Remember Who You Are

Chapter 22, 23, 24

Chapter Twenty-Two





“Sorry peanut. It looks like Skype isn’t working today. We need to get ready for ‘Pasta with the Preacher.’”


“You think Daddy is ok?”


“I do. He’s a hero you know. Won’t be long and he’ll be back home to us.”


“I love my Daddy. Do you think he will remember me?”


“How could anyone ever forget you? You are silly.”


“No, you’re silly.”


“Nooo, you’re silly.”


Mother and daughter giggled and hugged and missed their soldier-hero.


*****


The sign read “It's 5 o'clock somewhere.” Printed on t-shirts, aprons, napkins, and on every booth in this blue-collar bar; not only was it the name of the bar - it was the attitude of the bar.


Four men, all co-workers, sat around a table drinking their beers, trying to stare at women without being caught - and failing miserably.





“It is just a matter of time before they shut us down," said Randy, the oldest.


“They specifically said the new plant was about new business, not replacing an existing plant," said Dennis, the youngest.


“Yeah, they said the same thing ten years ago when they built the first Mexico plant. Then two years after it got going, they shut down the Kansas plant,” said Ben, although not the oldest, he was the most senior of the group.


“Something needs to be done,” said David, who, at fifty, had the least seniority - having only been hired within the past year and having been the victim of two other factory closings within the past ten years.


“Nothing can be done. Between robots, the Mexicans, and the Chinese, everybody is doing their damnedest to make sure there are no good jobs left for Americans,” said Ben.


“Nothing we can do.”


“What if we call our Congressman?” asked Dennis.


His companions laughed at his naivete.


“How much did you contribute to his campaign?” asked Ben.


“Money? None,” said Dennis. “But I voted for him.”


“If you didn't pay him, then he is not your Congressman. Big business bought Congress before they even started all this shit,” said Ben.


“Something needs to be done,” said David.


“We could form a union,” offered Marty. “Put it on the contract that the plant couldn't be closed.”


“The Kansas plant was union.” Ben laughed and shook his head. “That's why it was closed first. Besides, people are too job-scared to join a union these days.”


“Something needs to be done,” said David, finishing his beer and standing up. “I need to get out of here. We are having dinner with the new preacher tonight.”


“I didn't know you went to church.”


“I don't. The family does.”





Talk turned to how badly the Atlanta Braves were playing and exactly how tight the server's pants were.


*****


Scooter lounged on the sofa, his feet on the coffee table (his mother would freak if she knew), and played his video game. Stuck on level fifty-four for over a week, Scooter could not get past the machine gun nest with enough ammo to assault the supply depot – where he could get more ammo.


He was only half-interested anyway. He was waiting on his dad to call. This was their weekend to be together, and they were going to the archery range for lessons.


Scooter’s dad never called on time to let Scooter know what time he was coming by to pick him up. Didn’t matter. Scooter knew, that even if his dad said he would be there at nine o’clock Scooter’s dad would not make it until, at least, eleven o’clock.


Still, Scooter was excited. After his Dad had to cancel two weeks ago, Scooter was extra-excited to see his dad.


His cell phone rang. Snatching the phone, Scooter saw it was his mom calling.


“Hello.”


“Hello Scott. I have bad news.”


“Your yoga class got cancelled?”


“Um, Scott, your dad called me and said that he couldn’t pick you up this weekend. He said he would make it up to you next time.”


Scooter swallowed his disappointment and fought back tears. “He said that last time.”


“I know, sweetie. Well, you know he has Tracey to consider now.”


Ignoring his mom’s reference to his Dad’s girlfriend, Scooter asked, “Why didn’t Dad call me?”


“I don’t know sweetheart. Are you ready to go to the church for dinner?”


“I’m not hungry.”


“Well, after yoga class I will be by to pick you up. You have to go. So be ready.”


“Whatever.”


“Well, after we eat, maybe we can hang out. Maybe catch a movie.”


“Whatever.” Scooter ended the call, batted back tears, and resumed his game.


*****


“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”


“Everything will be fine,” said Susie. “These are good people.”


Wesley and Susie were putting the finishing touches on Wesley’s “Pasta with the Pastor” meal. Susie had cooked all the food, the spaghetti sauce had been simmering in the crock-pot all day, and Wesley had grated the fresh parmesan as his contribution to the endeavor.


“I can’t believe you are nervous,” said Susie with a giggle. “Stop pacing. You look like a fart in a colander.”


Wesley stopped pacing and looked at Susie with a shocked look. “What?! What kind of language is that young lady?” Wesley laughed. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?”


Susie giggled. “You would be surprised who I kiss.”


Wesley laughed again. Susie’s uncharacteristic comment had its desired effect. He was relaxing. “I was born and raised in Alaska when it wasn’t even a state. I know bad words you’ve never heard before.”


Wesley smiled, thrilled in seeing a side of Susie he never expected existed. “When I was a teenager,” Wesley lowered his voice conspiratorially, “we used to see who could string together the most bad words without repeating one.”


Susie giggled. “You always win?”


“Always.” At that moment, they heard a door shut. “Our guests are right on time. Don’t let that garlic bread burn young man.”


*****


Dinner was an unmitigated success. Wesley had made a conscious decision not to expend any effort in amusing the kids. He hoped the food and the short time frame would suffice to keep the kids from being bored. And he was right. The little girl, Melody, charmed everyone at the table when she added a prayer for her hero/soldier/dad. The only other child present for dinner was a little boy, Scott, who was suppressing some very intense emotions. Through Susie, Wesley knew that Scott’s parents we legally separated. For her own reason, Susie had paired two single parents, with a traditional family. The third family, David and Susan Meacham, had not brought their pre-teen twins and joked about dinner being the closest thing they had had to a date in years. David worked in manufacturing and hated human resources, like everyone, and Susan was a medical coder. The couple seemed friendly enough and the dinner went well.


*****


Wesley lay on his sofa; Lucky and Wesley lay belly to belly. Nina Simone filled the room. Lucky liked Nina. “You know bud? I might be getting the hang of this preacher thing.”


Lucky licked Wesley’s nose.


 


Chapter Twenty-Three


The rest of Wesley’s week progressed normally. His new schedule was coming together; although, he was amazed how it all seemed to change after the shooting. Of course, the shooting eliminated basketball with Thad temporarily and Simon’s stroke ended his weekly fishing trips. All this happened in conjunction with school starting. Tuesday and Thursday evenings would be dedicated to classes – so no more dinners with the Meades. At least, his first day of school had not resulted in him being fired or fired upon, so far – even though Wesley hoped that most of his classes ended with less drama than his first.


Wesley was adapting to his new routine.


Saturday morning and Wesley was running alone. Tut had begged off the run this morning so Wesley took the opportunity to stretch his legs, increase his pace, and challenge his lungs. Alone. With no whining. His ear buds were in, Run Mix 5 was playing – upbeat songs from the sixties and the seventies, and his legs churned through the streets of Asheville. Wesley ran as fast as he could and still manage five miles. Crossing the road and heading towards Thad’s basketball court, Wesley remembered the man sitting against the wall talking to his penis. Laughing at his memory, he saw a man who seemed to be unconscious on the sidewalk. Wesley felt too good to feel bad so he vaulted the unconscious man – rather than stopping and helping – and continued to run. He picked up his pace to outrun his guilty conscience.


A few minutes later, winded and happy, he coasted to a stop at Thad’s basketball court. Thad was shooting free throws. Good boy, thought Wesley. Thad had not noticed Wes’ arrival so Wes took a moment to study the kid. He saw so much of himself in Thad that he felt compelled to help when he had received no help at all. He knew, though, that Thad possessed the pride of youth and would refuse any help that seemed like charity. If someone had offered to help Wesley when he had been in high school, they would have probably been hit in the face. He did not think Thad would hit him, he did not seem the type, but he did not want to scare the boy away. Thad was very skinny. Wesley did not know if that was simply teenage hormones or if he was underfed. The clothes Thad wore were worn and his shoes were worn out. Basketball shoes were expensive and Wesley assumed the school provided a pair every year. Wesley had an idea.


“You been practicing?”


Thad jerked around and flashed a big grin before schooling his face in his usual stoicism. But Wesley noticed. Aw, he missed me, thought Wesley.


“Some. You ready to go down? You look like you out of shape. Got fat on your vacation.”


Wesley looked at him. “Still can’t play. Arm not completely healed. But I can watch and help.”


“Rebound?” asked Thad.


“That too.”


*****


An hour later, the Wes and Thad were finished. Wesley had given Thad some tips and filled him in on the details of the shooting. Thad and J.J. had been friends but J.J. was a year older so they did not hang together.


“You know anyone needing a job?” asked Wesley with no preamble.


“A job? How much it pay?”


Wesley laughed. “You don’t care what kind of job it is?”


“I don’t want no job. I was just askin’ for a friend.”


Pride, thought Wesley. He nodded. “Ten dollars an hour. Couple of hours a week. Probably just one afternoon.”


“What doing?”


“Work. Whatever. Painting. Carpentry. Cleaning maybe. Mostly, helping me.”


“Thought you wuz a preacher. They don’t do work.”


Wesley laughed. “Asshole. Preaching is work. Dangerous work.” He touched his arm. “Don’t forget, Jesus was a carpenter. So, preachers should not be too proud to get their hands dirty. Look, anyway, you know somebody, tell them to come by the church. Leave their name and number. I’ll give’em a call. Cool? I gotta run. See ya’.” Wesley turned and thought, please stop me son. Please stop me.


“What if I want it?”


Thank you Lord, Wesley prayed. Wesley was caught between a joyful shout and tears of joy. “You?” he asked without turning around. “I figured you would be too busy.”


“Nah. If it’s only one day a week. But I want twelve dollars an hour.”


Wesley smiled. Pride, he thought. And almost gave in. Almost. “Can’t afford but ten. Take it or leave it.” He turned around and stuck out his fist.


Thad looked at him a moment, weighing his pride versus some spending money and chose the money. He met Wesley’s fist bump.


“Start today?”


 


Chapter Twenty-Four


“You look like a working man. A skinny, ugly, working man, but; nevertheless, a working man.”


“Ugly? Yeah right.” Thad grinned at Wesley’s teasing.


Wesley looked at Thad. Today was the first time he had ever seen the young man in anything other than basketball shorts. Thad was dressed all in blue. The clothes he and Wesley had chosen were tough and rugged but were still acceptable, Wesley hoped, for Thad to wear to school. One of Wes’s goals was to buy Thad school clothes. Along with providing him with spending money, Wesley was hoping to teach him skills other than dunking. The potential for success was worth a shopping trip with a teenager. Barely. Three pairs of jeans, six sweat shirts, six pairs of socks and underwear, and a pair of size twelve work boots later, Thad stood before Wesley with a grin that was too big to be cool. And Wesley loved it.


“I can’t believe you making me pay for these clothes,” said Thad, patting his new shirt.


“Thad, I would not insult your pride by offering charity. I am cutting you some slack though. These clothes will only cost you ten hours of work,” said Wesley with a smile. I’d gladly give the clothes to you son, if you would take them, thought Wesley.


“I’m probably worth twenty or thirty dollars an hour anyway,” said Thad.


“We’ll see,” said Wesley. “If you make it three hours without crying, I’d be surprised.”


“Yeah right. What we gonna do?”


“Simple enough. We are going to build a porch.”


*****


Wesley had decided to take advantage of Mamie Black’s absence to finish repairing her porch – a job he had initiated before being shot. Since he was not limited to only visiting with Doc Kirby, and since he now had some help in Thad, Wesley decided to repair or replace the entire porch – rather than the spot repairs he had initially planned. Earlier in the week, he had ordered pre-cut, treated lumber, and arranged with Doc Kirby to borrow his truck. The rest was simple: use Thad’s young muscles to finish Mamie’s porch in a single afternoon.


*****


Both men were sweaty, dirty, and tired. And proud. They took stock of their work and pronounced it good. Wesley could see that Thad was especially proud. He stood taller and more confident. As the work progressed and Thad’s confidence grew with Wesley’s guidance; Wesley saw Thad’s work ethic and attention to detail grow as wellas well. Thad had started the day as a typical disinterested teen and had finished the day inspecting slight variations in the wood and wondering if perfectly good boards needed replacing. There is something therapeutic in doing-it-yourself, thought Wesley, not for the first time. While Thad finished the last boards himself – without Wesley guidance – Wesley inspected the railing. Finding them whole, he decided that he and Thad could sand and paint the porch on their next visit.


Wesley grabbed two bottles of water, tossed one to Thad, and said, “You done good work. Didn’t cry once.”


Thad laughed. “Well, I had to fight back tears when I hit my thumb with that dumb hammer.”


Wesley laughed. “Dumb hammer. More like operator error. Maybe, one day, I’ll teach you how to use a nail gun. They are a lot faster.”


“Nail gun? You have a nail gun? Oh man. My poor thumb.” Both men laughed again.


Wesley threw his arm around the younger man’s shoulders, the first time they had touched outside of a fist bump or on the basketball court, and said, “Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you something to eat.”


“I gotta pay you back?”