Published by Jean on July 4, 2006

Thirty minutes isn't much time for lunch. Unless you're organized enough to pack something from home, which she isn't.

Walking quickly up the sidewalk toward the convenience store entrance, she sees a small, dirty figure of a man. He speaks quietly, but clearly, "Excuse me, ma'am ... could you spare something? A dollar or two for food?"

She stops and looks directly at his eyes. Not red or glassy, but definitely tired.
Most times she puts off these requests by saying she has no cash, and then just walks on. This time, she reaches into her purse and says, "Let me see what I have." Only a ten dollar bill and some piddly change. She sighs, takes out the bill, folds it and hands it to him. "Here ya go. Hope it helps some."

Before she can turn away, he says softly, "Thank you, ma'am. You're very kind."

She thinks to herself, "No, I'm not. And I have no idea why I'm doing this."
To him she says, "Take care." She watches him smile at her shyly.....or is it embarrassment?...... and slowly walk towards the fast-food place next door.

The summer heat and humidity is smothering today, but she notices that he is dressed in heavy, old jeans and what looks like a couple of long sleeved shirts.
His long, dark hair is flattened to his head with sweat. He walks hunched over, head down. More like a man in his late seventies, even though after seeing his face, this man couldn't be more than somewhere in his forties. She also notices that he is not carrying anything ....... no backpack, no duffle bag..... not even a garbage bag with whatever possessions he might still have.

She takes one step forward and calls to him, "Hey....wait!"
Walking cautiously towards each other, she asks him, "Where are you from?"

"Ohio, ma'am. Hope to get back there someday."

"Do you have anybody there? Family or friends?", she asks him, while asking herself, "What the hell are you doing??"

"So, you'd have someone to take you in for a while?"

"Coupla friends. Most of my family, what's left of them, gave up on me a while back."

"Do you know a phone number to get hold of your friends?"

He backs up a step. "I know the number that worked about six months ago."

Fumbling in her purse, she finally pulls out a plastic card.
"Listen, this is a phone card I bought for a stupid reason not too long ago. I don't need it. You go get something to eat and then call your friends. I have errands to run after work, but will you meet me back here at six o'clock?"

He just stares at her, not moving.

"Yeah, I know" she says, "..this isn't making much sense to me either. If your friends are still there for you, we'll work something out....... What town in Ohio would you be heading to, anyway?"

"Akron."

"Okay..... so, meet me here at six.......and don't use up all the minutes on that card. You might need some for later."

She headed back to her car, already late for work, and wondering if she had enough change in her purse to get a soda from the machine in the employee lounge.

For the next three and a half hours her thoughts bounced around in her head like a pinball machine. Finally, she found a scrap of paper and began making a list:
shampoo, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, disposable razors, comb, vienna sausage, beef sticks, chips, crackers, cookies, water....... that was for WalMart. The next list was for Goodwill......some clothes and, hopefully, a small suitcase.

He was sitting at the end of the sidewalk, out of the sun, when she drove into the parking lot. She got out of the car and waved..... and then looked around self-consciously to see if anyone had noticed. He stood up as she got out of her car, but did not approach.

"Did you talk to your friends?"

"Yes, ma'am..... one of them. I told him I might call back later. Was that OK?"

"Definitely. I called the bus station. You can head out of here tomorrow morning if you still want."

"Yes, I still want......but, how much is the ticket going to cost? And.......I don't understand why....... why you're doing this."

"Don't worry about the ticket. And, as far as why I'm doing this....... I'm not sure I know either.......... Let's go get your ticket."

Being a tourist town in the Sunshine State, it had plenty of motels. After they left the bus station, she didn't have to drive far before pulling into the parking lot of a small one. She already rented the room and had the key, so she pulled in front of the room and turned off the engine. He didn't get out of the car immediately. He sat there, in the front seat, and stared at her.

"By the way, my name is Sam." he said.

"My name is Jane."

Neither of them moved to shake hands. They both got out of the car. She went to the back of the car to gather the packages from shopping. She handed him the key to the room.

Once inside the room, she deposited the packages on the bed and turned on the air conditioning unit. He stood in the middle of the room, looking like he might bolt for the door.

"Okay, Sam....... this is my plan.....tell me what you think. I'm gonna go get us some sandwiches or something for dinner. While I'm gone, you can shower and then call your friend. Let him know what time you'll be getting off the bus in Akron. There are clean clothes in this bag and bathroom stuff in the other one. Oh, ......is there something special you'd like to have for dinner?"

"I'm not picky, Jane. Anything is fine."

"I know, but is there something you haven't had in a long time that you'd really like?"

"Well........I haven't had a pizza in about a year."

"Great......pizza it is..... I'll be back in about an hour."

When she returned to the motel, the sun was setting. It was still hot and humid.
She hoped the a/c was working in the room.

He opened the door when she knocked. The a/c was working fine and he had the television on. She almost didn't recognize him. He was now clean-shaven and seemed to be standing straighter than before. She saw him smile for the first time.
And she smiled back.

She handed him the pizza and he smiled even wider. She also brought cigarettes, cold beer and two salads. They organized everything on the small table beside the bed and sat down opposite each other. That's when she noticed his eyes...... full of tears.

They ate slowly, without talking, for several minutes. Finally, he sat back in the chair and grinned and rubbed his stomach and let out a big sigh.

"There's more beer ya know, Sam. Don't let it get warm."

"Will you have another one with me, Jane? ....Please?"

"Sure. Thank you."

Their conversation began slowly. She asked him about his life before here. He began telling his story. He had had a life not really much different than many others. A stint in the military after high school. Two or three different jobs after that. Fell in love and got married. Got a job he really loved as a machinist in a factory. Life was good for a while. Then the bad stuff started piling up.

He said because he made good money, he and his wife spent good money. Their debt grew......and about the time they realized they were getting in too deep, his job changed. The economy took a nose-dive. His hours were cut back. He and his wife began having trouble keeping up with the bills, and they began arguing...... a lot. He started selling off some of the big toys..... jet skis, boat, and finally the '67 Mustang he spent three years rebuilding. It wasn't enough.

When he finally lost his job completely because the plant shut down, his wife left him. He put the house up for sale, but no one wanted to pay what was left on the loan.......let alone enough for any kind of profit. The bank finally foreclosed.

He moved back in with his parents and then his wife filed for divorce. Unemployment ran out and there were no job prospects in the area. He met a guy in a local bar who was getting ready to travel south. He invited Sam to come along...get a new start in a new place. Their first night in Florida, they celebrated by getting drunk on the beach. When Sam woke up in the motel room the next day, his new friend was gone. And so was all the money Sam had in the world.

The motel finally kicked him out when he couldn't pay the bill. He began living on the streets. He knew friends and family back home were having their own rough times, so he never considered going back or asking them for help. That was more than four years ago.

She asked him, "So, what makes you want to go back now?"

"This isn't home. It isn't where I want to be. And, no matter what I have to do to make a life back there, I'll do it. I just want to go home."

She stood up, took her keys out of her purse and said, "I need to get home and feed my critters and get some sleep. I'll take you to the bus station in the morning."

"Jane, if there is ever any way I can pay you back for all this............"

"No, Sam..........", she had to leave her words unfinished. The lump in her throat kept her from saying any more.

The next morning, through the motel room window, he saw her car pull up in front of the room. He picked up his backpack, dropped the key on the dresser and opened the door just as she was ready to knock. They smiled at each other and walked to her car.

They found the bus he needed to start his trip home. It was almost time to board.

Sam looked at her and asked, "You never did tell me why you are doing this."

Her voice was barely audible when she finally started to speak. He watched her face closely and saw her struggle to explain.
"Well, Sam....... I know what it feels like to be stuck in a place you don't want to be." Her chin started to quiver and her throat tightened. "I know what it feels like to be alone. I've been too stupid and too stubborn to do anything about me. But, for some reason that I can't begin to understand, I knew I had to do what I could for you. There may not be any sense to it, but that's all I know to say."

A harsh, nasal voice came through the speakers announcing the boarding of the bus. He put down his backpack and put his arms around this total stranger and hugged her tighter than anyone he had ever hugged in his life. They stood clinging to each other until the final boarding announcement wedged them apart.

"Jane....... I hope you make it home someday too."

"Be well, Sam. Goodbye."

She did not turn to look back as she walked to the parking lot. When she finally found herself in her car, her face twisted in pain. Her whole body shook as her sobs echoed in her ears.

Originally posted by Jean February 25, 2007

Any burden of
my being
should rest with
me alone.
Not add to
other's sighing
when the weight of
their life pulls.
Expect no gifts
or service
be handed
without price.
The life I make,
the path I choose,
is my own sweat
and soul.

originally posted by Jean March 20, 2010

dreams that will never
be haunt me in the daylight
break my heart at night

originally posted by Jean February 05, 2007

I love men,
for the most part,
at least one part,
yes, I do.
OK, two of their parts
are good parts.

Of the ones who have good hearts,
they have three parts
that are good parts.
And, those with functioning brain parts
have four parts
that make good parts.

Let's not forget twinkling eye parts
and add to that nice butt parts.
So, now we're up to five parts
that make the whole part good.

I've mentioned before their hand parts
being one of my favorite good parts.
A sweet smile makes my own parts
get warm, and that's always good.

Well, I guess it's time to say this part,
I can't think of a part that's not good!

'course, being a woman, I could change my mind tomorrow.

published by Jean Friday June 23, 2006 ... welcome back Jean.

Robert Franklin Climes was only 69 years old when he died in December 1990.

Much too young. His eyes were a clear, light blue that crinkled at the corners and reflected his smile. I remember seeing those blue eyes cry only three times.

The first time I saw him shed tears was at his mother's funeral. He was wearing a dark gray suit. I was twelve years old. I watched him walk up to her open casket after the service at the funeral home. He stood with his hands folded, looking down at her thin, frail form for what seemed like a long time. I saw him lean slowly towards her and kiss her cold lips lightly. When he straightened up and turned to walk away, I saw the tears running down his face. I remember the shocking realization that he was saying good-bye to his mother, which was much worse somehow, than my losing my grandmother. We drove to the cemetery for the graveside service, and since it was November in Ohio, stood in the cold, wind and snow as her casket was lowered into her grave.

The second time I saw my father cry was a few years later. We had an old sable and white collie named Clipper. Dad built a dog house, on stilts, with a ramp that led to the opening. It was winter again and the snow had drifted to the bottom of Clipper's house. The snowbanks were packed solid around the dog house because old Clipper would lay on top of them in the sun. All of us in the family would try to convince Dad to bring the dog in from the cold during many winter nights. On the rare occasion that he agreed, he would only allow poor Clipper to stay in for a few minutes before he would tell us that he had to go back out. His reasoning was that the dog would get used to being inside and make him less tolerant of the cold. We never agreed, but Dad always won.

One day that winter, I was looking out the kitchen door, watching Clipper lying on top of a snow bank, when I noticed a red stain on the snow under him. I called to Dad, saying that I thought Clipper was bleeding. Dad came to the door and said, "Yes, he has a tumor and is probably trying to relieve the pressure." I became furious and demanded to know why Dad didn't take him to the vet. I ranted for several minutes about how the dog was suffering and it wasn't right to just let him go on like that. Dad never said a word. He got his coat and hat from the closet. Then I saw him get his shotgun. He walked out the door, unhooked Clipper's chain from the dog house and began to lead him through the back yard, across the field behind the house and into the woods at the back of our farm. I silently watched them disappear in the trees. Then I heard the loud BOOM. Several minutes later, I saw Dad walking slowly, head bent, alone. When he opened the back door, I saw the tears on his face. He still didn't say a word, but put the gun away and took off his coat and hat. I was speechless. I felt responsible. We never talked about that day or the dog again.

The third and last time I saw my father cry I was eighteen years old. I was going to college. Dad wanted me to commute to classes at the university. It was only twenty-five miles from home, and he was still working as a machinist for Goodyear, in Akron, the same city in which the college was located. He said I could arrange my classes so that I could ride in with him every morning and he would pick me up at the end of the day to bring me home. I balked. I wanted to live in one of the dorms. I wanted to experience all of college, not just, as it seemed to me, bits and pieces.

I used every piece of logic and practicality I could come up with to win my case … my classes wouldn't always jive with his work schedule …… what if I needed to use the library……how would I ever make any friends……and on and on. He told me that his main concern was that I was still naive and gullible. I trusted people too much. I would let people influence me. I was appalled. I'd been told my entire life how "mature" I was for my age, and now I was hearing my father say I was naive.

I actually had the gumption to threaten not to go to school at all if I couldn't live in the dorm. Dad said he wanted me to go to college so I wouldn't spend my life working in a factory, like he did. I stubbornly refused any compromise. To my surprise, he relented.

The day came when I was to leave home for Freshman Orientation. It was a family affair. The station wagon was loaded with my suitcases, both of my brothers, both of my sisters, Mom, Dad and me. After a quiet half hour drive, we arrived at Spanton Hall and began unloading the car. We found my room on the fourth floor and met my roommate. We began saying happy good-byes……after all, I would probably go home most weekends, and Mom had already told me I would be picked up for church even on the weekends I didn't make it home.

My roommate had politely left the room when my family started leaving. They all headed towards the elevator in the hall, but I didn't see Dad with them. I turned and saw my dad behind me, still in my new room, looking around. Then he turned and looked at me and I saw his chin quivering slightly and his eyes filling with tears. He gave me a long, crushing hug. A kiss on the cheek. No words. He walked out of my room and got on the elevator.

That first night in the dorm, I missed them all. Only twenty-five miles away. And I missed my dad the most that night. I never did tell him he was right. I was naive. And I never forgot his tears.