Random Acts

Random Acts

I pushed my way through the doors, a little bit annoyed. On my lunch break, already ten minutes gone getting to this place. I felt it was worth the wasted time though; Stanley’s is my favorite place to eat. Stanley‘s is a Polish restaurant, rumored to have the best stuffed cabbages this side of Lansing. To me, it is a place to get a good meal for under four dollars. All their luncheon specials include soup, sandwich and fries; and if you only drink water, you can have a fantastic meal and get out the door for five dollars, tip and all.

I had taken second lunch shift, which started around one thirty, and Stanley’s was usually half empty at that time. Today was different. Every table was occupied and several people were waiting in line, looking annoyed. Lenore, my favorite waitress, stood behind the register looking frazzled. Lenore glanced in my direction, blew a wisp of hair from her forehead and shrugged. I nodded in understanding, and sat down on the bench by the door. The bench was an old church pew, and the back was poker straight. Beside me sat an elderly man, looking a little depressed.

The cluster of people waiting in line was a group of co workers. They would require at least four tables, and only one was available; a rickety two person booth in the corner. A greasy looking middle aged waitress strolled over and asked me if I would like the booth. The elderly man, who had been there long before I arrived, looked up at the pudgy woman, then bowed his head. I was annoyed at the women’s ignorance, and turned to the gentleman beside me.

“Sir, would you mind joining me for lunch?”

He looked up. His eyes were green, and he smelled of Old Spice. “That would be wonderful,” he replied.

“Okay then!” the waitress chirped sarcastically, and took us to our table.

We sat down, and the man looked at me, smiling. His full head of hair was completely white, save for a few dark brown stragglers.

“It’s not often you get to witness random acts of kindness!” he sighed, his voice shaking . He looked out the window.

I felt a sting behind my eyes, and fought it off. He turned to face me again, and offered his gnarled hand.

“I’m Gordon Simmons, how do you do?” he smiled.

“My name is Merry,” I shook his hand heartily.

“Mary, that is a pretty name!”

I blushed. “Why thank you, but my name is spelled M E R R Y, like Merry Christmas; my parents had a sense of humor, I guess.”

He laughed, and I realized he had not released my hand. He placed his other hand on top of mine and gazed at me intently. “Well pleased to meet you, Merry Christmas!” I had heard that joke a million times growing up, thanks to my parents, but somehow the humor was refreshed. We both chuckled, eliciting stares from the other restaurant patrons. The chunky, greasy waitress approached our table. She had her pad flipped and her pen poised for action.

“What are you having?” she asked him.

“Well, what I usually have, the kielbasa and kraut senior's special”

“Mmm! That sounds tasty, is it good here? I’ve never had it.” I looked at him and winked.

“It’s filling, at least, and the senior discount is nice.”

“I think I will have the BLT luncheon special,” I said, as I took my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. Only thirty minutes left of my lunch break. Damn.

“Okay, give me the menus,” she curtly demanded, and snatched them from our hands, as she did a military turn around and walked away.

Gordon stared at me, then we broke out laughing again. His laugh was loud and melodic like a deep note played on a bass fiddle. In my peripheral vision, I saw the waitress glaring at us. I didn’t care. I saw Lenore still at the register, and she gave me a sympathetic smile.

We went to the soup counter together, he procured the bean and bacon, and I had my favorite, dill pickle soup. I sat back down, and we ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Have you lived here all your life?” I finally broke the silence.

“No, I used to live in Clarenceville, but after my wife died, I moved in with my daughter.” he said the last word as if he had a mouthful of nettles.

“And she lives in town?” I enquired, not wanting to probe too deeply.

“Not for long, she is selling her place as soon as possible, I guess she can’t stand living here. She also said I can’t move with her. Funny thing, she was perfectly content before I arrived.”

“That’s not too fair!” I told him, feeling a little angry.

“I have a condo lined up, I refuse to move again. I’m eighty-four years old, for Christ sakes! She can do what ever she wants.” His eyes were welling, and I did not want those green eyes to cry. I tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, look at the bright side, Gordon, at least you aren’t bald!”

He paused for a moment, trying to register what I had said. He laughed that wonderful booming laugh, and I felt a swell in my heart.

Greasy Mc Attitude brought our lunches and roughly sat them down in front of us. I glanced at my cell phone. Time must have slowed down, I mused. Less than five minutes had lapsed since I last checked.

As he sawed away at his overcooked kielbasa, I noticed the unusual watch on his right hand. I was sure it wasn’t there before. I was about to comment on it, when he began speaking.

“But enough about me, tell me a little about yourself, Merry.” he spoke my name like a song. I felt the clinch in my heart again. It was almost like I was attracted to this elderly gentleman. Granted, he was nice looking for eighty-four, but he was old enough to be my grandfather! I shook my head and tried to chase the thought from my mind.

“Merry?” he sang as I came out of my stupor.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought there,” I blushed.

“Yes, you looked like you were playing left field there for a minute!”

“So sorry, yes, about myself…” I began, telling him my life story. “I was born in Kentucky, then moved to Michigan after my dad got a job at Ford Motor Company. Our apartment was in Detroit, on West Grand Boulevard. We lived in the basement, and suffered through the Detroit Riots of 1967. After that my mom was afraid to leave the house. We moved back to Kentucky, until my Dad found a decent place in Michigan. Three years later, were reunited with Dad, and I spent my ’formative’ years in a tiny ranch house in a poor Oakland County suburb.”

Gordon wasn’t snoring yet, so I felt it was safe to continue.

“I met a man in my early twenties, and got married though I was not in love. I viewed the marriage as a way out of my mundane existence. We tried for several years to have a child, unsuccessfully. The infertility strain, and the fact I wasn’t truly in love with him finally broke the fragile fiber of our marriage. My husband met a woman at work, had an affair, and to coin a phrase, the rest is history”

Gordon was silent for a moment. I peeked at my cell phone. Only one minute had elapsed. I was a little concerned, but pushed away the thought. I had yet to touch my food.

“Wow, That’s some story there. You sound a bit unhappy. “

“Don’t get me wrong; I am a firm believer in destiny. Everything that happened in my past brought me to where I‘m supposed to be. I just wish my life had been a little different. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” he agreed, “I sometimes wish I could turn back time and do things a little differently. Maybe my life would be better, maybe it would not, but It would be interesting, at least.”

“That’s weird, Gordon, I wrote a paper in high school on that very subject. We have a lot in common!”

“Yes we do,” he whispered as he took my hand. He had been crying, although I can’t remember him having started. The unusual watch on his left hand began glowing , and I felt a prickling sensation emanating from the tips of my fingers, flowing through my hands and crawling up my arms. I raised my head and saw him looking at me. Those eyes… those green eyes…

“Merry, sweetheart?” I heard the voice from a distance, as I slowly regained consciousness. Lenore was beside me and her hand was on my shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Where’s the other waitress?” was the only thing I could think of saying to her.

“We gave her an early day off, she needed an attitude adjustment!” Lenore smiled.

“More like a brain transplant,” I quipped, to which we both giggled.

“Where did your friend go?” she asked me. I just noticed he wasn’t there.

“Gee, I have no clue,” I truthfully replied. I looked at our table, and my lunch was neatly boxed up, his place was cleaned, and a twenty dollar bill was tucked under my water glass. I noticed my phone, I had merely five minutes to cash out and get back to work. Crap, I’m going to be late, I thought to myself.

“At least he paid for lunch!” she joked, as she began clearing the table.

“Indeed he did!” I felt a little sad as she wiped the table, as if a part of my life was vanishing with the breadcrumbs.

“Be with you in a minute, hun, then you can cash out.”

Lenore whisked my dishes back to the kitchen and was back before I got to the counter. I handed her the twenty, and she started pulling bills from her cash drawer.

“No, you keep the change. Just promise me Miss Attitude won’t get any of it!”

“Honey that is so nice of you! Thank you!”

“You’re oh so welcome!” I smiled at her. I wished I could give her ten dollar tips all the time, she deserved it.

It was then I noticed Gordon’s watch. It was behind the glass case, and it’s dial was completely black. “How long has that watch been there?” I asked her.

“Oh about three months. No one has come to claim it, but it is so unusual looking, I like having it back here, I get a lot of comments about it. The boss says I have to get rid of it soon, because we‘re getting some promotional merchandise in the case next week.”

I had an odd feeling in my stomach. This was Gordon’s watch. It had to be. I knew I had to have it. “Do you mind if I ’claim’ the watch?”

“Does it belong to you?” she queried, her eyebrow raised.

“It needs to,” I was beginning to cry, and found myself unable to stop. Lenore said nothing, and placed the watch in my outstretched hands.

I examined it, turning it over in my hand, running my fingers over the dial face. I smelled the leather band and took in the scent of Old Spice. I must have been standing there for a while, because Lenore had to bring me out of my fog.

“Hon?”

“Huh?” I mumbled absentmindedly.

“Don’t you have to be getting back to work?” she asked in her motherly tone.

“Oh crap! Yes I do! Thank you!” I shouted as I ran from the restaurant and back to my car.

I was ten minutes late for work. Caren, my supervisor glared at me as I punched in. God I hated that woman. I sat down at my desk, signed in to my workstation and began chipping away at the poorly written newsletter that Caren gave me to edit. This woman is in charge, and she can’t even spell, I cursed under my breath as I clicked away at my keyboard. My resentment for this woman grew stronger with each key stroke. I looked up and saw Caren drilling into me with her icy stare. She had heard me.

“Merry, in my office, five minutes.” she ordered flatly.

I removed all my papers from my cubicle and tucked all my personal effects inside my tote bag. I could literally smell what was coming up. Laura looked at me as I passed her cubicle and smiled smugly. I stuck my tongue out at her. She looked stunned for a moment, then turned back to her work. I had no cares at that point. Before I went into the death chamber, I took the watch from my purse and inhaled deeply. The essence of him calmed my racing heart.

What I knew was going to happen, happened. I was given my “walking papers.” After Caren verbally digested me, I stood up, firmly shook her hand and said “Thank you for the opportunity to work here!” I grabbed my bags, turned and walked out the door. I did not look back to see the expression on her face, but It must have been one of disbelief.

Feeling free, and worried at the same time, I drove to a nearby park to sit in the gazebo and reflect on my life. Single divorced woman, now unemployed, no family to speak of… great. All hope and pleasure left my life and I wept openly; great wracking sobs that I am sure was heard by many people around the park. Of course, no one came to comfort me. Even so, that did not bother me. I preferred to be alone when crying. And I tended to cry a lot, lately.

After half an hour and one packet of travel tissue, the tears subsided. I thought about my time with that wonderful elderly man and unzipped my purse. I found the watch and held it, drawing strength from it. The face was still black. I put the watch on my wrist. I had to pull the leather strap to the smallest hole, but the watch fit nicely, and felt smooth and heavy against my skin. I rubbed my thumb over the blank dial, and it began to glow. Curious, I continued to caress the dial, and it glowed brighter, as if the warmth of my skin was bringing it back to life. I started feeling the prickly sensation that I experienced in the restaurant. It traveled up my arm, to my shoulders, and finally to my head, where my mind went blessedly blank.

There was sun on my face. Strong, searing afternoon sun. I awoke and sat up in the gazebo. I was a little disoriented, because everything was blurry. I realized my glasses must have fallen off while I slept. I felt around for them, finally finding the scratched metal eyewear. I stood up, stretched my arms and turned around. My jaw unhinged. The park was no longer the garish blue and yellow monstrosity that was forced on our small town two years ago. Where the park once lived, there was an open field. Comforting sounds and smells washed over me, and I closed my eyes, to take it all in. This was a wonderful dream, and I knew if I kept my eyes closed too long, I would awake, and reality would dig into me with its untrimmed claws.

I opened my eyes and the field was still there.

I felt someone take my hand. I smelled Old Spice.

I looked down and he was gazing up at me. Dark curls framed his face, and his eyes were green as willow leaves.

“You made it!” he said.