by Will Bevis
Send Me A Friend
By Will Bevis
Copyright 2011 Will Bevis
By the Author of
A Top 100 Free for Kindle Ebook
"The Killing of Train-Man Brown"
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***
The high rise for old people was the same as hundreds of others in cities across the nation.
And the lonely old woman was the same as thousands of others living in those same high rises.
With one exception.
Her name was Tara.
She had outlived her husband, as most women do.
By seven years to be exact – exactly what scientists say the average woman will live after their husband dies.
She sold her house
And moved into an apartment
the way most women do
when death separates what life could not.
She knew others in the building:
A sister in law on the fifth floor.
And that woman's granddaughter,
whose husband had taken everything they had except the children,
Then had run off to Las Vegas
and lost it all.
Now that woman qualified for the low rent apartments, too – though she herself was not old.
There was a beauty shop in the basement of the building.
A life insurance agency.
And the laundry.
There was a dollar store one block away.
And a church a different block away.
There were few men in the building.
And the old women barely kept their cat fighting
and jockeying for position below the surface.
An old man could have just about any of them he wanted.
Except Tara.
But one of them could have no woman he wanted.
Because he was going nowhere.
He was blind.
He lived next door to Tara.
They had balconies
that adjoined.
It was fate that they
would have to eventually
be out on their balconies
at the same time.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello," she said.
Then they both gazed out at the traffic passing in front of them
One block from the center of town.
At least, he gave the appearance of gazing.
Then they both went back inside their one bedroom apartments.
The next morning the entire building was ablaze with the news:
They were dating.
"Well, of course it isn't so," Tara told her sister-in-law.
"Well of course it isn't," the sister-in-law said.
But people were watching.
The blind man's stock went up on the Dow Jones fifteen percent.
If Tara saw something in him, why,
Maybe they had overlooked a gem.
Suddenly he was no longer fixing bologna sandwiches, tapping his way to the fridge and bread box.
Pies were arriving more quickly than from a 10 minute Pizza delivery service.
The hall was like the runway at Dallas during rush hour.
"Oh, I was just down here and I –" they would say.
"Don't you live on the ninth floor?" said the blind man.
"Yes, but I was – how did you know that?"
"Someone from the sixth floor mentioned you," he said, but did not add, "She told me to watch out for you."
He soon had so much pie he was putting them on a table on the balcony.
The balcony was covered by the balconies above it
as all the balconies were save those on the top floor.
And one rainy day he was out there stacking pies on top of each other,
when Tara came out, to breathe the mist.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello," she said.
He laughed. "Could I interest you in a pie?" he asked. "I've got plenty."
She laughed. "So I've heard. You are quite the eligible bachelor now."
"Yes," he said. "I guess I am."
He paused and said, "I wonder how that happened?"
Tara laughed. "Eyes are everywhere," she said. "They see everything."
"What they don't see they imagine," she added.
"Well," he said, "They aren't everywhere."
Then she realized what she had said and said, "I am so sorry. That was so thoughtless of me."
"It's ok," he said.
"Forgive me?" she asked.
"Only if you take a pie – no, two pies," he said, "- and go out with me."
She laughed. "I make my own pies," she said.
"Oh, no," he said. "I'm trying to get rid of them, not get more!"
"I didn't mean I would give you one," she said. "I was just saying."
"So," he said, "Did I win you with my humor enough to go out with me – or will I have to rely on my good looks and mis-matched clothing.
She laughed again. More than she had in a long, long time.
"You are good looking," she said. "And your clothing is no worse than what men with good eyesight wear."
"Then it's a done deal?"
"No," she said. "It isn't."
"Why not?" he asked. "We can go to the movies."
She did not laugh.
"You were supposed to laugh," he said.
She said, "I didn't know."
"It's Ok," he said. "You can."
"I don't want to," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because – because your world – well, it must not really be funny to you."
"I am blessed," he said. "In my own way."
"How so?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "I have a balcony full of home made pies, for one."
She laughed. "And another?"
"Well," he continued, "I have a good neighbor next door. She doesn't gossip, and she loves her children and grand-children."
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"Because," he said, "you can hear love in a person's voice."
"What?"
"Sure," he said. "When your kids come I can hear it in the halls when you greet them hello and they you."
"And," she said, "Is that all?"
"No," he said. "When they leave I can hear it in your tears when you are all alone."
She said nothing.
"I shouldn't have said that," he said.
"No," she said. "It's ok. I – I just didn't know I cried so loud."
"You don't," he said. "I'm sure. My hearing has to make up for my blindness. It warns me when something is wrong."
"It's turning cool," she said. "I best go in now."
"No, please don't," he said. "Just tell me to shut up."
"No," she said. "I won't do that."
"Because there is something wrong?" he asked.
She said nothing. For a long time.
"You are still there," he said. "I know."
"Yes, I am," she said.
"Are you thinking about what movie we will go see?" he asked.
"No," she said.
"What then?"
"I – I was thinking what my son would say."
"If you went out with a blind man?"
"No," she said. "If I went out with any man."
"You're a grown woman."
"But he loved his father so."
She paused. "Just
as I did."
"I see," he said. There was silence.
A sheet of rain went by.
"I can't compete with other men," the blind man said, "and worse, not with a good man who is dead."
She said, "After my husband died, one of his close friends asked me out after his wife died."
"And?" he asked. "What happened?"
"I wanted to talk to my son about it first."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
She paused.
He said, "You're thinking. Don't think. Just tell me what he said."
"Word for word?" she asked.
"Can you?"
"Yes – because I'll always remember it – word for word."
"Then tell me."
He said, "That guy is a low life mean son of a bitch that raised three sons that are low life mean sons of a bitch – and his poor wife probably died just to finally get away from him."
There was silence.
The blind man finally said, "Was your son right?"
Tara gripped the balcony railing. "Yes," she said. "He was."
"Then – then why did you want to go out with him?"
She looked at him. "Can't you figure it out?"
Then she went inside.
She went into the bedroom and cried – though she tried to do it softly, so he wouldn't hear.
But he did hear.
God damn it, he did hear.
He opened his door and tapped his walking stick down the hall to her door.
He knocked on it.
It took a while, but she opened it.
"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes.
"I – I -" he said, "I brought you a pie."
She laughed. "Where is it then?"
He laughed, too. "I – I must have forgot it," he said. "I'll go get it. What kind do you want?"
"I don't want a pie," she said, "I – "
"I know," he said. "You can fix your own."
She looked at him. "What are we doing?" she asked him.
"Talking," he said.
"We're both old," she said.
"I don't see no old," he said. "I hear your voice. You're sixteen. And I'm nineteen."
"I'm not sixteen," she said. "Touch my face." She took his hand and guided it to her cheek. "I'm seventy," she said.
"Your voice isn't," he said. "And neither is your spirit."
He touched her hair.
She said, "Are you – are you sure you want – you want to do this?"
"Do what?" he said. "We're just talking."
"Do this," she said, and she raised up on her toes
and kissed him.
He dropped his cane and embraced her.
A woman came out of an apartment four doors down – and stopped in her tracks when she saw them. Then she turned back into her apartment. She'd had a casserole dish in her hands – destined for the blind man's door.
"Well," Tara said. "That's that."
"That's what?" he said.
"By tomorrow everyone will know we're sleeping together."
"We are?" he said, smiling.
"No, we're not," she said. "But they will say we are."
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "for tonight. "But I want to show you something first – I mean – tell you something."
"What is it?" he asked.
"Come inside," she said, and led him in.
They stopped in her tiny living room.
"What is it?" he said, as she was not moving.
"I – I don't know if I can trust you," she said.
"Follow your heart," he said. "Do what ever it tells you."
"It is telling me to do it. To trust you."
"Then do."
She said, "Do you believe in prayer?"
He said, "I don't want to lie to you. I have grave doubts."
"About God?"
"Yes."
There was silence.
Then she said, "Then you may not believe what I am about to tell you."
"Try me," he said.
"Are you sure?" she said. "This may – it may scare you off."
"You're – you're not going to tell me you're going to make me a pie, are you?"
"No," she said. "Be serious."
"Ok," he said. "I will be."
She took a picture frame off the wall and handed it to him.
He held it and felt it.
"Who is this a picture of?" he asked, hoping it was not her dead husband.
"It's not a picture," she said. "It's words. It's a prayer."
He held it in front of his eyes as if he wished he could read it.
But he couldn't.
"What does it say?" he said.
She looked at it. Then at him. Then she said, "It says
"Dear God, Please send me a friend."
He stood there for a moment.
Then he handed it back to her and said,
"I'm here."
She took it from him and put her arms around him, still holding the frame.
"I know," she said. "I put that up on the wall long before you ever moved in. But when you came, when you moved in, I began praying... it would be you."
He held her tight.
"It is me," he said.
The doorbell buzzed.
He shook his head. "To hell with it," he said. "Don't answer it."
She said, "It might be my son. He likes to surprise me."
"Then let him in," the man said.
"Are you – " Tara said
"Ready to face him?" the man asked. "Yes. I am happier this moment than I have been since my wife died."
He hesitated. "Are you?"
She nodded. Then realizing he couldn't see – said, "Yes."
The buzzer rang again.
"Then let him in and we will face him together. I am not a son of a bitch and my son and daughter are decent people."
She reached up and kissed him again, then went to the door.
She opened it.
It was her sister-in-law.
"Tara," she said before she saw the blind man in the living room. "Is it true?"
Then she saw him. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you had company."
"He was just leaving," Tara said, then added again, "Til tomorrow."
"No," Janice said. "I'm the one who is leaving."
And the blind man said, "Oh, yes, I must go, too," he said. Then pause and smiled, "Til tomorrow. We've got – we've all got a lot to think about tonight."
"Do you want me to walk you to your door?" Janice asked him.
"No," he said. "I can find the way. But thank you."
He started walking, then stopped.
"Besides," he said, "I've got someone walking with me now." He touched his heart. "And that's all I need."
Tara and Janice stood there as he tapped his way to his own door, then opened it and went in.
Then Janice said to Tara, "Baby, I am so happy for you!"
"Shhh," Tara shooshed her. "He can hear everything."
Then she pulled her sister-in-law's head closer and whispered in her ear, "He's so wonderful!"
Janice said, "Tell me all about it. Tell me everything."
Tara shook his head. "Not tonight," she said. "I'm too excited. I just want to enjoy this feeling."
Janice said, "Tara Bentley, you are in love."
Tara smiled and nodded, and said, "Now go on."
"You promise to tell me everything tomorrow?"
Tara nodded.
"You better," Janice said, smiling.
Then she left to to the elevator and back up to the fifth floor.
Tara closed the door and stood there, the picture frame still in her hand.
She raised it in front of her and then looked to heaven and said, "Thank you, God. You heard my prayers and you have answered them. I love you."
She then put the picture frame in a drawer.
She would never need it again.
/> Then she went to the balcony door. She was full of wonderful energy. But she couldn't go out on it. What if he were out there on his?
She felt she couldn't take seeing him again so soon.
She had to calm down. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
But she had to do something! She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.
She went into the kitchen. She got a mixing bowl out and broke two eggs.
She would make a chocolate pie.
But she would make it for her.
She wouldn't give it to him.
She would be like the rest if she did.
That could NOT happen.
She wanted love. True love. A love that would last til death did they part.
She reached for the chocolate pie mix
and when she did that and thought that
the stroke hit her.
She fell straight to the floor.
She could not speak.
Could not cry out.
She struggled with the realization of what was happening
and tried to crawl to the table that held the phone.
She reached it, knocked it over – but could not dial.
The blind man heard the falling but thought she had just dropped something.
Then the room – both rooms – his and hers went quiet.
Her trying to call out to him.
Him listening but hearing nothing.
"It must have been nothing," he calmed himself. "Or was it?"
He went out on the balcony, hoping she was there, that she was so quiet she had gone out and somehow he had not heard her.
She was not.
He couldn't go to her door again.
Not twice in one night.
He couldn't rush her.
He couldn't let her see that he needed her so much he couldn't sleep –
couldn't do without her love
one more night.
"God damn it!" he said aloud, and went out his door without his cane and felt along the wall with his hands until he came to her door.
"Tara?" he said, knocking gently.
She did not answer.
He knocked a little louder. "Tara? It's me. Jim."
There was no answer.
Could she be asleep already.
No. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He could hear it.
She was not breathing.
He knew that if she were – he could feel it. He would know it."
"TARA!" he screamed.
It only took that one scream and doors opened up and down the long hall and old women stuck their heads out.
He knew they were there. "God Damn it," he yelled out. "CALL 911 RIGHT NOW!"
One of them did.
And one called Janice
And Janice called Tara's daughter
