Читать книгу The Kingfish Way - Rob Wood - Страница 5

Recruiting officer: “Have you

given any thought to your

future, Son?”

Forrest Gump: “Thought?”

“Damn it!” screamed Phil as he ran out of the house with his briefcase. He had spent thirty minutes searching for his keys, and had already returned twice for his lunch and then his wallet. “This is really getting old!” Phil grumbled, jumping into the car. He rushed out of the driveway, creating a whirlwind of leaves and dust as he blew by Mrs. Gumby and her tiny dog. The dog reminded him of a sewer rat, and he snickered as he pictured the old lady walking down the sidewalk with a large rat on the end of her leash.

Phil walked in to find a note on his desk. Slamming his briefcase down, he picked up the note: “My office – Kent”. Phil snorted, “How eloquent.” He took off his jacket and picked up a few files before heading down the hall. “Every day a pain in the ass!” he mumbled under his breath.

Kent’s secretary glanced up when Phil walked in and ushered him immediately to the doorway without the usual wait. He hesitated, glancing at the secretary. Averting her eyes, she quickly returned to her desk without saying a word. Phil watched her walk across the room and sit down before turning back to the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked into the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Phil walked out of the office in a daze. He had been laid off. WAD was cutting back, Kent had explained, and was moving all the accounting to an outside group. All the work Kent had asked Phil to do was a test. The outside firm had provided a mountain of analysis for a fraction of the cost. Kent had compared Phil’s work to their work. It had become clear that Phil could not compete, and they just didn’t need him anymore. Phil returned to his desk stunned, completely oblivious to the stares as he packed the few personal items from his desk. Finishing the task, he looked around and noticed one last item, a plaque commemorating fifteen years of service. He took the plaque off the wall and examined it, shaking his head. Tossing it into the trash, he headed out to the car.

Not sure what to do next, Phil drove around town. He passed through neighborhoods and parks, and even downtown, his mind blank. A few hours later, he found himself in the parking lot at Montana’s Grille. He didn’t remember deciding to go to Montana’s, but now that he was here, he decided to go in. Phil was the first customer of the day, and Rock, the owner of the bar, was surprised to see him at this early hour. Phil walked by Rock without an acknowledgement and sat down at the nearest booth. Rock followed him. “Damn, Phil, you look like someone ran over your dog!”

“Rock, I’m out of a job.” Phil recounted the morning’s events.

Rock listened attentively, waiting for Phil to wind down before he spoke. “Listen, Phil, I might be able to help you out. I have a good friend who owns a bookkeeping company downtown. I think he’s hiring. Tell him I sent you.” Rock jotted the number down on a napkin and slid it across the table. Phil took the napkin and absently placed it in his pocket, nodding to Rock. The lunch crowd started to trickle in, and Rock brought Phil a beer, leaving him to his thoughts. A few beers later, Phil decided to go home and lick his wounds. He wanted to be alone.

“Bookkeeping!” he thought. “Twenty years out of college and now I’m going to be a bookkeeper! Every day a pain in the ass!” he muttered to himself on the way to his car.

___

Phil sat on the couch with his feet propped up on a pillow, a bowl of cheese puffs next to him on the floor, forgotten. A daytime talk show blared on the television, and Phil groaned when the topic turned to dieting. He wore sweatpants and an old football jersey, his face covered in shaggy whiskers, a baseball cap covering his unwashed hair. Pizza boxes and Chinese take-out cartons littered the coffee table.

He was disappointed he hadn’t heard from anyone at work, and wondered what kind of friends would abandon him in his time of need. The doorbell startled him out of his pitiful musings, and he pressed the “mute” button as he got up. Glancing in the mirror, he thought twice about answering the door, and then shrugged. Phil opened the door and raised his eyebrows at Mrs. Gumby and her little rat-dog.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Fish,” said Mrs. Gumby.

“Uh – hello.” said Phil, at a loss for words.

“I was wondering if you had time to help me with a small problem,” she continued without waiting for a response, “You see, my son always changes the filters on my air conditioner on the tenth day of each summer month, which, of course, is May through August. He also changes them every other month during -”

“OK, I get it, Mrs. Gumby, you want me to come change your filter!”

“Yes, thank you!” Mrs. Gumby’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. “My son is so busy with his new project - I’m afraid it will be another week before he can come by. I just thought that if you were - ”

“Sure, Mrs. Gumby, I’ll be over in a little while.”

“Oh, and if you haven’t had dinner, I’ve got a roast beef in the oven as well. I’d love to have you join me!”

“Well…um…ok,” Phil was unsure how to decline the unexpected invitation. “I’ll be over shortly.” He closed the door and peeked out the window, watching her walk away.

He sighed as he headed up the stairs for a shower. “This is all I need! No friggin’ job, and now I’ve got to play “Bob Vila” for some crazy woman with a rat for a dog! Who the hell keeps up with the date to change out AC filters?”

An hour later, Phil found himself standing on Mrs. Gumby’s front porch. It was the first time he had ever stepped onto her property. He had driven by her house almost every day for over ten years, but had never bothered to pay her a visit. Mrs. Gumby greeted him at the door, her little dog circling her feet like a satellite orbiting the earth. Entering the house, Phil was surprised to see the living room walls covered from floor to ceiling with dozens of oversized oil paintings. Mrs. Gumby excused herself to the kitchen and encouraged Phil to make himself at home while she finished preparing dinner. “Rambo will jump in your lap if you let him,” she warned.

“Rambo?” Phil mumbled to himself, glancing at the tiny dog. “She named this five-pound rat Rambo?” He shook his head and shrugged, turning his attention to the paintings lining the walls. “These painting are amazing!” he exclaimed loudly. “Where did you get them?”

Mrs. Gumby responded as she came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, they’re actually all from the same artist, and -” A timer beeped in the kitchen, cutting her off. “Oh, excuse me, I need to get the roast out of the oven!”

Soon they were at the table enjoying the best meal Phil had eaten in years. “This is great!” said Phil, shoveling a mouthful of succulent roast beef into his mouth. Phil recognized the china as Blue Willow. His mother collected Blue Willow china, and had left him several settings when she died. He had never unpacked them.

“Thank you!” Mrs. Gumby smiled. “How about another slice of roast beef?”

“I would love some!” said Phil, extending his empty plate.

“I also have cheesecake with strawberries for dessert - if you like.” Phil had already filled his mouth, but nodded a hearty affirmative.

They ate the meal in relative silence, occasionally filling the gaps with awkward small talk.

“After my meals, I like to sit on the front porch and enjoy the evening breeze. Would you care to join me?” invited Mrs. Gumby.

Phil shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Mrs. Gumby walked toward the front porch, Rambo close on her heels, and Phil bringing up the rear. Leading them to a pair of wicker rocking chairs, she motioned Phil to sit in the closest one. Rambo leapt into Mrs. Gumby’s lap, circling twice before settling down, resting his head on her arm. She stroked the little dog for a moment before she spoke. “If you don’t mind me saying, Phil, you remind me so much of my son. He ran into a rough patch a few years ago, and had to work himself out of it. His wife left him and then he lost his job. Things were not good for him, and he was always feeling sorry for himself. You might say he lost his passion for living.”

Phil crossed his arms, resenting the comparison. “I’m really sorry to hear about your son,” he said, wondering where she was headed.

“Sorry?” Mrs. Gumby looked up, surprised. “Oh my! No need to be sorry! He’s doing great now!”

“Really?” Phil glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “What changed?”

“Well, it’s kind of a crazy story! He was visiting an old friend who gave him a small card bearing a few words of wisdom.”

“A card?” Phil raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, it was a memento that had been passed down for years through his friend’s family.”

“How could a card change your son’s life?”

“You know what, I think I still have the card upstairs. You just sit right there and I’ll go get it!” Mrs. Gumby jumped up, winking at Phil.

Phil watched Rambo prance proudly after his mistress as she left the room, and couldn’t help smiling.

A few moments later, the two reappeared. “Here you go!” she beamed as she handed Phil the card. Phil took the old battered card from Mrs. Gumby and started to read.

He turned the card over:

Shrugging, he glanced at Mrs. Gumby, perched expectantly on the edge of her chair. Resisting the urge to hand the card back to her, he read it again.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. What does it mean?”

“I think you have to figure that out for yourself,” she replied solemnly. “According to the story my son told me, this little card has done quite a bit for many people through the years, but the formula is always a little different.

“When people hit a wall – or lose their way, they need to shake things up. They need to expand their horizons and expose themselves to new ideas, new people, and new environments. The best way I know to do that is to take a trip. Some people call it a “walkabout”, some call it a personal retreat, and some call it getting out of your comfort zone. I don’t care what you call it, just take a few days, Phil, and find out what ‘Know, Free and Be’ means to you. Let the card be your guide.”

“That’s it?” quipped Phil. “ ‘Know – Free – Be’ is the secret to success?” He set the card down and stood up. “Mrs. Gumby, I want to thank you for a wonderful meal tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I lost my job a few weeks ago, and I’m struggling with what to do next. When you started talking about your son, I was really hoping to find some answers, but I have to tell you this is just a little over-the-top for me. I have an interview in a few days for a bookkeeping job, and I think I can get it. Taking a trip would not be possible anyway.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Gumby. “This bookkeeping job, is this something you really want to do?”

“Hell no!” Phil caught himself, too late. “I’m sorry. No, it’s not something I really want to do, but I’ve got to do something!” He shook his head and shrugged.

“Well, if you’ve got to do something, why not do what you want? ” she countered. “Look, Phil, all I know is my son is doing what he wants to do every single day because he took a chance. He discovered things about himself that he simply didn’t know before he took his trip. He was asleep, Phil! He was asleep in this world, just floating down the ‘river of life,’ going wherever the current took him and not where he wanted to go! Shoot, he didn’t even know where he wanted to go! He bounced from job to job, not because of anything he did wrong, but because that’s where the river was going!” Mrs. Gumby’s eyes sparkled, and her face flushed with color as she worked to compose herself. “So, I say to you, Phil, are you just going to keep floating down that river, drifting aimlessly wherever the river takes you, or are you ready to pick up your paddle?”

Her question hung in the air. Not knowing how to respond, Phil shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, Mrs. Gumby, I just don’t know.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, looking out at the evening sky. He spoke softly, more to himself than Mrs. Gumby, “Why does life seem so hard for me these days? I wish it were like the old days.”

Mrs. Gumby stood up and joined him, “What do you mean, ‘the old days’?”

Phil glanced up at her question. “Oh nothing, Mrs. Gumby, I was just thinking about my life years ago when things just seemed, you know, easier.” Phil turned back toward the sunset again, his eyes far away. “It seems like I was a different person back then. Even my name was different.” Phil sighed.

“What did they call you?” the old woman asked gently.

“It’s not important. It was just an old nickname.” Phil shook his head.

“What was it, Phil?” Mrs. Gumby persisted.

Phil sighed again before replying. “Kingfish, they called me Kingfish.” Phil gazed into the evening sky, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he remembered a life from long ago. Clearing his throat, he returned his gaze to Mrs. Gumby. “It’s been a wonderful evening, Mrs. Gumby. I should be going now. Thank you for dinner.” He walked down the front steps, suddenly remembering the reason for his visit, and turned back. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gumby, I almost forgot to replace the filter for you.”

“Oh, I checked it earlier. My son must have changed it one day while I was gone.” She shrugged. “By the way, you know those paintings you were admiring when you arrived earlier? My son is the artist.”

“You’re kidding me! How long has he been painting?”

“Well, he started right after he returned from his trip, about five years ago. He had never painted before in his life. Now he’s sold over two hundred paintings, and he just signed a contract with a major studio in Los Angeles! He has always wanted to be an artist, but his father and I never knew. We always felt he should follow in his father’s shoes with a good, reliable job at the factory.”

Phil stepped back onto the porch, looking at the paintings through the windows and nodding with a new appreciation. He shook Mrs. Gumby’s hand, thanking her again for her hospitality, and headed home. Later that night, lying in his bed, he replayed the evening in his mind. “In the river of life without a paddle? Asleep? Know Yourself, Free Yourself, Be Yourself? What does all of this mean?” His thoughts swirled through his head like murmuring spirits as he drifted off to sleep.