Though deeply saddened by the loss of his mother, he had learned how to deal with pain from an early age. He cherished his mother, and her leaving had left a void in him that he could not erase, but she had always taught him to lick his wounds and move on, so he tried his best to do just that.
At this point in life, Billy had very little if any contact with the extended members of his family and he saw no reason to contact them now simply to burden them with the sad news of his mothers’ passing. He arranged a simple ceremony and burial that both took place on the same day. A few remaining neighbors that had known Marguerite in her healthier days stopped by to pay their respects.
The only person Billy wanted to talk to about his loss was Sherry, but since they had only seen each other a handful of times over the last few years, he decided against it. He knew without question that she would make the trip to attend the services. However, he felt the only purpose it would serve would be to bring more sadness into her life, and that was an act of which he would have no part. During their last conversation, it was clear to him that she was overwhelmed with the pressure of providing for not only herself but also her mother.
Over the coming weeks, a handful of sympathy cards trickled into the house. He looked at the envelopes and tossed them into the trash; he never opened them. He questioned his motive for this. “Am I doing this because it’s just too painful to read them or is this my typical passive aggressive way of dealing with my anger?” He knew he was never very good at confronting people when he was angry and the fact was, he was angry. He was angry that he had lost his father, he was angry that he had lost his mother and he was angry at all the phony sons of a bitches that never once during her illness came by to visit or offer their help. Now they want to ease their guilt by sending some poorly written, store-bought collection of hollow words that were somehow supposed to relieve his pain. No thank you, he didn’t need them then, and he doesn’t need or want them now. Billy had learned a lot of hard lessons in life and one of them was how to shut off his feelings and move forward. He learned that lesson and re-learned it so many times in life that he simply went on automatic pilot now.
He had also learned a few other tricks along the way, and he was now using them to land big company contracts, and he buried his sadness in his work. Through this knowledge and determination coupled with his need to keep busy he was earning a substantial income.
He spent the next few weekends at his mother’s home cleaning out her belongings. He meticulously organized everything. He had arranged rows upon rows of empty boxes in the hallway earmarked for trash, donations, and items he wanted to preserve. The boxes that were destined for the landfills were overflowing. The items he chose to donate were of lesser quantity but higher quality.
He was a proud man, and he knew how proud his mother was. He wouldn’t donate anything unless it was in almost new condition; he was doing his best to honor his mother’s reputation and pride. The boxes that contained the items he wished to keep were nearly empty. He was a firm believer that items did not house your memories. He held onto the family pictures and a few things that he felt he might be able to utilize somehow. He did find himself stopping a few times throughout his mission to reflect on the home and recall some of the happy times there.
The hallway, now lined with cardboard boxes was once home to his race cars. He remembered running down the mahogany staircase on Christmas mornings and then getting a running start at the end of the hall and sliding halfway down the hall in his socks.
He thought about all of the times that family and friends filled the house. His mom was, as his dad would call her, a social butterfly. She loved to host holidays and summer barbeques, and the house was always buzzing with activity. He remembered all of the cousins, aunts, and uncles that used to attend all of the functions and it made him wonder where they all were now. Why hadn’t any of them come to offer their assistance when his mother’s health was failing? As these thoughts began to pile up in his head, he grew angrier by the moment. His mom had gone out of her way to assure that everyone always felt welcome and enjoyed themselves and not one of them bothered to place a phone call when she took ill. He thought, “This is exactly why I wouldn’t lift a finger to help anyone of them if they were begging at the door.” It angered him beyond words when he thought about all of the Christmases that his mother stressed over money. She struggled to make sure that each of his cousins had a little something to open when they visited, and they couldn’t show her the appreciation or love that she deserved by just stopping by to say hello, that would have meant the world to her.
Each time he found himself getting drawn into his memories he would shake his head and say out loud, “That will be enough of that, get back to work.”
He finished most of the sorting and packing and then began placing calls to local charities. The Disabled American Veterans was the first call on his list because he knew that his mother was always very proud to help support that organization. They removed all the donated boxes as well as the majority of furniture and appliances. The remainder of items he hadn’t finished sorting yet would be moved to a storage facility to deal with at a later time.
The boxes of trash were all taped shut and lined up very neatly alongside the curb. Billy took great care to make sure that each box was secure. His concern was that any items just left on the curb would be pillaged, and people would leave a mess that he would have to clean up. It wasn’t that he minded people taking items it was just that history had taught him that they wouldn’t show any respect when doing so and the last thing he needed was another project on his plate. Proper planning would prevent this.
He listed the home on the market and handed the keys to the Realtor to deal with the rest. His instructions to the agent were simply, “Get a reasonable price and please don’t bother me until I have to sign the papers.” His reaction seemed cold and detached but in truth, he was struggling with his loss, and he didn’t want to relive the pain over and over again each time someone viewed the property. He was turning the page on that chapter of his life. As he walked out the door for the last time, he paused, glancing back at the empty rooms. Closing his eyes, he willingly embraced the haunting echoes of his memories. He recalled that his mother referred to memories as the toys we carry with us into our elder years that bind us to our past. Implying that the older we get, the more often we take them out, dust them off and play with them once again. Billy pulled the door shut as he drew a deep breath, exhaled and walked away.
3
THE CATALYST
Billy’s world was now the shop; this was where he felt like he was in his element. People were too hard to read, they were in his opinion for the most part selfish, manipulative and not to be trusted. Computer programs, on the other hand, were a different story. They were easy to understand, and he was in control.
Childhood classmates had grown and moved out into the world. They were all living the typical life; marriage, work, kids and unfulfilled dreams. He would occasionally run into some of them when they came to him for help with computer problems or technical questions. He was soft spoken and always hospitable to them. He offered them much more kindness than they had ever extended to him. Each time one of his old classmates would leave his shop he would sit for awhile and reflect. “Did they even remember what they had done to him?” “If they did remember, did they ever feel bad?” He would think about this for a bit and then simply shrug it off and return to the job at hand.
It wasn’t until one snowy January evening right before he was closing up the shop that he received a call from an old classmate who had a computer “emergency.” Although Billy was just locking up, he agreed to stay open and help. His willingness to stay open was a true testament to Billy’s character seeing as the classmate was Tony. Apparently, this “genius” had been working all day on an advertising presentation that was due the next day and in a misplaced swing of his arm he had managed to dump an entire cup of coffee on the computer tower. No doubt done w
hile reaching up to slick back his hair, Billy thought. His system was locked up and he couldn’t retrieve any of his documents.
Tony as you recall, was one of Billy’s biggest tormentors. He was the typical jock and used his size and status as a weapon against Billy and other students like Billy. He truly got his pleasure back then from other peoples’ misery. They were adults now, and Billy understood that kids could be cruel and people change, so he extended the proverbial olive branch to Tony and was going to do his best to help him with his dilemma.
Tony came barreling into the shop, placed the tower on the counter and barked, “I need this tonight.” Billy said hello to him and then turned his back pretending to collect a few needed tools. Although he did, in fact, need the tools, the purpose of turning his back so quickly was so Tony would not see the look on his face. He realized that time had not been very kind to the man known as, “drop dead gorgeous,” by all the school girls. Tony was all but completely bald and had developed quite the gut. Tony paced back and forth while texting the entire time he explained the problem. Not once did he look up from his phone to even acknowledge Billy. Billy worked quite calmly on the tower.
Apparently, Billy’s calm demeanor was causing Tony’s stress level to rise. “How could he possibly sit there that calmly and whistle while my whole career is hanging in the balance?” Eventually, Tony’s anxiety escalated to a point where he was no longer able to contain it. “Just hurry up and fix it you incompetent twerp,” Tony screamed.
Billy looked up at him, and it all came flooding back, the humiliation, the rage, the abuse. Billy remained calm on the surface, but his rage was mounting.
“Listen, buddy, why don’t you go get a cup of coffee and come back in about a half an hour,” Billy suggested in the best ‘matter of fact’ tone of voice he could muster up without it sounding completely unprofessional. Out of nothing other than pure pride he had always managed to maintain his composure in front of Tony. He knew even as far back as the days on the schoolhouse playground that Tony got his satisfaction from watching others get worked up when he treated them cruelly, and Billy had no intention of playing into Tony’s sick little game.
Tony stormed out of the shop and didn’t even bother to close the door.
Billy walked over and slammed the door shut and vented, “You’re still the same arrogant, ignorant bastard you were in fourth grade.”
Upon Tony’s return, the computer tower was operational again, and he was in such a rush to get back to work that he paid Billy, grabbed the tower and left. Not once did it even appear to cross his mind to apologize. Billy flipped the closed sign over, shut the lights off and locked up shop. His mind bounced from one past event to the next his entire walk home and throughout the night.
In all the years since he had left home, he had never once missed a day’s work, the day after Tony’s visit would be his first. Billy reached over and shut off his alarm clock in anticipating of its alert. He hadn’t slept much anyway. He stayed in bed for quite awhile then decided to get up and have a bite to eat. He slipped on his sweatpants and sneakers and made his way to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, he stared blankly into his coffee cup watching the thick cream smoothly merge with the blackness.
He knew the events of the previous evening had changed him, but he was trying to figure out why. “Why does this matter so much to me? Why am I letting this uneducated, unappreciative moron get to me?” It’s not like this sort of treatment was new to him. He spent his entire life surrounded by jerks like Tony who belittled him and made him feel like he was less than human. Why did this matter so much to him now? The answer was simple; he had had enough. He was not a violent man, and although his size and build could easily lend itself to him being an intimidating force, his quiet demeanor had always
prevented him from doing so.
He began thinking back on the numerous conversations he had had with his mother. He often came home from school with his book bag ripped or his buttons missing from his shirt. He certainly had more than his fair share of bloody noses and scrapes. Although he knew his mother loved him and felt bad for him, the only advice she could ever seem to come up with was, “Just ignore them and remember the way you beat people like that is with your brain, not your brawn.” It wasn’t very useful advice for a kid in elementary school, but he wasn’t a kid anymore, and his mom’s advice was beginning to take on a whole new meaning.
He had ignored the Tony’s of the world for years, and clearly, they still felt as though they were entitled to use Billy as their whipping post. No, he needed a different solution, but he wasn’t going to be able to go around punching people in the face. He would need to find another way to get his message across to the Tony’s of the world that each of their actions would trigger an equal or greater reaction.
He knew that although face to face bullying was still alive and well on the streets, it had advanced to online bullying as well. He had read many articles about people who had experienced torment through their social media accounts. Sadly some people had even been tortured to the point where it drove them to take their own lives. The answer he had been searching for suddenly hit him like a cinder block to the chest. “This is how I can use the old brains over brawn theory to help curb the abuse.”
The next day he returned to the shop and business appeared to go on as usual. He worked on computers, created programs and placed bids for the big contracts that ultimately supported his bank account. Billy was quite wealthy, but you would never suspect it by looking at his little shop which still had old wood countertops that were there when he first rented the space. Although he did eventually purchase the building, he never invested any money in updating it. That was for foolish flashy people he thought; his shop served its purpose just as it was.
The shop had large hazy picture windows that covered the entire front of the old building. The storefront faced the train tracks that ran from Revere Beach clear into Boston. There were small built in shelves along the inside of the windows, and they were stacked high with boxes that were jam-packed with all sorts of computer guts. The floor was old battleship linoleum which was a dingy shade of mint green, and it was curling at the corners.
Billy was a practical man and saw no reason to invest in decorating. He felt the same way about his apartment and his clothes. Furthermore, he had spent so many years living in New York and then back in Revere, which had an adequate public transportation system, he had never even invested in a car. His apartment was in a six-unit building, and he never let anyone, including the other tenants, know that he owned the building.
He had made arrangements for the trust to mail his rent to Three Hills Real Estate Service, a property management company based in Chelsea. The owner, Justin, also handled all of the leases for the building that housed Billy’s shop. They had a well established, meticulous reputation for maintaining high occupancy rates and securing quality tenants. Because all of Billy’s assets were in a trust, even the people who managed the building weren’t aware that the tenant in apartment 3B owned the building; they just thought he was a tenant that never complained. He went to the extent of paying rent every month despite the fact that it went right back into his trust account, it was an easy way to assure that his ownership remained undiscovered.
At the request of the trust, all the remodeling and construction needs of his buildings were handled exclusively by Interior Renovations & Design, based in Revere. The owner of the company, Chris, was well known for producing high-quality work and his attention to details had earned him the trust and respect of not only Billy but also a number of affluent property owners. Billy preferred to stay in the shadows, that way no one bothered him with petty complaints.
Furthermore, he avoided getting constantly pestered by shallow family members whom he knew would be pounding on his door like little beggars in the street if they knew Cousin Billy had money. Billy was a very generous man by nature, but he was nobody’s fool either. He was always eager and willing to help those who
were truly in need, but he wouldn’t lift a finger to help those who made no effort to help themselves.
His dad had told him a story once about a man who used to sit on the sidewalk on the same street that his dad often walked on his way to the train station. Each time Bill saw the man he would give him a quarter. One morning Bill was running late so he didn’t stop and the man yelled, “Hey where’s my quarter?” Bill said he never gave him another cent.
Keeping his finances under wraps spared him from all of the freeloaders while still affording him the opportunity to help those in need anonymously. Unlike others, he wasn’t doing it for the praise.
4
THE SMIRK
The seasons passed and days turned into weeks and weeks into years. It appeared that Billy had abandoned his desire to punish those who made his life so painful.
Although life inside the shop never changed the world outside was changing at an astronomical rate. The nineties came and went, and people everywhere were walking around with little pagers on their waistbands. Every kid you passed on the streets had earphones hanging out of their heads. People could now use VCR’s to watch the same movies at home that used to require a trip to the theater. Microwaves allowed people to prepare meals in minutes as opposed to stovetop cooking. Yes, the world was changing yet Billy seemed quite content to muddle along living in the yesteryears.
There was, however, one little thing that had changed about Billy and if you didn’t know him extremely well you might not notice. For the past several years Billy was sporting a very slight smirk on his face. If you didn’t look closely, you would surely miss it, but the very edge of the right side of his lips had a slight curl to it. It was one of those mischievous little smirks that made you think he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
The beginning of the twenty-first century brought with it even greater changes in the world and at the same time a great deal of unrest. Technology had become both the savior and the demise of life as we knew it. Everyone old enough to talk seemed to have a cell phone glued to their ear. Almost every house had a home computer or laptop. The handwritten letters that were once written and read with love were quickly replaced with impersonal emails and brief text messages. The conveniences these items brought were priceless yet as a society we had yet to understand the hefty price we would ultimately pay for them. Our daily dependency on computers, cell phones, and technology as a whole had reached a staggering level. The neighborhood banking services were replaced with online banking which allowed you to conduct business right from your home computer or through your phone. Big name companies began pushing the little businessman right out of the picture.
Memories Are An Old Man's Toys Page 4
