Her perfectly tailored madras with the pink cardigan to match; the perfectly coiffed ponytail and the delicately manicured nails finished with Tea Rose Pink make her the envy of all housewives. Her Chanel sunglasses were sitting atop her honeyed hair. She slowly slid them down to shade the swelling of her eyes. No one needed to see perfection flawed.
Amidst her temporary breakdown; while trying to decide what two items to return; she turned around and nearly knocked him down. Staggering, he balanced himself on the hand-carved cane his great-grandfather gave him as a child. Confused as to what just happened, he caught a glimpse of the sad lady. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he saw just a hint of a tear under the Chanels highlighted by the shadow of running mascara.
It was obvious to the gentleman that no one was to know she was upset. He wondered what could make someone who seemingly had everything so upset. Making his way to the checkout line, he kept looking back at her.
She couldn't bring herself to apologize. Just stared at him as if she were a doe looking into the headlights of an oncoming semi. Trying to hide her now tattered face, abruptly she turned and walked away.
Did anyone notice? Do they know? More tears start to flow. Autopilot kicks in and she just sets down her basket and walks out.
The gentleman notices her exit empty-handed. Remembering events that led him here today, he nonchalantly picked up the lady's basket and combined it with his own. He hoped he had enough time. He made his way through the line and out of the store. Like a dolphin using it's sonar, he scanned the lot in hopes of finding her. He was right in concentrating on the hoard of SUVs that took more than half of all the spaces.
There she was. Leaning against the door of her Midnight Blue Excursion. Hands just tapping at the door so rhythmically she could have been a metronome for the Boston Pops. She couldn't collect herself enough to open the door.
He walked to his own car; never letting her out of his sight. He patiently waited until she was ready. Close to a half hour had passed. She was still tapping. He was still waiting. He often took to sharpening his knife when he was watching. Sometimes this would last for hours. Slide on the whetstone. Lift the blade. Turn to the other side; slide again. Over and over and over again. The swish-scrape was soothing to him. It allowed him to concentrate on the task at hand.
Ten minutes later, she regained composure and unlocked the truck. Completely unaware of being watched, she started home. Left onto Bradbury. Seven blocks; then right on to Oak Knoll. She always had liked this route, for the shade of the elderly oaks and birch created a vast canopy. Secure and safe. She would miss this drive.
When she reached her house; she would never call this home again; she started to throw up. She knew she had to go in, but dreaded the thought. The memories, the demons, the stench of hate kept her from wanting to go into what should have been the safest place in the world. Taking a deep breath; she parked the truck and walked to the front door. Letting herself in, she took a moment to look back at the street; taking it all in. With an almost nonexistant sigh, she entered and closed the door. She never noticed the car on the street or the man from the supermarket sitting inside of it just watching her.
He never understood her kind of people. They had everything, but never seemed to appreciate it. They never seemed happy. It was almost as if they couldn't enjoy thier blessings. The deal made with the devil only allowed them to have the great life; just not enjoy it. He knew it was his calling; his responsibility to give them what they deserved. He called himself "The Helper". As far as he knew, no one had ever found out who he was. Certainly, he would not be able to continue his life's work if anyone had. He preferred to stay below the radar.
She had no idea what events were to come after bumping into the man. She knew what the afternoon was to hold before the incident. After seeing the cripple seemingly thankful for just being alive, she thought twice. It was him that made her leave the basket. The candles, the bubble bath, the cd of Bethoven, the prescriptions and the the razor blades. The reality of leaving was still tangible. But now, she realized there was more than one way to do so.
Pulling the suitcases out of the storage room, her mind started filling with the nightmares of this particular closet. How he would tie her up in here when she "misbehaved". The lashes in the drywall were still fresh with her flesh imbedded. The muzzle still smelled of sweat and tears. She quickly grabbed the suitcases before finding the broomstick.
Packing as quickly as possible; taking only the nessecary items, she heard the doorbell. Who would be calling in the middle of the afternoon? After stuffing the suitcases under the bed to hide any evidence of her departure, she went downstairs to answer.
Certainly not expecting what she found; she was in shock. There on her front stoop sat a bag. Inside the bag were the items she left at the store and a note. The note read:
You do not know me
I am "The Helper"
You seem distressed today
Please allow me to help
It seems that you needed these items
I took the liberty of fufilling your order
Please enjoy
Goodbye
She took the bag and went inside.
1 comment:
This is a lot better than anything I could come up with. Well-done.
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