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(Page 3 of 5) The Man Upstairs by Robert Williams"No, not you," he says into his cell phone as he leaves. "It's these damn salespeople."
Ben and Jolene burst into gales of laughter as Richard's next customer approaches, a little white-haired old lady.
"Good morning," Richard says. "Do you have one of our Life in Letters Preferred Customer Discount Cards?"
Several hours pass. Customers come and go, but Richard does not sell a discount card. Jolene approaches him at the end of his shift.
"This isn't acceptable, college boy," she says. "Those cards keep this place running. Repeat business, they teach you about that in school? If you don't sell one tomorrow, then that's the end of it for you here. Now get outta my face."
Richard heads to his second job. His shift at the bookstore ends at two o'clock, so traffic is not so bad. He has fifteen minutes to drive across town, so he eats some cheese and crackers in his car on the way. He has no water, so he must take them dry. Soon he arrives at the operation center for First National Bank and Credit, where he performs data entry five days a week. This job is better; his boss, Phil Andrews, pretty much leaves him alone, although the constant typing has given him carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists. The pain is sharp, but he trudges through his six-hour shift and tries not to think about what will happen to him when he can no longer keep this up.
As he pulls up to his apartment building at nine o'clock that evening, he sees by the pale light of the streetlamp someone standing in front of his door. For a moment, he almost feels dread, but he strangles it down. He makes it through each day by forcing himself to feel nothing.
The woman at his door jumps as he approaches. "Oh!" she cries. "I'm sorry. I was just going to leave this here." In her right hand, she holds a paper plate covered with aluminum foil. "I thought I could drop it off before you got home. I..." She trails off, her eyes flicker downwards, as if she has said too much.
She is wearing blue jeans and a white blouse with long sleeves, even though the night is warm. Her brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, but her bangs are long and combed over so that they cover her left eye. Richard notices she keeps her head tilted downwards so that her hair hides more of her face.
"What is it?" Richard asks.
Her right eye peeks up at him through the mask of her hair, looking almost afraid, but then Richard inclines his head towards the foil-covered plate in her hand, and she nods with understanding and relief.
"They're cookies," she says. "I... Oh, I'm Elizabeth, by the way. I live upstairs."
"I'm Richard."
"Hi," says Elizabeth. "Anyway, I noticed you seem to work a lot and I didn't know... What I mean to say is... I... just thought you might like these." She holds out the plate to him.
As Richard reaches out to take it, a breeze comes up like cool soothing hands caressing his skin, ruffling his clothes and hair, lifting Elizabeth's chestnut bangs and wafting the warm baked aroma of the cookies to his nose, where like spirits in an abandoned house they stir up memories of home, family and comfort, things Richard has not known for oh-so long.
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(6 ratings)