Her Perfume Lingered

a fiction by John K. Adams

Everyone grieved Margaret’s death.

Mandy balked at calling her Margaret though. “Who is this Margaret? She always went by Dottie. That was how I always knew her, for decades. Suddenly, she’s Margaret? Did they even know her?”

Ivan, Dottie’s husband of over fifty years, was bigger than life. He had this old world, never say die, attitude, like a modern Zorba the Greek. If there was no way to do something, he just cut his own path. And dragged Dottie along, like it or not.

Ivan was never one to look back. Dottie would add, “Except to ensure I was keeping up, and had the snacks with me.”

Now, at the funeral, Ivan was declaring ‘Margaret was his guiding light.’

Dottie would have said, “Yeah, guiding light. You know, that thing you hang on the back of the caboose?”

Difficult as things were between them, and they were always difficult, Dottie wouldn’t leave Ivan. She couldn’t. Leaving was not in Dottie’s DNA.

It was complicated. She needed him. She couldn’t stand him. They had so much history. So much she couldn’t forget. Or forgive.

She tried. Dottie planned her escape, many times. But she never followed through. She called it her ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. They had built a life together. But if she left, who could she hold accountable? And there was plenty to account for.

Ivan’s old world view included the man’s birthright to fool around. He was very charming and flirted with waitresses without regard to how it made Dottie feel. Fluent in several languages, Ivan acted as if you didn’t understanding the words, you couldn’t possibly understand. He was like a toddler believing he is invisible because he pulled a blanket over his head. If Dottie called him on it, he would say he was just “being friendly.” It never meant anything – to him.

Dottie never had solid evidence Ivan did more than flirt. But she had plenty of suspicions. Rumors of his dancing at a club while Dottie was home with the babies. Young women knocking on their door, asking for Ivan, who had promised them a ride.

Then there were his untimely layoffs from work. It was never clear why, but again, rumors from HR about sexual harassment were hard to ignore. Dottie summed it up, “Where there’s smoke, someone gets fired.”

Ivan made a great show of cleanliness. He regularly inspected the house, running his white glove over the tops of door frames. Then he’d hold his smudged finger up as proof. She never could satisfy Ivan’s directives on how to iron his underwear.

Even after she got sick, Ivan would scold Dottie if the microwave wasn’t immaculate.

It could always have been worse. Ivan did the honorable thing and married her. But that issue became the core, around which every argument swirled. Though not mentioned for decades, her entrapment/his seduction was always in there, if you wanted to look. After everything she’d been through, Dottie couldn’t let go. And so she couldn’t leave.

Dottie let off steam with her best friend, Mandy. Dottie exercised her gallows humor fantasizing her ultimate escape with tragic death scenarios. She described accidentally drowning because her swimming suit gets caught on the bottom rung of the pool ladder. Or slipping on a banana peel and getting run over by the Good Humor truck. Electrocution by hair dryer when she forgets she is still in the shower. Being smothered by a flock of molting birds. Being crushed beneath a falling hot air balloon. A fatal accident for every occasion.

Mandy was not amused, which enhanced Dottie’s enjoyment.

“I can’t get behind all this ‘I’m ready to die’ nonsense. There’s no future in it.” Mandy refused to live in the past. And she was pretty fond of the present, no matter what was happening in her life. Mandy told Dottie they had a long future to look forward to, shopping for shoes. She told Dottie, “You sound like a character in an eighteenth century tragic romance novel. Camille, or a Dickens character.”

Dottie would smile at that.

Praying for death made no sense to Mandy. “Prayers like that are an affront to God.” Mandy couldn’t understand why Dottie didn’t just leave Ivan.

Dottie said, “I can’t. It’s like we have this symbiotic relationship and need each other, even though we are toxic to each other. Of course Ivan doesn’t see it that way. When we aren’t fighting, he adores me.”

Dottie and Mandy grew up together. When kids, they sat eating hot dogs and talked about roles and relationships. Mandy said she learned more from those sessions with Dottie, than she did at university. It was sad Dottie knew so much but wouldn’t act on her own behalf.

But Dottie didn’t see it that way. Being needed gave her purpose. It wasn’t perfect but she couldn’t deny the part of her which needed to be needed. How could she walk away from that?

All Mandy could say was she hated to see her friend unhappy.

“Being unhappy seems to be part of who I am,” Dottie said. “I’d be unhappy alone too.”

Then Dottie got sick. It was serious and the jokes weren’t funny anymore. Dottie was scared straight. She wanted to live. She fought and suffered through treatments that made her wonder how much she could take. Everyone told her how strong she was. She tried to joke, “I’m just incompetent. I finally get my wish and I’m flubbing my exit.”

Dottie was in the fight of her life. Years of screaming matches didn’t prepare her for this. Mandy saw unexpected changes in her friend. She softened and was vulnerable. Dottie learned to express her needs.

Ivan cared for her, day and night, like no one else could. They needed each other like never before. They were tender with each other. They fell in love once more. And they told each other so. Their last days together made up for their years of strife.

She signed on for experimental treatments. There was always hope. They prayed together. Some days were better than others. But the bad days were hellish.

And then, one day she was gone. Dottie was such an important part of so many lives. People couldn’t believe this rock in their lives had vanished. So many looked to her for strength and common sense.

One day, Ivan met Mandy for lunch. Mandy wanted to see how her old friend was holding up.

“I don’t know, Mandy. I miss her so much. She was everything to me. I needed her. I don’t know how much longer I can continue like this. I think I’d be better off following Dottie. I want to be with her.”

Mandy couldn’t believe what she heard. “Ivan. You were always the strong one. You can’t be serious about wanting to die.”

“She was my strength, Mandy. You know that. You remember that old song, ‘Driving Wheel’?”

“Jackson Browne.”

“Yeah, then you know what I’m talking about.”

That night, Dottie came to Mandy in a dream. It was so vivid. Dottie was so real. Mandy could smell her favorite perfume on her.

When Mandy told Dottie what Ivan said, Dottie grabbed her and said, “No! He can’t be serious, Mandy. I’m finally at peace. I’m free. I’m happy. I’m in Heaven now.” Dottie paused. “I don’t want him to die for me.” Then she gave Mandy a sly look, the meaning of which, only decades of friendship could convey. “I want him to live for me.”

Mandy awoke with a start. She looked for Dottie and then realized it was a dream. But that perfume still lingered.

Mandy called Ivan. She needed to tell him Dottie’s message.

Ivan answered and Mandy didn’t make small talk.

“Ivan, I just had the most vivid dream. Dottie came to me and I told her what you said.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And she gave me a message for you.”

“What did she say, Mandy?”

“Dottie told me to tell you, ‘Choose life!’”

 

 

When No One is Looking

Cruising along at a cool 100 mph, Brian was making good time. ’24 Hours from Tulsa’ played low on the radio. But Brian wasn’t going to Tulsa. Nowhere near it.

Brian wasn’t sure where he would end up, but Oklahoma wasn’t even on the list.

He was testing the system for long haul driving, learned from an old trucker friend. “Down a couple of those Black Beauties with a beer and go to sleep. In a couple hours, when you wake up, you’ll be really awake to hi-ball it out of there.”

It seemed to be working. He’d been driving for hours. Hadn’t stopped and didn’t intend to until he needed gas. Maybe not even then.

It was just him, the radio, and that steady hum of his Mustang engine harmonizing with the hum of his brain.

He had just come up with ‘Brian’s Law’. You’ve heard of Murphy’s Law. Well, Brian’s Law states, ‘Don’t swerve, even on a straight highway, at 100 miles per hour, even for armadillos.’ It was a simple choice between the sickening thump into your floorboards, like when you run over a football, or doing a flaming cartwheel down the highway and into the ditch.

“Who would even debate that,” Brian mused. The cartwheel might be spectacular but you only do it once.

There may be implications to this law, beyond the immediate fate of an armadillo. Armadillos may not even be the most important part of the law. This law may be a sub-corollary to one of Newton’s Laws of Motion. Brian was too busy, just now, to research that. He was trying to anticipate the trajectory needed to avoid random armadillos on this straight Texas highway. Despite his brain being in overdrive, Brian was currently working with a severe deficit of information and knew next to nothing about calculus.

He hadn’t seen another car for what seemed like hours. “Where am I? What time is it?” Brian did a short riff of the ‘Twilight Zone’ theme music.

Brian was also having a long running discussion with himself that ran in ever faster circles, with variations, like, “They’re after me. Are they after me? Who’s they? I don’t know. You know. Seems like everyone, lately. Maybe, except Evie. She barely asked me not to go. Because, she was glad to see me go. No surprise.”

‘Six Days on the Road’ was playing now. Why is there so much damned distance?

He didn’t want to leave. But Evie… Well, Evie. She sits at that unmoving pivot point on which the whole universe turns. All motion was relative in Evie’s universe.

And then Jimbo made himself pretty clear. Humor had long left the room when he said, “You mess with me, you will surely die.” Even though he was smiling when he said it, his voice was razor thin. Brian wasn’t convinced of the truth of that statement though. He told himself, “I will not surely die.” But he was pretty sure Jimbo believed it. The jury was out and left no forwarding address.

Anyway, at the rate he was traveling, in six days he could probably make it to Alaska and back. Not that Alaska held any interest for him. But it would put some distance between him and Jimbo’s threats to his well-being. Not that Alaska doesn’t have its own brand of Jimbos.

“Do not pass Go. And do not, under any circumstances, collect $200.” Brian considered getting a tattoo saying that. It would take considerable time to read everything he thought of inscribing on himself. But he never got around to it. The poor ink jockey would be half way through and Brian would change his mind on the wording or the font or, oh, I don’t know. So Brian remained a blank slate, at least in regards to tattoos.

“So, are you driving away? Or driving toward? You’re in a hurry. To die? To live? But where are you going? How will you know when you get there?” That was an alternate litany that came around on rotation every few minutes. And Brian was getting tired of that tune.

Brian tried to shake it off. He sang, “Oh, Lord, give me a sign.” The highway continued, long and straight and dark. No lights anywhere. Where is everyone? It was warm and humid. Brian felt the air, blanket thick. He could see the wake, lit by his tail lights in the rearview mirror.

Then he saw it, about a mile off. It glowed red and looked suspended between Heaven and earth. A stop sign.

A stop sign? This isn’t what Brian had in mind. “Not a stop sign!”

Stop? For what? There’s nothing out here. No traffic. Has anyone even used this road before? There’s nothing but crops. What does anyone even grow in this God forsaken countryside?”

“I’m not stopping. No one can stop me. You can‘t make me stop. You want me to just stop? For no reason? You can’t stop me with a sign. There’s no one around.”

Brian gripped the wheel in determination. His teeth clenched.

“Just who am I answering to? What? The Mayor appoints a public works engineer, who assigns (a-signs!) his brother-in-law to install these things. He’s just storing this in case he needs it for an emergency stop. ‘Go out to the intersection of Donkey Squat Boulevard and Nowhere Street. We need that sign, toot sweet.’ I have to stop because he had no place to store it?”

Brian felt at one with his engine. His voice matched the rising rpms.

“Who would care if I didn’t stop? Who would know? What if a fire truck screams by just as I enter the intersection? Or an Easter Parade? A kid on a tricycle? Nobody but me and the devil. And the devil ain’t stopping. Neither am I. No future in stopping. Jam on through. No one in sight.”

The sign got closer.

“Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads. Is this that crossroads?  No stop sign there, I bet. Stop that bottle, said the stopper. Stop ‘til you drop. This is stop sign Russian roulette. Stop the world. I wanna get off. Can stop on a dime, I want to. Would it have stopped Evie? Not likely. She’s unstoppable.”

The sign did not waver.

“Is stopping an admission of failure? Or a new beginning? If we never stop, can we ever start? Nothing really ever stops. Even when stopped, everything incessantly quivers with energy. Perception is everything. A pendulum stops sixty times per minute. It is only by movie film stopping twenty-four times per second that the illusion of greater motion is created. Breaking: man arrested for lack of rest.”

Brian could read the letters on the sign. S.T.O.P. He slipped into neutral. Just the sound of wind and tires on rough pavement with the low throb of his idling engine as counterpoint.

“I’ll just coast from here to the coaster. The California roll, not just sushi anymore.”

He downshifted and the engine revved loudly. The sign approached. Brake.

The Mustang hit gravel and lost traction. Brian pumped the brakes and held his course. The car crunched and halted as he came abreast of the sign. The impassive, red command, peppered with bullet holes.

A moth flew by, glowing incandescent in the Mustang’s headlights. The erratic trails it left looked like a signature. But whose?

Brian was alone in the vast darkness, surrounded by the oasis created by his headlights. A small pool, with the sign and himself its only occupants.

Brian trembled. How many hours since he’d just sat? “Tell me. How did the balance of the universe shift when that little messenger danced away, rather than becoming just another windshield splat?”

“I just saved your life,” Brian called after the moth. The cicadas sang their chorus. The engine idled a rumbling bass line. “Okay. I stopped. Happy now? What was all the excitement about? Can I go now?”

Through the gloom, Brian’s eyes adjusted and saw the road did not continue through the intersection, but formed a ‘T’. A rusted hulk was partially visible, down in the ditch beyond the road. To continue, he needed to turn to the left or right.

“Perhaps your message has already been received.” Brian called out the window, “Thanks, buddy!”

Brian put the Mustang into first gear. He eased into the intersection and pulled a U-turn, wheels fishtailing in the gravel as he headed back the way he came.

New Year’s at the Blue Coyote

Dan drove by the Bull & Bunyan Brewing Company. The micro-brewery was closing and its customers were gathered on the sidewalk or making their way to vehicles. Through the big window, he could see the large mural of Paul Bunyan and Babe, the blue ox, toasting each other with gargantuan mugs of frothy beer.

Dan thought to himself, “Welcome to Hipsterville…” He had a small financial interest in the micro-brewery, more for a hobby than as an income mainstay. It was nice to see it thriving though. And, he was happy those in charge didn’t appear to need his assistance tonight.

A police car idled half a block away. Plumes of exhaust from its tail pipe hung in the air.

Dan parked his truck and walked to the entrance of the Blue Coyote Burgers. Reminiscent of the dancing Kokopelli god, a trickster coyote, in blue neon, frolicked overhead while holding a gigantic hamburger. A cluster of smokers puffed or vaped their own cloud, outside the doorway. The crowd was growing by the minute. Quarter after midnight, light snow was falling.

Dressed in sweats and an old parka, Dan stood out amidst the party goers, gathered for their first meal of the New Year and to extend the revelry as long as possible. He was obviously there only for the food.

Several people greeted him with nods or raised flasks. Dan was well known in town.

He got in the order line behind a man, also out of place. He was obviously not a local. In this weather, the stranger’s tailored jacket and loafers made as much sense as a Ferrari in a demolition derby.

The stranger looked about, seeing things fresh. His gaze lighted on Dan and his face became a big smile.

“Dan? Excuse me. Are you Dan Jensen?”

The man looked familiar but Dan couldn’t place him. “Yes, I’m Dan. And you…?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“Oh, my God! Eddie Arntsen! What’s it been? Ten, twenty years?”

“At least. I’m in town for the holidays.” Eddie extended his arms. “Lots of changes!”

“Yeah. Some locals took over a failed franchise and juiced it up. The town was dying and then some new blood came in. Did you check out the Bunyan and Bull?”

“A micro-brewery in place of the old Astro Theater? I’m glad they kept the naked goddesses flying around the ceiling.”

“Sexy constellations. Gotta respect our classical heritage, after all.”

They laughed. The line moved forward and Dan clapped Eddie on the back.

“What’re you up for? I’m buying.”

“Let’s see… what’s a California burger?”

“You know. Burger, lettuce, tomato…”

“That makes it a California?”

“It is the traditional recipe in lieu of a salad. Gotta get your veggies.”

“But no avocado?”

“You crazy left-coasters will stop at nothing. Where will it end?”

“But they have avocado toast.”

“Does anyone really eat that stuff?”

“Gotta get with the times, my friend.” They stepped up to the cashier. “Oh… I’ll ring in the new year with a double California. And a large coke.”

Dan ordered the same with a large fries. He paid and they found a table. When the food arrived, Eddie pulled his ‘sneaky drinker’ flask out and fortified their cokes with rum.

Biting into his burger, Eddie groaned with pleasure. “You’re right. Nothing like a California burger. This is great!”

Having grown up together, they caught up on the essentials in the verbal short hand common to old friends. Long ago, Eddie escaped the old home town to hit the big time in Los Angeles.

“What’s a line producer? In brief, we babysit the production, eyes on the ground, so the investors actually get a movie delivered to them. Keep all the money from flying up someone’s nose.”

Eddie waxed eloquent about his tax deductible travels to twenty-three countries sandwiched between his two divorces. A life of never-look-back adventure. And, being a recognized expert in his niche, Eddie was proud of his ‘small contribution to the nation’s cultural well-being’. He’s writing off this trip, doing some location scouting for a project up, outside of Duluth.

Dan never left town. Not even the house he grew up in. In high school, he helped in his Dad’s hardware store and took the helm when Dan Sr. wanted a permanent fishing holiday.

“We tried expanding. But when the economy shrank, we cut our losses. The home store has never done better, though. And we added self-storage units in the lot next to us.”

A moment’s lapse in the conversation betrayed Eddie’s distraction. Dan raised his coke in a toast. “Listen to us old math whizzes, talking shop. Here’s to a prosperous new year, for us both.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Eddie looked around, eyes darting.

“College kids,” Dan observed. “The college is a magnet for them, from all over. The town’s actually grown. I’m not cramping your style, am I?”

“No. Sorry. You ever see any of the old crowd?”

“They’re around. Mostly home tonight, with family and all, I expect. The serious drinkers were at Shorty’s tonight.”

“You’re kidding. Shorty’s is still open? Was that place decrepit when we were kids? Or was it just the drunks who hung out there?”

“It hasn’t changed. Only our esteemed peers are its denizens nowadays. I think some of them have grown roots. Booley inherited his Dad’s stool. Remember Booley?”

“That doofus… You remember exploring down at the train yard? What a hoot.”

“The derelict refrigerators?”

“There must have been thirty of them. We were lucky those monsters didn’t roll down on top of us.”

“Post war construction. They weighed a ton. Probably only ten of them, but…”

“Yeah. We let what’s his name out. He got locked in one of them?”

“Jimmy.”

“Yeah, Jimmy! What ever happened to him?”

“You were around… He died.”

“Ohhh, right. That was terrible.”

“No surprise, when you think about it.”

“You’re right. If it wasn’t one thing…”

“He was a walking heart attack, my Dad used to say.”

“What happened to his sister?”

“Janey?”

“My first love. She was sweet.”

“Still is. We’ve been married now, what, twenty-three years.”

“You married Janey? You gotta be kidding! You?”

Dan raised his coke. “Me and Janey.”

“You stole her away from me.”

“I think she’d say she chose me.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Maybe if you hadn’t left town, my friend…” Dan smiled at Eddie’s drifting attention. “Where do you live in L.A?”

Eddie focused, “Got a small place in Malibu. Nice view. Pool.”

“Must be hot and cold, running bikinis?”

“Yeah, well… I’m hardly there. You’ll have to come out and party.”

“We’ve been talking about taking a trip. Maybe visit our daughter near Chicago.”

“How many kids?”

“Two. A grandkid is due in March.”

Eddie offered to freshen Dan’s drink but Dan waved him off.

“Come on, Dan. You bought dinner.”

“Just a splash, then.” Dan watched Eddie do the honors and then raised his hand. “That’s good. No point in a dry toast.”

They raised their drinks once more, and drank.

The crowd was winding down. Eddie wiped his mouth with finality and crushed all the greasy papers into a ball. “It looks like you’ve done alright for yourself, Dan. You did the whole Norman Rockwell thing, to a tee.”

Dan chuckled at Eddie’s summing of his life. “I don’t remember it being all cute caricatures. But if I had to live inside a cartoon, Rockwell was one of the best. I’d pick that over Plato’s cave…”

“Plato’s cave?”

“You know, staring at a wall?”

“Oh, right! I thought you were talking about a club, in Frisco, I went to once.”

“Since you’re in town, you’ll have to come to dinner. Janey would love to see you.”

“Actually, sorry, I’m outta here tomorrow. Business.”

“No problem. Where are you staying?”

“My sister’s. She gave me her couch for the week. I think she’ll be happy when I clear out.”

“Say hello. Pam right? She comes into the store once in a while.”

“I will.” Eddie fumbled with his wallet. “Here’s my card. Let me know when you come out to the coast.”

Dan looked at the card and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.”

“Be sure to give me some notice, though. I never know when I’m on a plane somewhere.”

“Of course. You never get tired, living out of a suitcase?”

Eddie shrugged indifference.

They looked at each other. It was time to go. Dan followed Eddie out. It was snowing hard now. Dan’s truck was white with it.

“You walking? Can I drop you?”

“No. I’m just around the corner. Haven’t seen snow in a while. Not the real stuff.”

They shook hands. Eddie initiated a fist bump. “Happy New Year, bro.” Eddie turned and walked into the swirling night.

Dan watched his old friend for a few moments, until a blast of wind hit his face. He pulled his coat close and turned to open his truck.

Looking into the sky, Dan caught a snowflake and touched his tongue to it. He smiled. “Still tastes the same.”

‘Relationships’ – a review

To read an in depth and compassionate examination of the state of the full spectrum of human relationships in the 21^st century, which is also accessible, is a welcome surprise.

To read how the Christian/Jewish testaments reflect God’s purpose and intentions for those relationships, is unprecedented in my experience.

Pastor Joshua Hershey’s multi-faceted study, spanning marriage, sexual relationships, divorce and remarriage, singleness and friendship, exceeded my expectations in its depth and scope. And also for its warm tone and readability.

Pastor Hershey makes his case by drawing not only from scripture, but from classic world literature and current events and up to date scientific research. His sound scholarship unlocks many secrets. But the book is written from the heart.

Writing with an eye to our present circumstances, Pastor Hershey delves into how, so called, ‘social media’ actually isolates us. And he exposes the popular, contemporary ‘hookup’ culture of shallow intimacy as a mirage in the face of scientific research on human biology, which supports the Biblical standard.

‘Relationships’ explores the many facets of human relationship. But it also reveals God’s integral participation in each of those human interactions. It was quite a revelation, to be reminded that God, not only approves of divorce under certain circumstances, but He, at one time, divorced Himself from the nation of Israel for their unfaithfulness to Him.

Throughout the book ‘Relationships,’ Joshua Hershey makes a case that anyone rejecting divine love does so out of self-loathing. Who, after all, would reject nurturing, sustaining love, but one feeling unworthy? Self-delusion keeps them from realizing worthiness is not a requirement for participation in this divine relationship.

I didn’t want it to end – this love letter to God. The book does end, but not before pointing to a truly unending love.

Whatever the state of your human relationships, this book will cast a spiritual light on them. It will also provide a context for deeper understanding of them via our relationship with God. And of how God influences our relationships with each other.

‘Relationships’ by Joshua Hershey is available on Amazon.

Not Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Dark of Mood

a fiction by John K. Adams

Jeff pulled the mail truck into the deserted lot at the park and sighed. He looked out the windshield at the snow covered playground. The pond was frozen now, but probably not yet solid enough to skate on. A stone bridge arched over the little stream. He remembered catching tadpoles there, as a kid.

He unwrapped his lunch and started to eat. His co-worker, Billy, pulled into the space next to him. Billy got out of his vehicle and joined Jeff.

“You’re late,” said Jeff with mock authority.

“Yeah, I know. This job is driving me crazy.”

“So, it’s the job? I thought…”

“Yeah, I know. You think I’m just crazy.”

“Not really. Just kidding. But, you know…”

Billy rummaged through his sack and pulled out a fry. “God, that’s good.”

“Nothing like a french fry to put a little sunshine into one’s life.”

“If only it were that easy.”

They ate in silence. Jeff watched as some ducks landed on the icy pond. “Look at those ducks. They’re wondering what happened to all the water.”

Billy grunted. The ducks marched around a bit and then took off.

Jeff wiped his mouth and crushed his lunch bag into a tight ball. “You ever notice the stream over by the bridge?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know why it doesn’t freeze over?”

“It doesn’t? I guess running water doesn’t freeze.”

“But isn’t it just as cold as the pond, which does freeze?”

“What did I just tell you?”

“But it runs all winter. Even when the pond is frozen solid.”

“Jeff, I’m trying to eat my lunch, here.”

“It’s a spring.”

“How does a spring work, again?”

“The water comes from underground so it’s warmer.”

“I get it. So the earth sprung a leak.”

“Something like that.”

“Someone needs to jam a cork into it. Stop it up. We’re taking on water, Captain! We’re sinking fast!”

“I lay awake nights, worrying about it.”

“Can I finish my lunch now? I have to get back to this stupid job in a minute.”

“Sure.”

Billy polished off the fries and started in on his double burger. He ate methodically and mechanically. He didn’t seem to chew, but took bite after bite, ‘til it was gone. For some reason, an image of Pacman popped into Jeff’s head. He hoped he never had to compete with Billy in a pie eating contest.

Billy stuffed the greasy papers back into the sack.

Jeff asked, “Did Smitty talk to you about the overtime?”

“Yeah. Another reason for Christmas cheer. I cannot believe they want us to work extra hours for straight time.”

“He said the union was cool with it.”

“How can that be? That goes against everything.”

“They claimed it was the budget. Said if they didn’t play ball, there’d be lay-offs.”

“It’s criminal…”

“It’ll work out. They’ll call it a bonus.”

“All my overtime goes to taxes anyway.”

“So, you get a refund.”

“No. I want it all up front. No loans to Uncle Sam. He just wastes it. Let him try and get it from me.”

“You owe money at tax time?”

“I claim twenty-five deductions. Max it out.”

“I like to get a refund.”

“You’re just lending the government money, interest free. I want what’s coming to me.”

“I’m sure someone will be happy to give that to you.”

Billy gave Jeff a look and then shook his head and laughed.

“You ever read the mail?”

Jeff was incredulous. “You mean my route mail?”

“I figured you read your own.”

“I barely have time to read my own. I’m too busy to read others’. Do you?”

“Well, post cards. They’re pretty public.”

“If you’re a mailman, I guess.”

“They’re pretty boring. ‘Wish you were here.’ ‘Miss you.’ Stupid stuff.”

“You’ll have to tell them to punch up their personal communications for your reading pleasure.”

“Sometimes I just want to take the whole load of trash and dump it in a ditch.”

“The mail?”

“Don’t you ever get sick of stuffing the same junk and circulars into mailboxes, day in, day out?”

“Well…”

“It’s such a useless occupation.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“It’s all junk. Nobody writes letters anymore.”

“But now it’s Christmas and everyone is getting in touch with their old friends…”

“Yeah, by email.”

“Hallmark has fallen on hard times…”

“I mean, who even buys stamps anymore? I’m going to get a chip implanted right here.” Billy pointed to his head, just behind his ear. “… And communicate directly with my friends. Stamps are so primitive… You know they used to lick them?”

“Just stay away from power lines. You don’t want your chip to start transmitting your innermost thoughts to Martians.”

“Or the NSA. I don’t want them listening in.”

“They probably have bigger concerns than what goes on in your little brain.”

“That’s cause they don’t know about me… Yet.”

“You’re not planning on going ‘postal’ on me, are you?”

“Not on you, Jeff. You’re cool.”

Jeff looked at him. Billy returned the look and then made a bug-eyed face.

“Boo! Not on anyone, Jeff. You the only one who can kid?”

“Just checking.”

“I know, ‘See something, freak the hell out.’”

“I’m hardly freaking out.”

“Makes me feel better. I’d hate to have to taze you.”

Jeff looked at the pond again. He wondered how far he could get before he fell through. Maybe that wouldn’t be the best escape route.

“Christmas gets on my nerves. People decorate their mailboxes and all. Who cares?”

“It’s not really a big deal.”

“Are you kidding? The job is hard enough without having to get past all the ‘cute’ décor. I can deal with a few elves and such. But this one house… the mail box was monstrous.”

“You mean for Halloween?”

“I’m talking Christmas, Jeff. Focus.”

“Christmas monsters? Never saw that.”

“It was a Bambizilla or a reindeer or something. With the mailbox for a mouth. I thought it was going to bite me.”

“I can live without the dogs.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on dogs. And it’s always some pit bull or equivalent.”

“Vicious.”

“Has no one informed them these things are killers? Wolves run from them.”

“Imagine trying to sleep in the house with one of those.”

“That reminds me. Does the Postal Service have a policy about concealed carry?”

“My guess is they frown on it.”

“Even for self-protection?”

“You thinkin’ of quitting, Billy?”

Billy looked at Jeff with a look that could have been read ten different ways.

Jeff pressed on, “You quit, how you going to pay for your next tattoo?”

Billy laughed. “I’m taking a break from tats. Saving up for my chip.”

Jeff thought for a minute. It was time to get back to his route.

“You don’t really dump your mail, do you?”

“You mean it never crossed your mind? Get serious.”

“I took the job. People count on getting their mail, Billy. They need their mail. It’s hard work but it doesn’t take a genius to accomplish it. If I can’t do it, I’ll quit.”

Billy echoed Jeff, “’People count on getting their mail, Billy…’ I’ll try to remember that, Pastor Jeff. Thanks. I needed that.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “You done with your lunch? I’ve gotta get back.”

“Ride on… Ride on.” Billy jumped down and waved Jeff back.

It was starting to snow. As Jeff pulled out of the lot, he saw steam rising from the stream.