With today being Saturday, that means that I can have some free time to myself. I do know that I need to prepare tomorrow’s lesson for the rest of the staff to review. They always like it when they don’t have to prepare for the morning mass; or any mass service for that matter. I think I am going to be nice today and prepare lessons for all of next week. That sounds like a great idea. I have nothing else planned today. At least, I don’t think I have anything else planned today. What else did I want to do? I reach down to scratch my knee and I feel the seam protest against my girth again. Oops. I need to go to the alteration shop today, and then I need to buy more pants.
I should make a to-do list. I wobble over to the kitchen table, and sit down in my chair. I slide the legal pad of paper over to me, and grab a pen. On the first page, at the top, is a note I made already: Don’t forget to buy more pants. Well that’s good. I’m glad I remembered to put that on there. Now it is time to add to it. Pants: check. Next, I should probably add in the alteration shop to get this current pair fixed. Well, if I am going to do that, I need to change clothes. That means I can go put my sweat pants on! I’ll do that once I finish my list. I don’t want to get distracted. I think all that remains is to prep the lesson for tonight’s mass service. Fantastic! I can do that when I get home from running errands. Just to make sure I don’t forget it, I am going to underline that.
With the list done, I’m going to go put on some comfy clothes. Sweat pants here I come! In an excited rush, I get up from my chair, and turn to go back to my closet. My pants catch on a splinter that I didn’t see, and tear the hole from the opened seam all the way to the pocket. Oh no! I really hope the alteration lady doesn’t get too mad at me for that. I turn back to my list and write down sandpaper so I can fix my table. I slowly get up from the table and make my way to my closet.
I get undressed and change into my comfy outfit. One pair of grey sweatpants and one black sweatshirt is my recipe for clothes that don’t judge me. I hold up my freshly ripped pants in frustration. My 4XL sweats don’t have this problem! They give me the freedom to move when and how I want to without complaining. Sigh. If only the church attire would include sweats, I would be a very happy man. I think the rest of my congregation would be a lot happier too! They probably wouldn’t be so dreary looking like death is just around the corner.
I put my sweats on, and I breathe a sigh of relief. That feels so much better! Now it is off to complete my errand checklist. It shouldn't take too long since it is a short one. I think I will go to the department store first and pick up the sand paper. I want to save the alteration shop as my last stop. That way I can prolong the heckling for a little while longer. kI grab my list, grab my keys, and I walk out the door.
3
A New Hunger
I don't need much to be happy. I’ve lived my life. There is not much left for me. I was never married. I never had any children. Therefore, I had no need for anything extravagant like a big house or a fancy car. All I wanted was an apartment on the first floor with easy access to the parking lot, because I hate climbing stairs. I didn’t get my wish granted fully. All they had left at the time of the lease signing was a one bedroom one bath on the third floor. I try to avoid confrontation, so I agreed and signed the contract. The rent has gone up a few times, but never more than what my budget can handle. And I have been faithfully living at this same complex ever since I graduated from seminary.
I have to admit that my apartment complex is not the greatest and according to most it’s sad looking. There is a lot wrong with it, but it is home. There has been some maintenance done to it a few times, with very little overhauling done. Since living here, this particular complex has changed ownership four different times. Each time they have planned for major renovations, but only had the bare minimum accomplished for the tenants. However, if you go to the main office, it is like walking into the Roman Senate building in 70 A.D. as compared to the local markets that are scattered about just outside. I would say the only difference is that my local market has treacherous concrete stairs that lead down to the parking lot.
I lock my door, and turn to head down the stairs when a loud clap of thunder reminds me that it is still raining outside. I hang my head, because I knew I was forgetting something. I unlock my door and go back inside. Hanging on the back of the door is my poncho. How I missed it is beyond me right now. I remove it from the coat hook, and put it on. I have found that I much rather prefer a poncho to an umbrella, because I always have both hands free when I wear my poncho. I have had way too many unfortunate events occur with an umbrella. I would either drop what I was attempting to carry in the other hand, forget to close it upon going into a building, or sometimes the wind would take it away from me and smack some innocent bystander in the face. No more umbrellas for me.
I leave my market, I mean my apartment, lock the door, and I head to the stairs. I have to wait and take in the sounds of outside. There are the normal sounds of Saturday morning vehicles, and also those that are going for their morning run. Those are all normal outside sounds which are good. However, why anyone would be going for a run in a thunderstorm still leaves me puzzled. I wait a little longer, hoping that none of my neighbors are awake. I am extremely uncomfortable around them, and I try to avoid talking with them for longer than three seconds.
Across the way from me is a single mom with two kids. She works from home by constantly sending out letters and packages each week. While her kids are at school she has frequent male visitors; each one different than the next. Sometimes there are a few repeat visitors. Based on the length of each ones’ stay, it doesn’t take long to realize what her second source of income is. I send up a quick prayer for her every time I pass by her door.
The next floor down is two different drug dealers, selling two different kinds of product. I would have assumed that they would have moved in together by now, and shared in whatever kind of stuff they put in their bodies. I shudder just trying to imagine it. Their floor is my least favorite, because they always pester me when I try to leave or when I am coming back home. I can’t tell you how many times I have called the police in the past in order to complain about the smells that erupt from the floor below, or the noise, or the large parties. Each time the cops never show up. So, I stopped calling.
This of course leads me to my last neighbor on the bottom floor who just happens to be a police officer. He calls himself a stay at home dispatcher. He is constantly on his computer, his phone, but never have I seen a dispatcher radio of any kind. He claims that he was promoted from field duty to this position. Somehow, I get the feeling that he is lying to me. His whole appearance is very unsettling.
That just leaves the one apartment across the way from the so-called cop. It is vacant, and has been for years. Nobody rents it out. Every time I pass by, I feel very nervous and cautious. What really bothers me is that I know nobody lives there, and yet I hear the front door to that place open and close on a daily basis. I have asked the front office about it on several occasions about what can they do. The answer is always one of two responses: “sorry we don’t know of any residents there” or “please stop calling sir”. It sounds to me like they specialize in ignoring me.
With no sounds coming from any of my neighbors. A slow and shaky sigh of relief leaves my mouth. I head to the stairs and begin my decent. Since it is Saturday, it is always a guarantee that the kids across the hall are sound asleep, possibly the mother too. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard a single word from any of my neighbors. What time is it? I check my watch. It is 8:30 in the morning. That’s why. Well then, without further ado I need to get going.
I make it down to the second story, and still there is neither sign nor sound of anybody moving. That is until the air suddenly gets cold. My teeth are chattering, and my skin becomes all bumpy with gooseflesh. What in the world is going on? It’s supposed to be August right now, and yet it feels like it is mid-January! I briefly contemplate going back upstairs to go get my fleece jacket,
gloves, earmuffs, and scarf. However, I can quickly hear the ridicule already, I think better of it. That is when I hear the door below me on the first-floor open, and then slam shut violently.
What in Heaven’s name was that?
I cling to the hand rail as I peer over the side. I don’t see a single person, animal, or thing. There is no movement whatsoever. I slowly creep down the stairs as silently as possible, hoping to not be surprised by whatever so angrily left that apartment. I really hope it’s not like a wrestler or something. I watch those guys on TV and they are huge! I’m just a little guy, and would have no chance standing up to the likes of them. They could easily use me as a bowling ball and send me rolling down the parking lot only to watch me crash into bowling pins that are labeled Toyota, Nissan, Dodge, and Honda.
One step at a time, and as slowly as possible, is what I keep telling myself. Nice and slow, nice and slow. I make it halfway down the stairs, and the temperature is starting to come back to normal. It’s kind of like when I used to watch David Copperfield, the magician, when I was a boy. He used to do this one trick where he squeezed his whole body disappeared through some tiny pyramid looking thing on a table, and then as the dramatic music cued he would emerge from another pyramid on a table on the other side of the stage!
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I stand there looking at the door that slammed shut, since it’s adjacent to the stairwell. It appears to be just another normal door to me so, I shrug my shoulders and move on. I’m not going to worry about it right now. I have new pants to buy, and an alteration shop to go to. There was something else too. What was it? I pull my list out. Of course! I have to buy new pants, get some sandpaper, and then go to the alteration shop last. I really don’t want to go her shop. But that wasn’t it though. I’m still forgetting a step! Old reliable rumbles with displeasure. Food. I think I will make a mental note to stop somewhere for a snack before I turn my pants in. Eating always makes me happy, and that’s something I don’t need to write down because my tummy never forgets.
I make my way over to my car, the ever-reliable Geo Metro. It’s like a bubble on wheels. It never complains that I am a little on the fluffy side. As a matter of fact, I’ve had this car for a little over ten years now and I have never had any serious problems with it. I owe that to my extreme sense of anal retentiveness. Some say I’m too picky and that it’s overkill, but I say that getting its oil and filter changed every 2,500 miles is just showing the car that I love her. All of the other maintenance has occurred every time and on schedule.
I get in my car, start the engine, wait for things to warm up, and I pull away to start my journey. The rain has let up a little bit, which makes for easier vision on the road, but not necessarily safer since the roads are still very slick. It is ok, though; I count myself as the world’s safest driver. Other drivers may not agree with my personal law of driving 10 miles per hour under any speed limit, but I think that is a very reasonable speed to be traveling. For example, I have never received a single ticket. So, I choose to remain content. Another good reason that I drive that way is because I don’t want to live with the guilt should I hit anybody. I want to make sure I have enough reaction time.
All of these thoughts pass through my head as I’m making my way to my first stop on my list. The roads are fairly empty this time of morning, which is a good thing for me because I am not in the mood to hear all of that constant honking. And speaking of hearing, how about a little music? I turn the knob on the radio, turning past some of the static until I come to the first station that sounds clear enough. I throw up in my mouth a little bit, because it happens to be a country station. Next! The radio hisses a little while longer and then becomes clear again. A commercial is on; wonderful. I think I can wait through this one, because I don’t feel like changing the station again.
“Come down and visit for our All You Can Eat grand opening!” says the voice through the radio.
I listen closer. I love all you can eat buffets! Especially new ones that open up in town, those are my favorite since it is guaranteed freshness!
The commercial continues, “Located on the corner of 10th street and Ironhorn Rd. We are open from 9:00 am until 2:00am. Come in for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Come in for those midnight cravings too! We offer all of your favorites! General Tsao’s Chicken, Beef and Broccoli, Orange Chicken, Oolong Tea, Egg Rolls, Spring Rolls, Lo Mein, Fried Rice, White Rice, and free fortune cookies for everyone! Bring your family, bring your friends, and bring your appetite down to The Dragon’s Garden!” My tummy is growling with anticipation. I must eat there this week. If I can fit it into my schedule today, I will eat there for dinner. If not, I will find out if they deliver, which I assure you is not beneath me to ask a buffet deliver to me.
The parking lot for the thrift store is mostly empty, except for the few cars that belong to the employees. That is great news, which means two things for me. First, I’ll have first crack at anything they may be putting on the racks today. And second, there won’t be that many people to poke fun at me when I grab some pants that could double as a parachute. I get out of my personal wheeled bubble and I go inside.
The door clatters the bell up top. The shift manager looks up and says, “Good morning, Father.”
I smile and wave.
“What can we help you find today?” he asks.
“N-n-n-nothing. I’m f-f-fine. Th-th-thank you.” I drop my head a little. I always get embarrassed when people I don’t know hear me stutter. It’s not like that here. Steve the shift manager has always treated me with kindness, and has never said anything cruel to me at all. I think he either understands where I’m coming from, or he just has a huge heart. Either way, I am grateful for him.
The rack of pants looks pretty full this morning. Fantastic! I jump for joy in a glorious two-inch hurdle. I walk down the aisle until I get to the section of sizes for me. Let me see: 52, 52, 54, 58, 55, 54, 60, here we go. I found one pair. It is a size 56. This one should do it. I hope there are additional ones that are the same. Nope. Maybe the other side of this rack has them. Fantastic! I was right. I grab three more pair and I head to the changing room just to make sure I fit in these before I pay for them. I close the door, latch it shut, and hang the pants on the hanger that rests against the back of the door. Here we go the first pair of new pants. Both legs fit just fine, and I have no issues getting the zipper up. Time for the button snap: success! I do a small happy dance as I get out of the pants. I put my sweat pants back on, and throw all four pair of new pants over my shoulder with confidence. Hey, this is a special occasion because I didn’t put on any additional weight. I think I will treat myself when I go get something to eat before I stop at devil woman’s dry cleaning.
Steve walks over and waits for me at the register. “I see you found some great pants there.”
“Uh huh.” I say. It’s one of the few answers I can get out without a stutter to follow.
“I have some good news for you, Father Spaid.” Steve says. I tilt my head in curiosity. “All four pairs just happen to be on the yellow list, and yellow is the half off color of the day in our store. You must have timed this perfectly!”
I shake my head and smile a little. He always makes me feel good. Steve doesn’t condemn me for stuttering or even being fat. Had the roles been reversed, I would want Steve as a father figure. However, he is just a college kid, and I am a fat stuttering 51-year-old man. Sigh. It’s not just me he talks to like that though. He treats everyone like true gems. I wonder if it is a ruse. The total for all of the pants came out to be $5.37. That is one heck of a deal and one of reasons I love shopping here. Granted, I’ll have to thoroughly wash and dry them when I get home. There is no telling who may have worn the clothes prior to me, or what happened to those clothes. I am sure I could think up many possibilities, but I would be here all day.
Upon leaving the store, I notice that the rain has stopped. Even though the rain has stopped, the clouds still remain. This will make for such
a nice and dreary day. I unlock my car, pop the trunk, and place my new pants inside along with my poncho. Oh no! I should not have done that! Now my new pants are a little wet! Wait. They need to be washed anyway, so I shrug my shoulders and close my trunk. They will be just fine. I grunt and groan my way into the driver’s seat of my car and I make my way to the next stop on my list.
On the radio, I hear the same advertisement again for the Chinese restaurant that just opened up. They must really want people to stop in and eat! Either that or they are starving for attention. I laugh out loud at that thought realizing that was a good play on words. By the way, what street am I on right now? I lean forward slightly to peer through the windshield. The sign says 9th street. How about that? I just happen to be right up the road from there. Let me check the time. It is 9:45am. Fantastic! I can go in there now, place an order for some moo shu chicken and some spicy beef pot stickers. I love pot stickers! I could eat those things by the bucket if they would let me.
Now I am at 10th street. I turn my blinker on and make my way down to Ironhorn. Detour! I can feel my stomach rejoicing already. I wonder if they will let me eat and then place a second order to take home. If so, then that would save me on trying to figure out what I’m going to make for lunch and dinner. The street is coming up, and I can smell the amazing aroma from here! Oh, sweet fragrance, torment me no longer! My stomach rumbles in anticipation. Gently patting my stomach, I try to soothe the urge to bite and drool on my steering wheel. However, as I gaze at it, it could very easily become a giant fortune cookie. Look away! I must be strong. I must…be…strong!
Fate Of The Dragon Page 4