I can't do a direct link to this one. It's in issue three under "Story Corner".
Brown
Paper Bag
I’d been worried about the home health visit
since the moment I received the phone call asking if I could add the patient to
my case load. I had never been choosy
about which patients to take but was anxious about going to this particular area
alone. I pulled the clipboard from my
bag and checked the address, scanning the road signs as I did. Just when I started thinking I must have
missed the road, I spotted the faded green sign. Only three of the letters were visible from
behind a thick vine that ran along a chain link fence then up the pole, before
wrapping itself around the sign. Two
half-deflated helium balloons hung from a ripped poster board secured to the
fence. Big, boxy letters in neon red and
purple announced,
“Birthday Par…”
My mind was busy filling in what was missing from the
ripped poster as I made the right turn onto Pink Street.
Dirt driveways
running through clusters of rusty mailboxes opened up to randomly placed mobile
homes positioned in all directions, the back yard of one running into the front
yard of the next. There was nothing to
assign any of them to the addresses on the sides of the mailboxes. The tree line bordering the road opened up to
reveal rows of identical white-framed houses.
The yards were bordered by chain linked fences or picket fences missing
every other section. Broken-down cars
littered every other yard. The missing
tires served as flower bed borders, leaned against rusty tin auto shops, or
rested on top of trash piles. An
abandoned couch sat in the yard of the last white house in the row. In front of it was an electric fan on a long,
beaten coffee table. A cord ran from the
fan to an orange electric cord that disappeared into a cracked window on the
side of the house.
A small dot in
the road ahead grew larger as I drove slowly toward it. It evolved into a middle-aged man with his
head bowed as he walked along the jagged pavement along the side of the
road. In his left hand, he carried a small
brown bag that was twisted at the top, probably around a bottle that was
contained within. A 12-pack of toilet
paper hung from underneath his right arm.
I slowed the car to a near stop, but when it didn’t look as if the man
would look back, I pulled up slowly beside him.
I ripped the bottom from the first sheet of paper on the clipboard, quickly
jotted down my patient’s name, and leaned across the passenger seat to hold the
piece of paper out the cracked window.
When the man stopped, I waited for him to look up. When he didn’t, I spoke,
“Excuse me, sir,
but could you tell me if this man lives on your street?” I asked hesitantly.
“Of course,” the
man answered as he glanced at the name then finally lifted his eyes and met
mine. “He certainly does. Follow me.”
I let the car coast, allowing the man to ease back ahead
of me. He cast his eyes down to the
ground and continued walking.
The street was
quiet except for the occasional passer-by and a dog that barked in the distance
in regular ten-second intervals. Wavy
lines of heat hung just inches above the black pavement. In moments, they were swallowed by clouds of
steam as the first drops of rain began to fall.
I inhaled deeply as the air circulated through the open windows. The man pulled the paper bag nearer and sat
the toilet paper down as he reached back and pulled a hood from the flimsy gray
jacket over his head. He gathered the
tissue and continued walking. I pressed
the gas with plans of catching up to the man and offering a ride, but when I
saw him pull the bag even closer, my heart hardened against him for what I knew
must be inside. The man stopped abruptly
and looked back at me, nodding toward the next house on the left. I waved, mouthing a “thank you”, and prepared
to pull into my patient’s drive. As I
gave the dingy white- framed house and surrounding yard a visual inspection, I
heard the squeals of children and the creaking springs of a screen door,
followed by a loud pop as the door snapped back into place. Three dirty, but beautiful, children ran down
the front steps, into the rain, and straight toward me. I waved them back as I prepared to pull in
between the two vehicles already in the small drive in front of the house.
As I opened the door to
greet the children, the first one ran right past me. The rest of them followed close behind, each
one screaming separately one word that ran together in coherency.
“Daddy!”
What?
I must have missed my patient out by the
road, perhaps checking the mail or trying to get in from the rain.
I glanced back toward the road just in time to see all
three children attempting to jump into the man’s arms. He dropped the 12-pack of toilet paper and
held his right hand out, palm up, as if to tell them to do the same. With a toothy grin, the man untwisted the top
of the brown paper bag and reached inside.
He rummaged around until the children began laughing and urging him to
hurry, then pulled out a handful of candy and dropped a couple of pieces into
each one of their open hands. He
continued this process until the last of the candy was distributed then wadded
up the bag and crammed it into his pocket.
He then stooped to pick up the toilet paper one last time before
following the children into his home, stopping only to glance back and wave me
forward with his now empty left hand.
No comments:
Post a Comment