Читать книгу SQUIRRELY - John Mahoney - Страница 10

I overslept the next morning, so I couldn’t call Nancy at home. She usually calls me between ten and ten thirty during her break. We’d talk and laugh for a few minutes, and make plans for that night or for the weekend. Then she’d tell me how much she loved me and I’d say “me too.” Then we’d hang up.

Eleven o’clock passed and there was still no call. I called Skinner’s, and once again Nancy was busy with a customer, or she went across the street for a cup of coffee, or she was scuba-diving off the coast of Majorca, or some goddamn lame excuse like that.

After an early lunch, my mom wished me a pleasant day at work and I left the house. Despite everything that was happening to me I was in a pretty good mood. A positive mood. Something good was going to happen to me, I could feel it. I wanted something good to happen. Positive thinking.

It was a humid day. Sticky, with a threat of rain later. It made me wish I had bought a car with air conditioning. I drove in the direction of Charlie’s gas station. Maybe Charlie would take me back. I was sure he had long since forgotten the incident with Reverend Kerr. But a block before the station I came to my senses. I didn’t want to work in a gas station again. I hated that job!

I realized then that I had not actually received an official notice of termination from the Post Office. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I probably had not been fired at all. Mr. Dell was probably only blowing off steam and was not serious about firing me, even though he did take off his glasses. That was it! That was my positive thinking coming to being. I still had a job! Only trouble was, if I really still had a job with the Post Office, then I was two days AWOL. Crap!

My mission was clear. I had to go right away to the Post Office and talk to Mr. Dell, Mr. Stevens, and Mr. Sadhouse. I had to plead my case. Beg for mercy. I had to make them see that up to a couple of days ago I had an impeccable attendance and performance record. I could get Go-Go and Duck to vouch for me. It was a cinch to get my job back. Then my second step would be to square things with Nancy. I could do it! Positive thinking.

But first I needed a drink.

I turned the car around and headed for O’Leary’s. Just one drink to boost my courage. That’s all I needed. One little, lonely ol’ beer. That’s all. One.

Three hours later I was still the cowardly lion on a bar stool. That’s when Ugly came in through the kitchen, still wearing his carrier’s uniform. I saw him before he saw me. I could tell by the way his eyes scanned the bar he was looking for me. When he finally saw me he looked happy. I was surprised. I thought he’d really be mad at me for letting him down.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said, smiling. “It’s Peck the Bad Boy.”

“I knew that name would get spread around. Too bad I’ll never hear it said at the Post Office.”

“Oh, you’re not getting off that easily, General Screw-up. I just finished two days of negotiations with your shop steward, my shop steward, Sadhouse, Dell, and Bevins. And guess what? You’re going to be a letter carrier.”

“I am?”

“Yes. And you’re going to be the best damn letter carrier who ever looped a route. And do you know why?”

“Because you stuck your neck out for me?”

“I stuck my neck so far out for you I have stretch marks.”

“What did you tell them, Ugly?”

“I told them you were a wounded Vietnam veteran who sometimes relives the horror of battle in your mind, and that firing you would be too harsh a punishment for someone who gave so much for his country.”

“Hey, that’s good. I should have thought of that one myself. I guess I owe you one.”

“Ain’t no big thing,” he said, slapping me on the back. “Report back to work tomorrow to Mr. Dell. Saturday will be your last day as a clerk. Your carrier training begins on Monday. Oh, one more thing, you’ll be getting a letter of warning for telling Hank Bevins to shove the mail.”

“A letter of warning?”

“It’s like getting an Article 15 in the Army. It goes into your personal folder. If I were you, I’d try to keep my nose clean from now on. Okay…Bad Boy?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, relieved. “I learned my lesson. At least they didn’t suggest professional counseling.”

“That’s because the Post Office is slow to recognize anyone having personal problems, not that you have a problem, but if you did, management would ignore it until you screwed up big time, then they would just fire your sorry ass.”

I was happy to get my job back, and I was looking forward to becoming a letter carrier. Sorting the mail for six to eight hours a day was starting to be a drag. It’s the same routine every day. I’ll probably have less aggravation as a carrier. I hear people complaining about the Post Office all the time, how letters are lost, or take too long to be delivered. But part of the reason mail gets misdelivered is because the address on the envelope doesn’t have a number, or it’s the wrong number, or there’s no such street in town, or the zip code is wrong or missing. Sometimes there’s no return address on letters like that, so the letter ends up in the Dead Letter Office, and if no one files a claim for that piece of mail it is eventually destroyed. I bet I see at least a hundred pieces of mail each and every day that don’t belong in our office. And it’s mostly the fault of the sender.

But things will be different when I become a letter carrier. At least when I’m out delivering the mail I won’t have a supervisor watching over me every second of the day. I’ll be able to see different people and places. I can even feed the squirrels. And it’ll be fun driving those little mail jeeps around. I owe it to Ugly O’Leary to be the best letter carrier in the world. I’ll be so good, customers will never have reason to complain about the Post Office again.

I felt so good about myself that I only stayed for one more beer because I wanted to go home and phone Nancy the good news. But when I got home and tried to call her she was neither at work or home, and no one knew where she was. I called Bill’s house. He was out with Susan. I was disappointed I couldn’t reach Nancy, but I was still riding high on my positive frame of mind. I would turn things around with Nancy. Positively.

I told my mom and dad about my decision to switch from clerk to carrier. They were happy for me.

“Yeah,” I told them, “it means I’ll be working during the day time instead of night. Plenty of fresh air and exercise. The Postmaster said he only asks the best clerks to be letter carriers. How about that?”

My mom and dad were impressed. Have I told Nancy yet? They couldn’t wait to find out her reaction.

I couldn’t wait either. But by ten o’clock I gave up trying to call her. Christ, it’s been three days since I’ve talked to her. When was she going to cut me some slack? Probably never. Why was she playing this game? If she really loved me, or didn’t love me, why didn’t she just let me know one way or the other? Maybe it was over between us. After all, we hadn’t been going out for that long. Maybe we were moving too fast. I never should have kissed her that first night in O’Leary’s. I should’ve waited at least until the second or third date. I don’t know of any couple who commits themselves so totally to each other at such an early stage in their relationship. Now that I had time to think about it, perhaps we should have given ourselves more time before we talked about marriage.

I layed in bed, listening to the faint rumbles of an approaching storm. I couldn’t kid myself. I loved her. We weren’t moving too fast; we were destined to be together since the time we were born. The fact that we didn’t meet until twenty-one years later only meant that destiny moved too slow. I wanted to marry her. I can make her happy, if she’d only give me one more chance. I could see it all: a ranch house in West Orange with a flower box beneath every window, a green carpet lawn, a shiny car in the driveway, an Irish Setter dozing in the sun, our children playing on the swing set that I spent all day Saturday putting together. I’m relaxing on a lawn chair, Rheingold in hand. Nancy’s hanging out the wash to dry in the warm Summer breeze. She smiles at me. She walks toward me, drying her hands on her cotton dress. She holds her arms out to me; love is in her eyes. I reach for her, but she pulls back. Her hands are on her hips, her one eyebrow is arched, she looks angry. She points a finger at me and opens her mouth to speak, but all I hear is a loud, frightening thunder clap.

I sat upright in a sweat. The window shade was flapping inward and rain was coming through the screen. I jumped out of bed and closed the window as lightning lit up the room.

I knew exactly what had to be done. Damn the torpedoes. The show must go on. A stitch in time saves nine.

I got dressed and drove the six miles to Nancy’s house. It was nearly midnight and raining hard. I ran to the side of the house beneath Nancy’s darkened window. I called her name several times, but the wind and thunder drowned me out. I looked around for pebbles to toss at her window.

I had seen the same situation in a movie once. The penitent lover stands under the window of his beloved throwing pebbles against the glass. She awakes and opens the window to see her sweetheart clutching his thoroughly wet jacket to his neck. Her heart melts. She cries out his name. He climbs the trellis and hangs on to her window sill. They embrace.

But I couldn’t find any damn pebbles. The Marshall’s lawn was too thick. There were plenty of storm blown twigs around, so I picked up a dozen or more and flung them at the window. I threw several handfuls but they were too light to make any noise against the glass. In desperation I ripped up a chunk of grass and dirt and threw it against the house as hard as I could. I ripped up another chunk, and another, and another. The mud and wet grass thudded against the clapboard siding until finally I saw the room light go on. The window slid open.

“Who’s out there?”

Oh, crap! It’s Nancy’s father!

“It’s me, Mr. Marshall! Mackenzie!”

“Mac? What in God’s name are you doing out there?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mr. Marshall! I thought this was Nancy’s window!”

“Her bedroom is on the other side! Are you throwing something against my house?”

“Sorry!”

“Go to the front door, Mac, you idiot!”

I ran around to the front of the house. The hall light went on. Mr. Marshall came down the stairs, yanked the door open, and turned on the living room light.

“Are you out of your mind, Mac? Get in here.”

Nancy’s mother hurried down the stairs, tying the belt to her bathrobe.

“Aaron? What’s wrong? Mac, it’s you. What happened? Were you in an accident?”

“We were just about to discuss that possibility,” Mr. Marshall said.

“You’re soaking wet, Mac,” Mrs. Marshall said. “Come into the kitchen.”

“I have to talk to Nancy,” I said.

“Now?” Mr. Marshall said. “It’s past midnight.”

“I have to see her.”

“What is it, Mac?” asked Mrs. Marshall. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes. I just have to talk to her.”

“Mackenzie?”

We all looked up to see Nancy standing halfway down the stairs. She was wearing a long white nightgown. Her hair hung loosely around her sleepy face. I had never seen her more beautiful.

“What…what are you doing here?” Nancy said with a puzzled look.

I went up a couple of steps, my arms outstretched to her.

“Nancy. I’m sorry. I said some terrible things to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just went a little crazy, that’s all. I know I’m a jerk, but if you’ll just give me another chance I promise I’ll make it up to you. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I missed you.”

Nancy looked at me, then at her parents, then back to me. She was more awake now. “Mackenzie, we can’t talk about this now.”

“Why not?” Nancy’s father said.

“Aaron, mind yourself,” chided Mrs. Marshall.

“Nancy,” I said, “I’ve been miserable these last three days. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think.”

“Can you drink?” Nancy asked sternly.

“I know, I know. I’ve been a jerk. I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.”

Nancy walked down two steps toward me. “You’ll never do what again? Drink?”

“I mean I’ll never treat you as bad as I did. Never again.”

She took another step toward me. “Are you saying you’ll trust me from now on?”

I nodded.

“Are you saying you won’t get mad at me anymore and say stupid things?”

I nodded again.

She was one step away from me. “Are you saying you won’t get into a fight with your boss, insult him, and quit your job?”

“You know?” I said.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past three days? I’ve been miserable too, Mackenzie.”

“Hah!” Mr. Marshall said. “Miserable? That’s putting it mildly.”

“Aaron!”

“So what are you saying to me, Mackenzie?

With Nancy being one step up from me our eyes were at the same level. I never realized before how deep I could look into her eyes. I wasn’t just seeing my reflection, I was seeing myself in her, like I was a part of her.

“Well, I…” The rain was dripping off my hair and into my eyes. Luckily, I was able to wipe the rain and tears from my face together. “Nancy, I…” I looked down at Nancy’s parents. They were standing in the foyer, their fingers gripping each other’s bathrobe. “Nancy, will you marry me?”

I heard someone gasp. I don’t think it was me. Nancy was slow to react. She ran her fingers along both sides of my head, straightened out my hair on top, briefly held my face in her hands, and with a smile that I hadn’t seen in too long of a time, and in a voice that I ached to hear again she said, “Yes.”

On the staircase. In Nancy’s house. In front of her parents. I proposed to her. She said yes. Who would ever forget it? Not me. Surely not Nancy. It may not have been what Nancy expected, but she did tell me once that she wanted to be surprised. Well…surprise! I’m getting married. Married to Nancy Marshall of Maplewood, New Jersey. We held each other and kissed, long and warm, soft and submitting. A forever kiss, because I would remember it forever.

“I love you, Mackenzie,” she whispered into my ear.

I held her tighter. I wanted to shout. I wanted to scream it out! “Me too,” I said softly.

“Well,” Mrs. Marshall said, wiping her eyes, “let’s all go into the kitchen. I’ll put some coffee on.”

I turned to see Nancy’s father looking up at us, a blank expression on his face. His eyes were the same color as Nancy’s, but instead of my reflection, I saw a child riding a bike for the first time, I saw birthday candles and Merry-go-rounds, I saw scraped knees and a healing kiss, I saw dance recitals and diplomas. I saw a woman waving good-bye. His jaw moved slowly from side to side.

“Coffee, hell,” he said. “Break out the champagne. My little girl’s getting married.”