Faith Works Advent story 2020

Faith Works 12-5-20

Jeff Gill

A trip around the block (first part of a story in four parts)

___

His grandkids had shown him how to maneuver through the buttons on the remote to find the holiday fireplace video.

The music was more the sort he liked for the season; the radio was a mystery to him these days, and the Christmas channel he did find on his cable system with songs had all "updated" tunes by performers he didn't even know.

If they kept it a picture of the fireplace, he'd be happy, but it was all jazzed up with puppies and kittens. Not too often, though. The music was bright and familiar and pretty much all instrumental, which was fine since he couldn't make out most of the lyrics when people sang on TV anyhow.

He wasn't as lonely as he was frustrated. People from the church, from the Meals on Wheels crew, or his own family would ask him, with the expectation that they knew the answer, if he was feeling lonely. He wasn't, really. He hadn't felt lonely on watch in the Pacific as his LST had shouldered the waves, or as the "Large Slow Target" had absorbed incoming fire off of Kwajalein Atoll and Iwo Jima. Working night shifts after he came home, taking night classes to use his GI Bill to move up into a better job, starting out as a traveling sales rep after college and during his newlywed days . . . he got used to being on his own.

Perhaps as a husband and father he was too accustomed to being self-contained, private and reserved, but he'd now been widowed almost as long as he'd been married. Driving past crowded restaurants and busy shopping centers, he'd never felt like he was missing out, and the bar scene had never attracted him. 

Now the parking lots were emptier, and people wore masks in the stores, and no one came to his door. None of that bothered him much, and he had stopped answering his phone years ago when he realized most of it was asking for his money or his vote or a combination of both. He just couldn't imagine not being in the phone book, so he hadn't cut off his land line. It felt vaguely disreputable, even though he had to admit he hadn't taken the phone book out for years himself, and his grandkids certainly didn't.

His oldest granddaughter texted him every morning, and each night (well, about 9 pm, night for him), and he knew why. Sometimes he thought about texting back "nope, not dead yet" but he knew it would just make the kids worry about his state of mind. His state of mind, though, was just fine. He was glad Christmas was on the way again, and he hoped to see a few more of them, especially after all the folderol of this December with restrictions and cautions and people giving each other a wide berth.

While they checked on him often, and brought groceries and goodies fairly often, he still drove, and it was about time to go out. It wasn't good for the car to just sit for too long, the engine and the tires and the springs or shocks or whatever they had now. Just a lap around town, and a few turns to prove to himself if not anyone else that he was still fit to take the road.

The old house was well painted, recently re-roofed, and squared away as only an old Navy man would have it. When the shingles were put on a few summers back, he thought "I'm paying for someone else's roof, mostly" when they told him they were good for thirty years. Reaching 125 wasn't his plan, but taking care of what was his own was, so up the roofers went. He crossed from the back stoop to the side door of the garage, just right for the 1953 Buick Special they first bought when they were married, and barely enough room for the Chevy SUV he bought eight years ago thinking it would be his last vehicle purchase, but he was starting to wonder.

As the garage door went up, he thought about when his son had surprised him by installing an electric opener, which he did every time the door went up or down. It was all he had left of him, really, along with the grandkids, but all that was here at the house. He was glad of the reminder.

Looking back over his shoulder, he started to back out of the garage and down the drive to the street.

(to be continued)

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he usually writes some odd bit of fiction for the Christmas season. Tell him what you think should happen next at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

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Faith Works 12-12-20

Jeff Gill

A trip around the block (part two of a story in four parts)

___

She was lit up strangely by the red glow of his brake lights, her hands waving to either side in his rear-view mirror.

She has more confidence in his alertness and reflexes than I do, he thought to himself. Having stopped, he put the SUV in park and rolled his window down a crack as she walked around the rear of the vehicle to the driver's side. She was wearing a mask, while he had one, but it was still on the passenger seat.

"I am so sorry to stop you like that, but I didn't know what else to do," she panted breathlessly.

"Not a problem," he replied. "What's the situation?" 

He recognized her as Tammy, the young woman who had moved in next door just after last Christmas. What with winter weather, they hadn't seen much of each other, and she was moving in piece by piece all through January. By the time he thought he should try to be neighborly and knock, March 15 had rolled around, and everything about being neighborly had changed, so he just hadn't. Some shouted conversations between the mailboxes when they went out at the same time, and that he didn't much hear clearly, but she was a single mother with two kids, but some family in the area.

"Well, my sister and I decided to have our mother live here with me for a while, during the holidays. She's not been doing so well out in the country where we grew up, and we got her here a couple of weeks ago, and I just took her to the doctor's." She stopped to catch her breath, and while it was hard to tell through the mask, it looked like she might have been crying, at least not long ago.

"Okay," he said, meaning to sound encouraging and hoping he did.

"So, she has this pace-keeper thing . . ." 

"Pacemaker," he added softly.

"Oh, you know about them?" she asked. He thought about saying "everyone has one by now, don't they?" but kept to just nodding his head. She went on "so her pacemaker means she has to take medications but they just called and said she needed to be on a different dosage, and were phoning in the prescription, and I should change it as soon as I can, but my car is at the mechanic's because I had a blowout and I ruined the rim and he…" Now she clearly was crying.

"Walk around and get in. I haven't been around anyone at all for weeks, but I have a mask. Don't want you to freeze." After he said this, she walked around to the passenger side as he slipped the mask over his ears.

Once settled, she half-turned and went on. "Anyhow, I can't get my car back until day after tomorrow, I have a ride to work tomorrow but that's all, and if you could just take me to the pharmacy I would so appreciate it. I'd rake your leaves or whatever I do to thank you."

"Leaves are raked," he said mildly. "But it's no matter, because I was just going out anyhow. Do you have your wallet?"

"My what?"

"Your purse, or your cards or phone and such?"

"Oh, my, yes, right here. Mom's watching the kids, let me run in and tell her where I'm going."

She darted back out of the SUV and across the lawn between their houses. He thought to himself, "well, you wanted to go out, and now you have a reason."

There's always a reason if you look around for one, for almost anything you really need to do, he reflected, as he turned the heater up another notch. His wife had always been cold in the car, and he assumed that was probably true for most women. He could always turn it back down if need be.

(to be continued)

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he usually writes some odd bit of fiction for the Christmas season. Tell him what you think should happen next at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.