He would die today, I was sure of it. I watched him
carry a box out to the car. His pants falling down slightly to show the whitest
part of him, given a few more steps I was certain the sun and moon would be out
at the same time. He put the box in the trunk and pulled his tattered jeans
higher up on his waist. Trotting up the sidewalk, he did a little dance. His
happiness wore thin and I would be glad when he was finally out of my life.
“Only
one more thing to pack up in the truck,” he announced as he walked past me and
into the house.
We
were both looking forward to packing up the washing machine. For him it would be
the completion of our move. For me… well I had plans of slippery hands and a 200-pound
washer falling back on the man who was too portly to get out of the way in
time.
“Alright,”
he said as he wheeled the washer out onto the porch. “Now, I’m going to lean it
back and you guide it down the stairs.”
“Oh
I will,” I said softly.
“What
did you say?” he chirped happily. I placed my hand on his round ruddy face.
“Nothing,
dear,” I smiled.
“Ok,”
he beamed. The poor sap. He walked down the five steps and began to lean the
washer back.
“Hey
Nate,” I heard the neighbor across the street say.
Nate
turned around and let go of the washer that I was still holding onto. Within seconds,
I found myself holding onto the washer for dear life as we both slid down the
stairs. In a tumbling roll, I ended up on my backside wondering what had
happened. I looked up to see Nate looking down at me shaking his head.
“Be
careful,” he chided happily. “You could have killed yourself.”
No comments:
Post a Comment