decision to stay with the old man. Her life would be completely different here, none of the excitement, none of the parties, no drugs, no fun. What was she thinking!
"Here we go," the old man said as he stepped in the kitchen. "I knew I had one." He handed her the pen. "Now, you make a list of things you need, and we’ll get you fixed up." He smiled at her and she felt a legitimate warmth from his smile. "Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad," she thought, boring, but safe. But, was boring what she was looking for? She took the pen and wrote out a list of things she thought she would need to get her by for awhile.
"I’ll run and get these," she said after finishing the list.
"We should go together," the old man said.
"Don’t you trust me?"
"Of course I do. I thought it would be safer to go together."
"I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t wait up," she said, smiling and giving the old man a wink.
"You have a nice smile. You should let people see it more often," the old man said.
"Thanks, see ya." She hurried out the door and was gone. The apartment grew instantly quiet. The old man sat down, glancing at the cherry wood clock hanging over the small table that sat next to the front door. Each swing of the pendulum elicited a tick that sliced through the silence, reminding the old man of how lonely his life had become. He really hadn’t noticed the quiet until Holly had been in the apartment. When she left, the silence welled up around him, consuming him in its completeness, reminding him that it hadn’t gone away, it had just been set aside for a time. He would sit in his favorite chair and wait for Holly to return.
End of Part Two
Part Two
The young woman changed her purse from her left shoulder to her right as she pondered the offer from the old man. It would be a real gamble to stay at his place. She wasn’t really worried about what he’d do, she could take care of herself in that regard, but what about Eddie? He’d kill her if he ever caught up to her. And then, there was the drugs. Could she really beat them? She walked a bit down the sidewalk, then returned to the bench.
"Room and board free," the old man explained. "But, you’d have to help keep the place clean." Then, as an after thought, he added, "And, you’ll have to either go to school or find a job, or maybe both."
"I never was too good at school," she said. "Or a job," she added.
"Now, you will be," the old man said, an encouraging smile on his face.
"Yeah, right,"she said. "I’d be crazy to do this."
"Maybe you’d be crazy not to."
She paced up and down the sidewalk, a few yards on each trip. At the end of each lap, she’d stop and look at the old man. He waited for her to make her decision, not wanting to upset her like before. She stopped in front of him.
"No strings," she said, a statement, not a question.
"No strings. You can leave anytime you want. You just have to get a job or go to school." Then he added. "And, you have to stop using drugs and stop working the streets."
"Yeah, I know that part," she stated. She paced a few more laps. This time she stopped about ten yards from the bench and looked back into the park behind the bench. She thought for quite awhile, moving her purse back and forth from shoulder to shoulder, then she would resume her pacing, working things out in her mind. The old man watched. She would stop and stare into the park, swaying back and forth as she pondered her future. She stopped pacing, looked over at the old man on the bench, and walked up to him.
"Ok, I’ll do it. But, no strings and I can come and go as I want. And no nagging from you."
"I won’t guarantee the no nagging part," he replied.
She mulled over that for a moment. "I can handle nagging, I guess. So, now what?"
"So now, we go to my...our place and we’ll get you moved in," he said, standing up. He was unusually spry for a man his age, standing without a lot of the stops and starts and grunts and groans of his friends.
"I can’t go back to Eddie’s to get any of my things. I know he’ll know something’s up and I’ll be in a whole world of hurt," she stated.
"So, we’ll get new things," the old man offered as he started walking down the sidewalk. He looked back. "Coming?"
She hesitated only a moment, then hurried to catch up with him, having a hard time running in the high heeled boots.
"What’s your name?"she asked, when she caught up with him.
"Paul, Paul Wojoinski," he answered.
"I’m Holly," she offered
"Nice to know you, Holly," the old man said, smiling.
"Yeah, well, it’s nice to know you too, Paul."
The two of them walked down the sidewalk, not saying much as they walked. She was heavy in thought, wondering if she had made the right decision, then deciding that, no matter what happened, she would always have the option of going back on the street. "How bad can it be?" she thought. Living with an old man, room and board paid. All she had to do was find a job or go to school and she would have it made. That sounded alright to her. Especially the part of not having to put up with the beatings from Eddie. She could go her whole life without those. Her feet began to get tired as they continued to walk at a good pace.
"How much farther is it?" she asked.
"You’re not going to start with the ‘are we there yet?’ are you?" he asked.
"No, it just that my feet are getting tired walking in these boots. They really aren’t made for walking, you know," she stated.
"Those boots aren’t made for walking?" he asked, smiling.
"No, they are not."she answered, emphatically.
"Well, they must not belong to Nancy Sinatra then," he said, a twinkle in his eye.
"What?"
He started to explain, then thought better of it. "Never mind, it’s just a vague reference from years ago," he said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand. "We’re almost there."
A few more blocks and they arrived at a brownstone walk up.
"Here we are, home sweet home," he said, looking up at the building. "Second floor."
They walked up the outside stairs and then into the building using his key.
"We’ll have to get you keys made," he explained.
They walked up to the second floor and opened the door. The old man waited for Holly to enter, motioning with his hand for her to go first. She wasn’t used to that. The bunch she ran with weren’t into being very gentlemanly.
"Thank you," she said, stepping into the apartment.
"Your room will be down here," the old man said, walking down a short hall to his right. "This is the bathroom," he said, indicating the room on his left as he passed the door.
"Only one?" she asked.
"How many do you need?" he asked.
"Just one, but, I mean, for the both of us?" she added.
"We’ll work out a schedule," he offered.
He opened a door at the end of the hall. "This is your room. I’ve kept it furnished for company, occasionally, I get some,"he added as an afterthought.
She walked past the old man and stepped into the room. It was about twelve feet square with a twin bed, two night stands on each side of the bed, a dresser on the wall at the foot of the bed, and a door where the closet must have been. A picture of a table of dogs playing cards was hung on the wall over the head of the bed, representing the only decorations in the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was clean and neat and she thought she could fix it up a bit.
"It is nice," she said, smiling.
"You’ll grow to like it."
"I like it, already,"she lied. Life would certainly be different here. Eddie’s place was posh and spacious, with expensive art hung throughout. And there were the drugs. Eddie always had drugs laying around, almost like candy. She would miss the drugs. But, that was behind her and she was determined to change things, to get clean and be free of Eddie.
"So, we should make a list of the things you need and get you situated," the old man said, pulling her back to the present situation. "Come into the kitchen and I’ll get a piece of paper and a pen."
They walked into the kitchen and the young woman sat at the small table sat against one wall. Across from the table was the stove and oven. A refrigerator sat to the right of the stove. The old man pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer and handed it to Holly.
"I have a pen around her somewhere," he said, digging through the drawer. "Maybe it is in the living room," he added. "I’ll be right back."
Holly sat at the table while the old man searched for a pen. She watched him as he headed off into the living room. He was taller than she was, making him about six foot or so and well built for an old man. He had fairly broad shoulders, with the thick waist old men sported, and a slight bow to his back, probably from years of heavy work. She thought he must have been nice looking when he was younger, maybe a real ladies man. But, she couldn’t really tell now, because of his age. She looked around the kitchen. It was small with little counter space and a single basin sink. The neatness of the place struck her. She always thought old people were messy, and smelly. The place was nice enough, but she was starting to have second thoughts about her decision to stay with the old man. Her life would be completely different here, none of the excitement, none of the parties, no drugs, no fun. What was she thinking!
"Here we go," the old man said as he stepped in the kitchen. "I knew I had one." He handed her the pen. "Now, you make a list of things you need, and we’ll get you fixed up." He smiled at her and she felt a legitimate warmth from his smile. "Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad," she thought, boring, but safe. But, was boring what she was looking for? She took the pen and wrote out a list of things she thought she would need to get her by for awhile.
"I’ll run and get these," she said after finishing the list.
"We should go together," the old man said.
"Don’t you trust me?"
"Of course I do. I thought it would be safer to go together."
"I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t wait up," she said, smiling and giving the old man a wink.
"You have a nice smile. You should let people see it more often," the old man said.
"Thanks, see ya." She hurried out the door and was gone. The apartment grew instantly quiet. The old man sat down, glancing at the cherry wood clock hanging over the small table that sat next to the front door. Each swing of the pendulum elicited a tick that sliced through the silence, reminding the old man of how lonely his life had become. He really hadn’t noticed the quiet until Holly had been in the apartment. When she left, the silence welled up around him, consuming him in its completeness, reminding him that it hadn’t gone away, it had just been set aside for a time. He would sit in his favorite chair and wait for Holly to return.
End of Part Two
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.
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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