by Rich Garon
“We did have fun in that fort. Good night Reid.”
The old truck pulled away. Reid’s room over the Tammery Inn wasn’t too far away; close in fact to where he lived when he and Lee were in junior high. Lee’s house then was way across town. The only time they rode the same school bus was after football practice. Damn, Lee was good, Reid thought to himself. Even the coaches said they had never seen anyone in the sixth grade kick a football like that.
It took Lee about a half hour to walk from his house to church. I don’t know how I forgot to tell Reid that I have a nice blazer, tie, dress pants and well, I’ve had these loafers for a long time, but I can get them shined up good, Lee thought to himself as he approached the church parking lot.
“Good morning, Lee,” said Mr. Cantoli, one of the greeters handing out church bulletins at the door. John Cantoli had a crisp Windsor knot in his tie, trousers with a razor-edge crease, and sturdy tie shoes with a buffed polish. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Mr. Cantoli said, his perfectly shaved jowls drooping a bit over the collar of his white starched shirt as he looked down and placed a bulletin into Lee’s hands.
“Yes, it is a beautiful morning, Mr. Cantoli.” Mr. Cantoli was the first thing about church that morning that made Lee happy. The second was sitting down in the pew. For while he loved to walk and had the stamina and carriage of a natural athlete, that hard wooden bench was always welcome after what was a two-mile walk.
By this time, Mr. Cantoli was at work on other parishioners, much like the man who first gets your car ready to go through the car wash. One Sunday, Lee thought how being in church: getting met by the greeter, going to your seat, reading scripture, walking up and back to get communion, and then walking out of the church and shaking hands with the priest was like going through God’s car wash. He always felt cleaner when he came out of church, but there were always some things, just like at the regular car wash, that the process missed; things that never really got cleaned.
Rev. Warren Taylor read the Gospel and then asked everyone to be seated. He wasn’t a big man, but his combed-back red hair made him seem taller and when he got excited and started to raise both arms, the draping sleeves of his vestment gave him the look of a large bird heading through the roof. Sometimes Rev. Taylor had a way of explaining complicated things so that Lee understood them; just like on those nights at home five years ago. Lee didn’t understand why his mother and father didn’t love each other anymore, why his mother said she would be leaving, and why he and his father would be moving to a small house his father kept calling a bungalow on the other side of town. “Son,” Rev. Taylor had told him again. “God works in mysterious ways.” Sometimes moms and dads can’t make things work no matter how much they try. The accident, and well, the bad affect it had on you and what you can and can’t do has been tough for them. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you anymore. It’s just something they can’t work out together. They might be able to after a while, but not right now. God will be with you, Lee. When we look back at all this, you’ll see it was for the better.”
Lee understood that a mystery was something he couldn’t understand. And if the accident had changed him from the boy in the photos and videos his parents had shown him every night until they would stop and yell at each other, then that was okay with him. God, the God that Rev. Taylor described, had his reasons. There was nothing Lee could do to become the boy his mother and father had cried for each night; the boy he could hardly remember. Lee lived in God’s mystery and felt safe there. He didn’t know why his parents couldn’t join him.
Lee doubted that his parents would ever get back together; but he had to admit that home had become much better without his mom and dad’s constant fighting. He thought he would turn out all right, and once Reid found him a good job, well, everything would be fine. Maybe his father would be nicer to him.
Rev. Taylor shifted from one foot to the other as he stood in the center of the altar. One never knew if he were going to start his sermon by speaking softly or by raising his voice and asking the congregation a question that he would begin to answer.
“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Rev. Taylor said as he let his forefinger dance from one side of the congregation to the other. And then the rocket blasted off. “Our Gospel asks us whom we honor more; our mother and father or God? Whom do you honor more, your parents or God?” The preacher’s searching gaze, like the final slot on a spinning wheel of fortune at a carnival, landed on Lee’s pew. “Whom do you think you should honor more?”
That was one bad thing about Rev. Taylor, sometimes he asked too many questions all in a row about things that Lee thought otherwise had easy answers. But there was no mistaking the important tone carrying these interrogatories.
Lee learned about the Pharisees in Sunday school back when he and his mother and father and his sister, Ellie, went to church together. It was his mother that got everyone out of the house on Sunday morning. His father didn’t see why they had to go every Sunday and sometimes complained to his mother that he needed to “unwind a little;” that he knew God would understand. Lee’s father went to church every day for several months after the accident, Ellie said. Then he stopped going altogether when the doctors became unanimous in their prognosis for Lee. “They said we’re going to have to be very patient with you,” Ellie told her brother, “that you would be slower to pick things up now, that your emotions and your ability to concentrate and to communicate were affected by what you went through during the crash.” Lee wasn’t sure if his mother still went to church after she moved out. Ellie and her husband went only on holidays, and Rev. Taylor hadn’t seen Lee’s father in a long time.
Lee didn’t like the Pharisees and he knew that Jesus always could twist them up in riddles just when the Pharisees thought they had finally stumped Jesus. Rev. Taylor had left Lee that morning in the dust of confusing thoughts and revelations about what Jesus was saying. Maybe someday, I’ll understand what Rev. Taylor is talking about. All I know, Lee told himself, is that I think Jesus loves me and has been good to me. I think Jesus would let me love God and my mother and father. I can’t choose.
Lee returned the small smiles and “good mornings” to the congregants he had known since his mother held his hand while he stood in the coffee line. Back then, amidst the buzzing echoes in the fellowship hall, he thought of it only as the juice and donut line. Now, he liked standing by the old upright piano near the window as he ate his donut and drank his juice. Sometimes other people would use the piano to hold their donuts as they drank their coffee or juice, then they would set down their cups and eat their donuts. Lee and Mrs. Plennington were regulars.
Audrey Plennington’s blond hair was cut sharply in a 1970s style she must have thought would make a comeback. She had been one of his mother’s closest friends and spent a lot of time at his home before his mother finally left. She would alternately embrace his mother, his sister and him during a time when there was a lot of crying in the house. He never forgot the smell of her perfume and her hair spray or how smooth her dress felt as she held him. Sometimes he thought one of the reasons he came to church was because Mrs. Plennington always hugged him. She spoke from experience about the questions Lee’s mother would ask her about divorce. It hit Audrey Plennington hard that day her husband said he was leaving. It was a year before she wore any make-up, she said, and she had been a model since she was ten. She recovered, at least that’s what she told Lee, and couldn’t be any happier now that she owned the Fitness Fling Spa in the mall near where Lee used to live.
As Mrs. Plennington put her arms around him the perfume sprung from her clothes. She was as tall as Lee, and looking at her from the back, it was hard to tell she was as old as his mother. She drew back and patted his stomach. “Lee, are you sure you’re eating? Look at you, you’re getting too thin.”
“Yes, Mrs. Plennington. I have a Hungry Man dinner every night, milk, and sometimes, if my dad has left any, a Little Debbie’s apple bar. Someti
mes, when he is home for dinner, we will share two different Hungry Man dinners, kind of like getting Chinese food and I will have some of yours and you will have some of mine.”
She looked at him with a physician’s eye that sought more information about a patient. “Are you eating breakfast, and lunch?”
“Yes, every day, I keep track of those things every day. Breakfast is jelly and butter on a piece of toast, and coffee. And lunch is peanut butter and crackers and milk and I know I need my fruit, so twice a week I have an apple after I have my peanut butter and crackers and milk.”
She looked at him as she started taking off her coat. “I don’t like the sound of that; you might have to start eating with me. That’s not a proper diet. Maybe you should come over to the spa and have lunch with me, we’ll have to see what we can work out. Are you still walking like you used to?”
Lee smiled proudly. “It is even better than I used to. I always walk four miles every day, even if it is raining. And some days, before I even realize it, I walk eight miles. I measured these distances when I am in Reid’s truck. He reads his odometer and calls off the miles to me from the places where I walk. But I have special rules if it is snowing. If the ruler measures more than four inches of snow on the front steps, I do not walk that day. I wish I could, but I do not. I fell too many times when I did.”
“That sounds like a good system, Lee, exercise is very important. Look at me, I exercise and diet very scientifically. Don’t you think I look twenty years younger than I am?” as she motioned her hands to accent those parts of her body she had sworn in as witnesses.
His “yes” came involuntarily.
She smiled, but her lips knew how far they could go so as not to disrupt the ecology of a face whose lines were practiced at not revealing the identity their years had given them. “Yes, scientific diet and exercise can do that” as she smiled approvingly to her student. She changed gears quickly. “Lee, I have the best news for you. You’re still looking for a job, aren’t you?”
“Well, I had one, Reid got it for us. But I think we got fired because I could not sort the circulars fast enough. So, you are right, I am looking for a job.”
“Another string bean; hasn’t your father and sister, and haven’t I told you about Reid. He’s worthless, a bum; those sloppy clothes and that cat’s tail hanging off his chin. You think you’ll ever amount to much hanging around him?”
“I am not sure what I am going to amount to. But, you see, no one knows Reid like I do. He has always tried to help me.”
“Oh Lee, you can do very well without his help. Forget him for now. Look, what I’m trying to tell you is I found you a job, not permanent, but four, five months something like that. Mrs. Calvert is a regular at my fitness club. She’s a very nice lady and her husband, Dan Calvert, is running for town council. That’s a big position Lee, representing a whole part of the town. Anyway, they’re looking for someone to hand out their campaign material, you know, go door-to-door and hand out things and tell people why Mr. Calvert is the best candidate. I told her I knew just the person for the job. I know you love to walk and you’re very polite and you’ll have a card with you to tell you what to say. The pay is only five dollars an hour; but it will be like getting paid for doing your walking.”
Lee sucked in part of the skin on the side of his face as he often did when he was making an important decision. “I like that idea, Mrs. Plennington. I like that idea a lot. Can Reid have a job like that too?”
“Lee, I told you to forget about Reid. I’m going to call Mrs. Calvert and tell her you would love to work for her husband.” She handed him her coat and then slid her arms into the sleeves.
“Good morning Audrey, Lee,” Rev. Taylor said softly as he walked by. He didn’t have a back-slapping “Good Morning, how you doing buddy?” No, more as if he were out for a stroll and on the lookout for troubled sheep. He had a sermon voice that spoke to the whole congregation and another, softer one, when he spoke one-on-one to a member of his flock.
“Good morning Warren,” Mrs. Plennington called out. “Good sermon this morning, short and to the point.”
“Do you think my other sermons have been too long?” he asked concerned that he had found a sheep not understanding his sermons’ full import.
She blushed. “I love all your sermons, but today’s was just extra special.”
Lee said nothing, hoping the now seemingly-reassured Rev. Taylor wouldn’t look his way.
Mrs. Plennington’s smile followed the reverend who by now had stopped to take the measure of some other sheep. She snapped her head back and looked at Lee. “So, Hon, I will call you as soon as I talk to Mrs. Calvert. I’m sure Mr. Calvert will want to speak with you also. This is going to work; you’re a good worker and very polite and I think you’ll meet people and maybe someone will be so impressed they’ll give you a regular job when this is all over.”
“Thank you Mrs. Plennington, I think I can do a good job too. You have always been very nice to me.” He wondered if he should tell her about the forty dollars his mother sent him every month. A shiver went through him just at the thought. No, if Mrs. Plennington knew, she might think he didn’t need the job with Mr. Calvert’s campaign.
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. He would pat at his jacket on the walk home. Sometimes, he could pat the scent of Mrs. Plennington’s perfume off his jacket for several days.
He went to bed early that night. He knew it was important to get a good night’s sleep. He wanted to be up and dressed in the morning earlier than usual just in case Mrs. Plennington called. His father had fallen asleep in the over-stuffed LA-Z-Boy that took up half the living room. Lee heard the spring creek and the footrest hit the bottom of the chair. His father was awake, would be shuffling off to the bathroom, and then to bed.
The angry man at the door was gone; the man who yelled out that he knew Mr. Calvert and was going to call him right away. As soon as he realized it had been a dream, Lee sat up and leaned against the headboard. He looked at the clock. If he fell asleep right now, at most he would only get three hours of sleep before it was time to get up. He hoped Mrs. Plennington didn’t call today. He would be too nervous to meet Mr. Calvert. The man at the door returned. Why, he asked, was Lee bothering them with all this talk about Dan Calvert? The man said he would call Mr. Calvert if Lee didn’t stop. The man’s wife started yelling at Lee. They were going to ask Mr. Calvert how he could ever hire someone like this boy. This boy was making people start to dislike Mr. Calvert. Everyone was starting to dislike Mr. Calvert so much that they were not going to vote for him on election day. Lee’s eyes snapped open and a silent “no, please no” leapt from his throat. He got up and sat at the kitchen table for the rest of the night.
“What are you doing up so early?” Lee’s father asked. He looked at the Mr. Coffee. “You think you could have at least made the damn coffee.”
“I am sorry, Dad. I did not sleep good last night.”
“You know if you actually did some work and didn’t get up so damn late every morning, you’d be able to sleep at night. Did you ever think about that?”
Lee wondered why his father always asked him if he had ever thought about something. He thought about a lot of things, in fact, he thought about too many things and never had enough answers about all the things he would think about. His father never gave him answers that helped. He only doled out questions one after the other as if they were bills from the big wad of money the man in the ice cream truck had. But Lee found he could not buy anything with questions.
“Dad, it might make you happy to know that I could have a job real soon.”
“What, another one of those winners Reid Fletcher comes up with?
“No, this time I think it is going to be a good job. Mrs. Plennington is helping me.”
“Damn, that’s just what we need, more help from Audrey Plennington. Hasn’t she helped enough? Just about single-handedly drove your mother out of the house. What does Mrs. Plennington hav
e in mind for you this time, another job like the one at the county old folks’ hospital working the swill truck?”
“Dad, Mrs. Plennington did not drive Mom away. Mom was just, you know very upset. I think I made Mom upset. You know she said she would be back when she could understand what was happening to us.”
“Audrey Plennington gave your mother all those ideas. Don’t you ever forget who hung around to take care of you. And do I get any gratitude? Any thanks?”
“Dad, I know it was you. When I get this new job, I will have some money to help you with things around here.”
“What type of job is your good friend Mrs. Plennington getting for you?”
“I am going to go around and knock on people’s doors and ask them to vote for Mr. Calvert.”
“Who the hell is Mr. Calvert?” Jim Fitts asked as he lowered his head to look into the back of the refrigerator.
“He is running for town council and Mrs. Calvert goes to Mrs. Plennington’s fitness spa and she is going to ask Mrs. Calvert if I can have the job and Mrs. Plennington might call this morning, and that is why I was trying to get a good night’s sleep in case I had to see Mr. Calvert today about the job I might get with his campaign.”
“What a bunch of nonsense. You don’t even have the job yet with some politician who is probably some asshole phony. And you think you, of all people, are going to be able to go around and knock on people’s doors and talk a bunch of crap about some damn politician?”
“Dad, you do not know Mr. Calvert, why do you say he is like that?” Lee asked, knowing that when his father picked up his jacket and lunch bag it was time for the older Fitts to leave for work.