“You’ve got mail”, says the voice from
the computer. Of course, it’s from my
mother. I get at least one message from
her every day. This one has an attached
file. She is getting good. I gave her a computer system for her
birthday a few weeks ago – the fastest processor available, a 17-inch monitor,
printer, scanner, the works. At first
she looked at me like I had two heads.
“What am I supposed to do with all this?” she asked.
“Well, I thought you might be interested in
joining the 21st century,” I said jokingly. She was not amused. “There are so many things you can do with
it. And I’ll have you all hooked up to
an online service, so you can e-mail me instead of paying those high phone
bills every month,” I said hopefully.
She contorted her face in a look of disgust and said, “Well, if you would call me once in a while, my phone bill wouldn’t be so high!” And she trumped off into the kitchen to make
us lunch. She wasn’t being ungrateful; it’s just her way. What are you supposed to get a woman who
wants nothing?
As I sit at my desk now with my coffee cup, I
remember that I began to assemble everything together, and was thinking to
myself that she was right. I only live
a little over an hour away from her. I should call her more, and visit her
more. Now I hear from her every day
like before, but never her voice, only her words. This was what I wanted, right?
Anyway, I open the e-mail. It begins:
Hello Jason, How are you today? I am well. I think I‘ve got the hang of the scanner now. Thank you for sending me the help book. It did the job. I am attaching an article from today’s paper, since all you get is that fancy city paper. It is the obit for Mr. Kranze. He wasn’t that old, only 68, just a few years older than me. Poor soul, no one even new he was sick. Thought you might like to read it, as I know you had a fondness for him. I have to run – I am in an online checkers game in a few minutes. I really do love my birthday present, although you spent way too much money – I looked it up on the web and found out how much all this stuff costs. Flowers would have been fine. But thank you anyway. Gotta run, Love, Mom.
I printed it out and
reread her note several times, as I got up and poured myself a second cup of
coffee. Mr. Kranze was the town
librarian since about forever, at least as long as I can remember. I never could guess his age; he just always
seemed old. He had brushed-cut black
hair flecked with gray, thick black glasses and the palest skin you had ever
seen. He walked with a slight limp with
his right leg. He always wore dark
brown or black pants, pulled up to his ribs, secured with a belt, and these
bulky cardigan sweaters with plaid shirts under them, buttoned up to the neck. And they were always so baggy on him. He looked like he woke up one morning 50
pounds lighter, but wore the same clothes despite the weight loss. Even in the summer, when the old library was
stifling hot, he still wore the same outfit.
Occasionally he would take off his sweater, but he never rolled up the
sleeves or unbuttoned the neck. I
would be wearing shorts and a T-shirt; the sweat making the backs of my legs
stick to the old wooden chair. But the
heat never seemed to bother him. One
time he brushed my arm as he leaned over to point out something particular
about a book and his hand was actually cold.
It had to have been 80 degrees inside the library, yet he was still
cold. Maybe he had poor circulation. I finished my coffee and sat down at the
desk again to read the obituary that mom sent.
It was very
short. It stated that he graduated from
college with a Master’s Degree in Library Science. He worked at the town library for thirty-eight years, and served
as the town historian for about ten years.
Only one survivor was listed, a friend named Ernest. The service was going to be today at the
town’s funeral home, Crombley’s, at two o’clock this afternoon. I knew immediately that I would go, though I
hadn’t been inside Crombley’s since my dad died. Today was Saturday, so no work today. But even if it had been a workday, I would have gone to pay my
last respects. I owed Mr. Kranze that
much, if not more.
I e-mailed Mom and
thanked her for sending the obituary. I
told her that I would be in town later today, and that I would stop by to see
her, maybe take her out for dinner if she was available. I hope she is.
Leaving my
apartment, I saw my new next door neighbor, Amy walking up to her door. She has on sweat pants and a sweatshirt, and
running shoes. She is perspiring, and
her brown hair, most of it, is tied back in a band. She is short, a lot shorter than I am, and very petite. She has a few freckles on her face. I would place her at about 27 or so. She has kind of a crooked smile, but it only
adds to her charm. I spoke to her once
before. She knocked on my door, told me
her name, and asked me if I had any cat food.
I told her no, sorry, I don’t have a cat. She asked where the closest
market was, because she ran out of gourmet canned food and only had dry, and
that wasn’t going to work for Miss Thing, her cat. So I told her where the market was, she thanked me and said ‘see
you around’ ”. I smiled like a dope and
shut the door. Why am I such a dork
around women? Why couldn’t I have
come up with something that would have made her interested in me? Maybe now is my chance.
“Hi there,” said
Amy.
“Hi yourself,” I
said. “How is your Thing?” Oh
yeah, this will woo her! God, what a dork I am. The girls in high school were right. “I mean, how is your cat, Miss Thing?”
“Oh, she is doing
okay. She is trying to get used to the
apartment, staking out her territory, you know. She got over her little fit once I got back from the store and
gave her the food. She is so spoiled!”
I laugh a little at
this, and say “Well I am glad. Are you
getting settled in okay?” Geez, I might
as well ask her about the weather. What
a bore I am.
“Yeah,” she
says. “I think I am going to like it
here. I was lucky to find a place that
would take cats, and it’s close to the library where I work.”
“Oh, over on
Highland Street?” I ask. She nods.
“That is a great library. I go
there occasionally myself.” So now she
knows I am a nerd and a dork.
“I just started the
job a few weeks ago. I am the Assistant
Librarian there. I am still getting
used to it, but I think I am going to like it,” she said. “Though, I am having a heck of a time
getting around in the city. I have been
lost a few times, trying to find where different places are. There are so many one way streets! It gets confusing,” she said, big smile on
her face.
Could she be hinting
that she wants me to show her around?
No, I am sure she’s not. “Yeah, I guess it can be. Well, I am going to visit, ah, my mother. Now.
I, I better get going actually.”
Geez, I’m really batting zero here.
At 30 years old, I am, on top of everything else, a momma’s boy.
“Oh, okay. Well ah…,” She holds her hand out as if she
is waiting for something. My name! She wants to know my name!
“Jason, my name is
Jason. Jason Bentley,” I say, shaking her
hand. Yes, please call me
JasonJasonJason. This is what my mother
named me. What an idiot.
“Well Jason Bentley,
I am sure I will see you around. It was
nice talking to you. Take care,” says
Amy. She smiles, fans her fingers in a wave, and walks into her apartment. I kind of bow, and turn to leave. I finally get to my Toyota, open the door
and throw myself in. I can’t believe
how dumb I am. It’s like high school
all over again. I may as well get used
to being alone. I can’t help but wonder
if she was coming on to me a little. Why couldn’t I just ask her out? She seems real sweet, and she sure is
pretty. And I bet we’d have a lot in
common. I have always envied guys who could talk to girls without getting
nervous and jerky.
On the drive back home,
(isn’t it funny how you consider where you grew up home? – I haven’t live there
in twelve years, but I still refer to it as ‘home’), I purposely don’t think
about my conversation with Amy. It only makes me mad at myself. I instead think about Mr. Kranze, and all
that happened to me while I was growing up.
My father died when I was fourteen years old, so after that, I spent a
lot of time at the library. Kind of an
isolation for myself. I would lose
myself in books for a while, and I could almost forget about the accident for a
short time. My dad was a great
guy. He and my mom both worked at Sirus
Manufacturing. That’s how they met, way
back when. Anyway, Dad was in the
warehouse doing inventory, which was stocked full of big wooden crates with industrial
air conditioning units in them. Someone
driving a forklift came in, and ran into a stack of crates. Some fell from the top and landed on my dad. He was crushed instantly. My mom was very upset for a long time, but
returned to work after a while. The
company took good care of us, and Dad had some life insurance. So we were able to keep our house and
everything. Mom always said we were
lucky about that. She said that we
could have lost the house, because we wouldn’t have been able to afford it on
just her salary. Sirus paid off our
mortgage, and gave her a check for a lot of money, though I don’t know how
much. I know I never really wanted for
anything growing up – she was always able to provide for us. Often while thinking back, I realize that
the company was probably shoveling her a little money in hopes that she
wouldn’t turn around and sue them, but Mom never saw it that way. So she worked there until she retired at age
62, two years ago.
I started going to the library the summer
after Dad died. Mom had not returned to
work yet. Probably tired of me hanging
around the house all of the time, she urged me to ‘go outside and find
something to do’. So I headed to the
library. It was often empty, because
what kid in his right mind would spend his summer vacations in the
library? But I was always a loner
anyway, never really having any close friends. I always enjoyed reading books, any kind. I am sure Mr. Kranze knew about what
happened to my Dad, though he never said anything. He must have noticed me
hanging around, and would casually suggest a book or two. I figured he must have read a lot too,
because he always liked to discuss the books after I was done reading
them. He knew all of the characters in
the stories, and if I didn’t really understand a certain part in a book, he
would explain it in such a way that would help me get it. I remember that I was always in awe of him
because when a person asked about a certain subject or title, he could spout
off information from the top of his head, and then direct them to exactly what
they wanted. He didn’t have to look
anything up, he just knew.
A few months after I
turned 16, my mom said she had a special surprise for me. She asked me to come out to the garage, so I
did. I opened the overhead door for
her, and was shocked. My dad’s ’68
Camaro convertible was not only uncovered, but it had a bow on it. It is bright red, has a 327 cubic inch V8 motor,
with a four-speed transmission and side pipes.
I must have appeared as shocked as I felt, because Mom said, “Jason,
close your mouth. You’ll catch
flies. And happy belated birthday,
darling. I love you,” She hugged me a long time, longer than
usual.
“Are you serious
Mom? Is this for real? I can’t believe it! Dad’s car?
Oh man!” My heart was beating a
mile a minute. I was so happy.
“Your dad would have
wanted you to have it. Actually, he
told me after you were born, someday he would pass it down to you. That’s why I held on to it. I am only carrying out his wish. He would be proud to have you own it now,”
she said. She was getting a little
misty, her voice quivering, and I realized how hard this must be for her. She cleared her throat and continued, “I had
Jack over at the service station give her a tune up. It needed some work, but Jack says that she is as good as
new. He said it helped a lot that the
car was covered and in the garage for all these years.” There was a silence between us, and she
leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I hugged her hard, and thanked her. I didn’t want to cry, so I didn’t dare say anything. I was remembering when I was little, Dad
would take us out for a ride on Sunday afternoons in the summer, when the
weather was good. Never in the rain,
and certainly never in the snow. I
remember how people used to look at us, and I thought it was so cool. People we knew in town would wave, and yell
‘hello’. It was a great feeling. God I really miss him.
Finally, I took a
deep breath and said, “Geez, when did you do all this? I didn’t even know anything was going
on.” Mom said, ”Well, you were either
at school or at the library, so it wasn’t really that hard. Are you going to take me for a spin, or
what?” she asked. “You bet, “ I said.
In school I had
acquaintances, but no one I was close to.
Kids that I knew from my Advanced Placement classes, science group, that
kind of thing. That is, until I got the
car. Suddenly, I had lots of
friends. Popular friends. Even girls wanted to hang out with me. Joey Sharp, probably the most popular guy in
school, came up and talked to me one day at my locker.
“Hey, you’re Jason,
right?” he asked. I nodded, wondering
why he was talking to me. “Are those
your wheels I saw you driving this morning?” he asked.
“Ah, yeah. It’s my car,” I replied, staring at
him. I was still shocked that he was
talking to me.
“Man, that is an
awesome ride. Everything looks original
on her. I was checking her out before
homeroom. Maybe we could go for a ride sometime,
just hang out, huh?”
“A, yeah, sure. If you’d like.” I smiled.
“Okay, cool. Maybe this afternoon?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’d be
great,” I replied. I was planning to
drive to the library to show Mr. Kranze, but that would have to wait.
“Okay guy, meet you
after school,” Joey said. He slapped my
arm lightly, and walked away.
And so that started
my relationship with the cool kids in school.
Joey and I hung out, and he introduced me to some of his friends. Mostly I drove them places, but I did have
some fun. We went to some parties and
to the beach a few times. I knew they
were hanging around because of the car, but I didn’t care, it felt good to
belong. And my mom was very happy that
I had made some friends. One day, Joey
asked me to take him to the library.
“I have a report due
tomorrow in history class on the Civil War, and I haven’t even started it
yet. Think we could hit the library for
a quick look-up on some info?”
I hesitated a
little. I hadn’t seen Mr. Kranze in
several months. I had felt bad about
that, but I had been busy. Well, why
not. I could finally show him the
car.
“Yeah, no problem
Joey. We can go after school today,” I
replied.
“Cool. Maybe that goof ball Mr. Kranze can give me
hand. He knows all sorts of useless
crap like that,” he said laughing.
I wasn’t surprised
that Joey said this, though it hurt me to hear it. He was always knocking people like that. But I didn’t say anything, just went along
with him.
At the library, we
went into the history room, which was empty, and laid our books down on the
table. This room connected the
entranceway to the main lobby of the library, but I hadn’t seen Mr. Kranze as
we entered. I started to go the area
where I knew some Civil War information would be, but then I stopped. I didn’t want Joey to think that I knew
where it was. And I certainly didn’t want him to know that I used to hang out
here a lot. So I began to look at the
books on the shelf, and pretended to stumble upon some Civil War books. I pulled one down, and turned to Joey. But he spoke first.
“Hey man, who am
I?” He laughed. He had pulled his pants up to his waist, and
buttoned his pullover up to the neck.
He walked around the table with hunched shoulders and an exaggerated
limp, and said in a weird voice, “Hi, I’m Mr. Kranze. I’m a dufus!” I kind of
laughed at him, but only to go along with him.
I really didn’t think he was funny.
I wonder now how many times I have thought that I should have told him
to knock it off, that he wasn’t
funny. But he kept it up, gimping
around the room and imitating Mr. Kranze.
“Read those books, and don’t ever bring them back late, or I’ll get
you!” he cackled. I knew he wouldn’t
quit until I really laughed at him, told him he was hilarious. So as I was thumbing through the book, I was
laughing, telling him he was a good impersonator. I looked up though, because I realized that suddenly he
stopped. I looked at the doorway behind
me, and there stood Mr. Kranze. He had
seen Joey mocking him, and heard me laugh.
He had a hurt look on his face when he saw me. My stomach hit the floor.
“You boys need to
keep it down in here, please. Let me
know if I can help you find anything,” and he left. Joey started laughing.
“Come on man, let’s
get out of here. I’ve got encyclopedias
at home. I’ll just copy something out
of them,” he said. So we grabbed our
books and headed for the door. I could
see Mr. Kranze through the outer doorway.
He looked up at me, seemed to regard me for a minute, then looked away,
like he was busy with something. I felt
like such a jerk. I should have gone to
him and apologized, but I never did. I
never spoke to him again.
And after that, I
didn’t see too much of Joey either. He
would ask me for rides, but I told him I was busy. Then he got a car of his own, and stopped coming around. Once, when I was at my locker, I overheard
him talking to a girl about a party they were going to that night. They didn’t know I was standing behind them. “Is that Jason kid coming with you? He is kind of strange. He doesn’t ever talk much, just kind of
laughs at everybody else,” she said.
“No, he’s not
coming. I thought he was okay at first,
but he kind of weirded out on me,” said Joey.
So that was the end of that.
After a while I put the car back up in the garage. I figured I had caused enough trouble with
it; I didn’t really deserve it. Mom
never understood why.
As I drove into
Crombley’s parking lot, I noticed that it was fairly empty. I recognized Mr. Crombley’s truck further
down, in back of the house section, and the hearse was parked behind the
funeral home section of the building.
That was about it. As I entered
the funeral parlor, the smell came back to me, and reminded me of when my dad
died. It wasn’t a sickening smell, but
a clean smell. Very clean, like strong
disinfecting soap. God, I hate this
place.
Mr. Crombley saw me
come in, and came over to shake my hand.
“Well, Jason Bentley, nice to see you again. It’s been a long time.
You haven’t changed much. How
are you doing these days?” Mr. Crombley
was real nice to me when my dad died.
He and Dad were friends, and I know he felt bad about everything that
happened.
“Good Mr. Crombley,
thanks. I, ah, just thought I would
stop by and pay my respects. Have there
been many visitors?” I ask.
“Well, most of the
people from the Library Committee came by, and a few people from around
town. He didn’t have any family. Your mom was here earlier, and said you
might come by,” he said.
“Yeah, she e-mailed
me that he passed away. How did he die,
if you don’t mind me asking?” I said.
“Heart attack is
what the coroner said. Just was
something sudden, you know, one of those things,” said Mr. Crombley. Yeah, I knew what he meant. “The library staff called the sheriff’s
office when Mr. Kranze didn’t come in to work, and didn’t answer his phone at
home.”
“Oh, I see.
Well, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” I said.
“Of course son, take
your time,” said Mr. Crombley.
This was the part I
hated the most, having to go up to the casket.
The viewing room didn’t look much different than it did sixteen years
ago. Soft music was playing in the
background, and there were a few floral arrangements placed around the
casket. The carpet and furniture was
fairly new, but everything was pretty much in the same place as it was
then. I was surprised that Mr. Kranze
didn’t look much different than years before either. Maybe a few more wrinkles but basically the same. He had on a suit, which was old, but it
looked nice on him. I had never seen
him in a suit before. “Good bye Mr.
Kranze. Rest in peace. I am sorry,” I whispered. I stood there a few more minutes, then
backed away from the casket, and went to find Mr. Crombley. He was in his office.
“Hey, Mr. Crombley,
I remember seeing in the obituary from the paper that Mr. Kranze had a friend
named Ernest. Who was that?” I
asked. I actually hadn’t thought about
this until just now.
Mr. Crombley smiled
at me and said “Well, that was his cat.
I figured that no one should die alone, so when I wrote the obituary for
the paper, I thought I would include Ernest in it.”
“Oh, I see,” and
smiled back at him. I thought for a
moment and asked, “So what happened to him?
Ernest that is?”
“Well, I went to the
house and picked up Mr. Kranze to bring him to the coroner. I noticed the cat and figured that no one
else was around to take care of him, so I took him home with me. But I am going to have to bring him to the
shelter. I’ve just been too busy to do it.
Although he seems like a nice cat, I don’t need another one around,”
said Mr. Crombley.
I thought about
this. Maybe I could take the cat. I know it wouldn’t make up for the cowardly
way I behaved, but it made me feel a little better just the same. I don’t know too much about cats, but how
hard could it be?
So I tell Mr.
Crombley that I will take the cat, out of respect for Mr. Kranze. “Yes, he was a good man, Kranze was. Kind of quite, a loner really, but he was a
hard worker, and dedicated himself to that library. Good for you Jason. I
know Ernest will be in good hands. I’ll
go back and get him for you. Give me a
few minutes, will you?”
“Sure Mr. Crombley,
thanks,” I say. He leaves his office
and exits through the door that connects to his home.
So I sit in a chair,
and begin thinking about Mr. Kranze, about how awful it must be to die with no
family or friends around. And then I
think, this could be me! I will
probably outlive my dear mother, and then whom do I have? Why have I always been such a loner? I
mean no disrespect for the dead, but do I really want to end up like this? I need to start working on this. Take a chance once in a while.
Looking at my watch,
I realize I need to call Mom. I dial
her number on my cell phone, and she answers right away.
“Hi Mom, I am going
to leave Crombley’s here in a few minutes and thought I would stop by. Do you mind not going out for dinner tonight?”
“Of course not
dear. But what’s the matter? Break the bank on my computer and now you
can’t afford to buy me dinner?” she asks wryly.
I chuckle at
this. “No Mom, it’s not a money
thing. I am bringing a little visitor
with me, and he doesn’t do restaurants.”
“Oh, would it happen
to be a feline by the name of Ernest?” she asked mischievously. How does she know this stuff?
“Yeah, I guess it
is. Mr. Crombley is getting him for me
now. We won’t be able to stay too long,
but I’ll come back again for a visit soon, okay Mom? I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Okay, that will be
fine. Bye dear.”
Mr. Crombley returns
with Ernest and a small animal carrier.
He is a good-sized cat, with short gray and white fur. “Hi there Ernest,” I say, and take him from
Mr. Crombley. I pet him for a minute;
he rubs his head on my shirt and begins to purr.
“I spoke to Doc
Bickles. He said that Ernest is up to
date on all his shots and is healthy.
He’s about four years old. He is
a well-behaved cat, but he is a finicky eater.
Won’t touch dry cat food. He’ll
only eat that expensive canned stuff.
Isn’t that the darndest thing?” he laughs, shaking his head.
I laugh at the
thought of this and think to myself, where have I heard this before?
“I’ve already fed
him this morning, but he’ll need to eat again tonight. I should have thought to bring a couple cans
with me. You want me to go back to the
house and get some for you?” he asks.
I chuckle
again. “No, that’s okay Mr.
Crombley. I know just the place where I
can get some.” And I head out the door
with my newfound friend.