by W.H. Harrod
“What was that all about?” groaned Terrance as he pulled the Cherokee back onto the street. “I’m supposed to be patient as I write a boring story about a guy who lived his pathetic life alone, except for the times when he fixed soup for losers who lived under bridges? I’m supposed to go back to her for more of her nonsensical prattle if I get confused when writing it? If I go back, it will be because I’m as nuts as she is!”
Not able to put the experience aside, Terrance ask himself, Are all old people, in some way at least, a little eccentric? What about the professor? Wouldn’t most people consider his recent interest in horse racing somewhat odd given his background? Terrance recalled other strange instances concerning old people’s odd habits. Many of them said the same things over and over again, not remembering they already told you the same story earlier. Plus, they find humor in the corniest things. Get a bunch of them around a newspaper comic section and you might think you’re at a laugh fest. The comics are designed for five year olds not eighty year olds, but they sit and giggle over some fictitious, lazy, and totally uncooperative fat cat’s antics for hours.
“Another thing, what’s the deal about the eyes that first night at her house? So my eyes are different colors, and she’s one of maybe ten people in the world who know the correct medical terminology for the condition. What if it is an inherited trait? I’m adopted. I didn’t even know my real parents. Finally, what has all this got to do with anything concerning Joseph D. Right?”
His mini-rant completed, Terrance returned to the important matter at hand—getting information together as soon as possible to enable him to finish this increasingly annoying story. “Now where am I? Right, I need to get back to the office and see if the information from southern Missouri arrived. With any help at all from that source, this story will be history. No one, except those people living under the bridges, will care in a week anyway. Life goes on. Someone else will have to make the soup now. Maybe that big guy who spoke last at the service will want to come in and take his place. He seemed to have gotten some good out of the experience some years back.”
He pulled into the newspaper’s employee parking lot and glanced at his watch. It was just after 1 p.m. After parking and exiting his vehicle, he retraced his steps of the previous day. He again wound his way past the rows of cubicles until arriving at his own six-foot by eight-foot operation center. Without hesitating, he sat down in front of his computer and pretended to get busy so as not to invite any of the staff or his supervisor to seek him out.
Ignoring company policy, he checked his personal calls and e-mails first. He drew a blank when checking his voice mail for personal messages—nothing but job related stuff there, and that could wait. Next, he went on line to check his e-mail and found more unimportant stuff. He saved the personal message from Jessica, or Jess, his steady girlfriend as well as a message from a female attorney friend who, of late, showed an unusual amount of interest in his life. He would have to read them and get back to them later, especially his girlfriend whom he hadn’t talked to in three days. She most likely wanted to know why he hadn’t contacted her lately.
Fortunately for him, she never interfered much with the other things he did with his life. She was the most laid back, least ambitious person he knew. Not saying she was dumb or lazy, but rather the opposite. She simply didn’t get excited about most of the things other people did. She worked at the local animal shelter for very little money and loved her job. Smart, educated, and attractive, she could be successful in a corporation if she wanted, but chose otherwise. She liked helping animals and intended to purchase land someday to provide a home for all the forsaken dogs and cats she could rescue before an irresponsible society, that refused to take the responsibility of pet ownership serious, summarily destroyed them.
Terrance couldn’t help but think how unlike each other they were. Time never moved fast enough for him. He was always on the alert for a quick way to get ahead. Wanting money, power, and position, he decided he needed to become an attorney. He reasoned that wealthy attorneys far outnumbered wealthy animal rights activists. Also, she called herself a Taoist, whatever that meant. All he knew was that she sat around doing a lot of meditating or Tai Chi exercises. But for some reason, he cared for her very much. Time would tell whether or not they managed to meld together their dissimilar attitudes towards life. Something or someone would have to give in first.
He entertained a final thought on the subject before putting an end to his speculation and getting busy doing the job they paid him to do in the first place. “How is it that this world, and my life, became so complicated? I’m only twenty-four. Is it going to be like this forever?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
