Derek Henkel - The Tender Fire.txt Read online

  After cleaning I make lunch and watch the news, then I usually spend the early afternoon running errands. Sometimes when there is nothing to drop off, pick up, or buy on sale, I go for walks. Most of the time when I'm not running errands I read "Don Quixote."

  Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra.

  Now there's a name and a half.

  After this free time I pick up our daughter from school. When I was at my job my wife would get her. We had her enrolled in the after school program. That kept her busy until my wife got off work. Now our daughter usually has a friend come over after school and they play. I make them do their homework first if they have any, and sometimes it's up to me to entertain them. I don't mind.

  Then I make dinner and wait for the wife.

  We met with her father and he arranged for our money to be divided in a manner he showed us to be best, but tax time this year was a mess. We paid for an accountant to deal with the paperwork and the poor woman had to file an extension for us. I mentioned to her that the only thing that might halt the IRS would be a nuclear holocaust.

  "Not true" she said. "The Internal Revenue Service has a plan to keep functioning even if we're all blown to bits."

  I read somewhere that the creatures best suited to survive nuclear wars are cockroaches. If this is so, they can look forward to being audited.

  My wife steps into the kitchen and gives our daughter and me our breakfast kisses.

  "Good morning Angel. You sure look pretty today. Good morning Honey."

  She gives me a little longer kiss than usual for this time of the day, and when we separate I see that her freckled cheeks are aglow. I don't know what to say and just smile. She pours herself a cup of coffee and remains standing.

  "So, today's the big day. You ready for your program?"

  "Yep."

  My wife takes a drink of coffee and I finish off a piece of toast.

  "I wish your class was having an evening performance. Mommy really wants to see your show."

  "My teacher is having someone videotape us."

  "Really? Well, that's good. We can borrow it and I can see your class and all the dinosaurs."

  I finish my coffee, stand, and gather the dishes. I look into the sink and down the drain.

  There is a boy standing in front of our daughter's school shouting something, only I can't hear him because the car windows are closed. I pull into the far parking lot and walk her around back to class.

  "I'll see you in a couple hours, Honey."

  "Okay Daddy."

  She joins her classmates in line and I walk around front to see what's going on with that boy.

  "Praise our God, all of you his servants! You, who fear him, small and great! Let us rejoice and exalt and give him glory!"

  The boy, no older than eleven, stands in front of the school's entrance, shouting Scripture as several teachers and the principal huddle at the door. I walk over and try to talk to him.

  "Excuse me son, but shouldn't you be in class?"

  "Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the lamb!"

  I look at the worried faces of the parents escorting their children to class and shoo a few kids away that stop and stare.

  "He is the light! He has risen! He is life everlasting!"

  A police car pulls up and the principal walks over to meet the officers. I decide to leave. Things could get ugly and I have no desire to witness a showdown between this fired-up boy and the powers that be. And besides, I have some errands to run before the program. That is, if her class still has it. This boy could have just shut the whole school down for the day.

  I sit in the gymnasium on a metal folding chair. Except for the male teachers, and the principal, I'm the only man in the audience. This is not a very comfortable feeling.

  I listen to the women talk and hear that the boy preaching was suspended for the day. Apparently the boy's father is a sidewalk preacher and he was just following in dad's footsteps

  The little one's class files into the gym and onto a pair of risers at the front. She spots me easily and smiles. Her teacher readies the children and then signals for a man to begin playing the piano.

  The performance goes well. None of the children forgot their lines or blew a cue. Several spoke too loudly or too softly, and many had to pause to remember, but that's understandable. And besides that's what make these shows priceless. The little one's after school friend held up the picture of a 'Steakasaurus.'

  I remember walking at night in winter up a steep hill. Snow glistened under the stars and my bundled breath shot clouds out in front of my face. I stopped at the top, and as the row of traffic lights flickered in the empty street below, I felt totally connected to everything.

  The alarm goes off and my wife rolls over and finds me locked in a grin.

  "Well, it is good to see you smiling." She speaks hoarsely, bringing her eyes and speech into focus

  "I'm happy it's Friday."

  She moves close, leaving her morning bangs dangling.

  "Save some happiness for me tonight."

  I return from taking our daughter to school and find two television talk show personalities jabbering back and forth about smoked mullet and the difficulty of finding shark in the grocery stores in Florida.

  I feel better today. All week it's taken a huge effort on my part to even raise a fork. I haven't felt like doing anything. Even though I've been looking after the house, our daughter and a few chores, the last week gripped me with an overwhelming feeling of uselessness. I haven't told my wife this because her solution would be for me to get a job.

  I've been staying up real late at night watching television and going to bed several hours after my wife is asleep. She probably thinks I'm angry with her and am purposely avoiding her. I know she can tell I've been down lately, and I suppose I have been avoiding her to a certain extent because I don't really feel like talking about it. I'll make it up to her this weekend.

  Reaching for the door of the drivers license bureau I'm interrupted by an anxious young man who hands me a thin strip of paper and a smiling bear sticker. The paper reads 'These two dollars go to helping a deaf mute.' For a moment I'm not sure what this is supposed to mean. I look confused at the man. His waiting expression makes me realize he's asking for money.

  I get out my billfold (Minus my driver's license) and not having any ones, I hand the man a five-dollar bill. He mouths an exaggerated "Thank You" and steps away. I tuck the note and sticker in one of the slots in my billfold and swing open the door.

  Someone might say the man was just a sophisticated beggar, more than capable of working. I don't know. One of my downfalls is that I can never refuse someone on the streets that asks for money. I suppose I'm an easy mark.

  I don't know how or where I lost my drivers' license, but yesterday when I went to pay for some gas I noticed it was gone. I wouldn't of even come here to get a replacement if my wife hadn't gotten so upset over my losing it.

  "You can't just wait for it to turn up! Go tomorrow and get another one!"

  I sure wish she would tell me why she is so uptight lately.

  I move to fourth in line, and as I contemplate what facial expression to use in my drivers license picture, everyone's attention inside turns to the commotion across the street. An elderly lady taking a driving test has backed into a tree and her car engine revs.

  Several people step to the door and window to watch, but quickly change their minds as the car lunges straight for the front of the building. I grab a few people around me and bring them and myself to the floor. An explosion of glass follows as the front end of the car crashes through the main window.

  The fierce-sounding engine stops abruptly, and after a few seconds of silence a man stands from behind the counter yelling "Nobody panic! I'll take care of this!"

  I bring my face from under my arm and am asked if I'm okay. I nod and look around to see broken glass covering the entire room. People begin to stand and brush themselves off, walking slowly around
while glass crunches underfoot. Cuts, gashes, and general shock seem to be the level of injury. One woman brings herself to her knees and slowly shakes her head while a boy removes glass from a girl's long hair.

  The man from behind the counter informs the elderly lady driving to stay put until the police arrive and begins screaming at the examiner in the passenger's seat, threatening him with the loss of his job.

  "Honey?... are you awake?"

  "I am now."

  "I want to apologize for being so bitchy lately."

  "Okay... Since you brought it up, what's been the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

  "No... it's just that I've got a feeling that I'm going to be transferred again. My contract is up at the end of school, and with the district in all the financial trouble it's in I think they're going to transfer me so they don’t have to give me tenure."

  "But they've already done that to you once."

  "They can do it as much as they please. When your probation period is over and you're reviewed for tenure all they've got to do is transfer you to another school to get out of the salary increase."

  "That's not fair. You're a good teacher."

  "It's got nothing to do with fairness, it's all about money."

  "Can't you go to the union?"

  "I could, but I don't want to... I feel so... I don't know.

  "Betrayed?"

  "Yeah.

  Last week I went to a volunteer service and was placed in an activity that works with my schedule: An after lunch recreation aide at a nearby nursing home on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  I park in front of the nursing home and two adolescent boys walk by my car and do a double take at its damage. I really should get it fixed. I will, but I'll wait until my wife makes a big issue of it first.

  Just inside the front doors I find several chairs and a small table covered with backdated magazines. An older woman sitting behind the information desk pleasantly asks "Hello. May I help you?"

  "Yes."

  The woman picks up a phone and dials. She holds the receiver patiently and smiles. After a moment the party at the other end answers.

  "There's a nice young man here to see you. Yes... Okay."

  She has me sit, and as I do, I replay the way she delicately pushed the phone away and the expression on her face. It was so undeniably feminine that it makes me wonder if she moved that way on purpose because I was there. It's hard to describe, but it was kind of sexy. I know that sounds weird. But weirder than what? A car crashing through the front of the drivers license bureau?

  "Hello."

  I stand.

  "Nice to meet you."

  She is a large woman. She wears white slacks and a white jacket over a navy blue blouse. Her body wiggles and moves with her motion as she shows me around.

  "I was surprised to find a man's name on the information sheet the agency sent over. Usually we get housewives helping here."

  I catch her glancing over, checking out my wedding ring.

  We walk past a wing of the client's living quarters that resemble hospital rooms.

  "This is where the more severe cases are. These people need medical attention. You'll be working with a few patients from this area; they'll probably arrive a little early. There will be a nurse working with you in case any medical emergencies arise."

  I look inside the cracked open doors, finding faces looking dead and frozen, faces staring blankly away, and faces that latch onto mine with desperate longing as I pass. Maybe I'll stop in and talk with a few of these faces before I leave.

  This area smells like a hospital. It has that antiseptic, confined air of lingering sickness that the young Latino carrying clean linen and the dim-faced janitor getting a mop and bucket from the supply closet can't remove. It's a smell that's undeniable, inescapable. It's the smell of lives hanging in the balance.

  "This is the entertainment room."

  The hallway opens up into a lounge area that has a piano, several soft upholstered chairs, and a sofa surrounding a big screen TV. Several women sit moving their close-mouthed gums up and down while a commercial sings about soap. A well-dressed gentleman in a dated suit reads the newspaper.

  "Lunch is just about over, so for the most part people will start filtering in about now."

  We walk past a nurse's station, turning in to a doorway leading down a flight of stairs. Our footsteps echo in unison as we walk down the empty passageway.

  "Is there anything I need to be specifically aware of? Anything I should focus on?"

  She swings open a heavy door. I follow her in to a hard-carpeted hallway.

  "What you'll be doing is heading the group's bingo games. I suggest you speak loudly and slowly. You seem very cheerful, but really try and project a positive attitude."

  We step in to the recreation room finding several clients waiting. A plain, grossly overweight nurse wearing big glasses taps some medication from a small paper container into an elderly man's shaking hand, and gives him a cup of water.

  "Hello everyone. This nice man is going to be leading your bingo game."

  Several of the clients beam smiles my way and nod their approval while a few stare blankly from the confines of their wheelchairs.

  "Hi there."

  I wave. The nurse finishes administrating the medication and introduces herself to me. Before beginning, I greet each person and chat briefly with them. The majority of them are receptive and their eyes soften with the attention. Still, a few sit, unmoved, and not even the nurses coaxing can get a response from them. I let them be.

  "Be sure and draw B-2." One of the gentlemen tells me this as I shake his hand.

  "For the last two weeks that's the only number I needed during blackout."

  I sit at a table spinning the wire tumbler, removing the painted balls. During the course of several games I notice the B-2 ball missing. I call it anyway.

  The weather had the decency to wait until everyone got home and inside before starting to rain. The lazy blue sky of the morning has been replaced by gray. There is a steady, heavy drizzle. If April showers bring May flowers, what do May showers bring? Friday nights at home.

  My wife is quite worn from her field day activities, so I suggested letting me get pizza and a few videos.

  "Wonderful. While you're gone I'm gonna soak in the tub."

  I really admire my wife's dedication to her profession. Teaching is very hard work. I like kids, but there's no way I could handle thirty of them for eight hours a day. It's enough of a challenge answering all of the little one's questions.

  The weather does little to discourage the volume of traffic moving about now. I turn on the radio to ease my impatience.

  A large, yellow, soaked dog trots across the street with an anxious panting face. Cold clouds of breath puff from his mouth. The cars ahead of me proceed slowly, but I remain stopped until the dog is safely across the street. Get home fella.

  I pull into the video store's crowded parking lot. I find a space. I shut off the car and step quickly to the store's entrance. Before I open the door I look and see that I've left on my headlights. I'm always doing that.

  As I get out of my car again two police cars arrive. One cop enters and moves to the door in back of the store while another stands guard.

  After a few moments the owner of the store is led out of the back room in handcuffs by one of the cops and a man in a flannel shirt.

  "Will there be any unicorns at the circus?"

  "I don't think there will be this year, Sweetheart."

  My mother-in-law leans over giving our daughter's nose a quick brush of affection. A few years back the circus passed off a goat that had a horn growing out of the center of its forehead as a unicorn. I believe they ran into some legal trouble with that promotion.

  "So you're doing volunteer work now?"

  "Yeah. I'm helping out at a nursing home during its bingo time."

  "How do you like it?"

  "I like it. Makes me feel useful. Ever since I quit my old jo
b I've been needing to feel productive."

  "Well, good."

  My father-in-law smiles his response and sits.

  I've noticed a change in my father-in-law's manner towards me ever since the accident settlement. I always got the feeling that he didn't approve of my profession. Working with mentally handicapped people is an awkward answer when someone asks what your son-in-law does, I suppose. I imagine it's more satisfying for him now to say that I'm retired and that he is handling a good portion of our money. Money brought respect.