The discount bread store had a prominent sign, “We do NOT accept checks”, but they still posted a list of people whose checks they wouldn’t take. Out of spite, John supposed. He also supposed that this is why it was now hung prominently on the wall behind the gum-smacking cashier instead of on the counter by the register, where it used to sit for handy reference. It was laminated--preserved for posterity--and his name was on it, “John Porter of Scottsville”
It would have hurt him more when he was younger. Now he took it in stride; this was the only store convenient to his apartment if he needed staples on Tuesdays or Thursdays, when the senior bus didn’t come. When his car had rattled it’s last gasp three years ago, he hadn’t been able to replace it and besides, he thought, who knew how long his eyes would hold out for driving? He’d told himself this to take the sting out of losing his freedom, but in the end, it really was ok. It was a luxury even, a contrast to his busy, always moving middle years, his 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, the trying to get by, the trying and failing to put aside a little nest egg. All that scrambling hadn’t done him as much good as his quiet, small life was doing him now. He had time to think; he had time to call a friend from time to time; he had time to stroll down to the bread store. He had bounced a couple of checks; he knew this, sign or no sign. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but there it was, no changing it now. Not one person who frequented that store knew or cared about his name, he supposed, so what did it matter that it was posted on that list for everyone to read? This is what he told himself, that it didn’t, shouldn’t, bother him.
The sign wasn't on his mind when he stopped by that morning for his usual loaf of soft white bread. He threw in a package of sandwich cookies at the last minute. The girl at the register scanned them with one hand, not even putting down the phone she’d been looking at intently. Even the cashier didn’t know that his name was on that list; the employee turnover was fairly high. She recognized him as a regular, though, and smiled at him; Alex hadn’t been there when the check crisis was going on. John counted out the cash that he was now careful to carry and dropped a quarter in the grimy yellow bucket next to the register that was labeled in blue letters on white, “Buy glasses for kids.” Alex thanked him as he left with his bag, even while grabbing the wrist of the kid behind him in line who was trying to drop mini twizzlers in his pocket while she wasn’t looking.
John hurried back to his apartment, slushy grey snow spraying out from the soles of his peeling black boots. He wiped the boots carefully on his doormat and placed them just inside the door, under the peg where he hung the coat that the VA had given him. He checked the clock. 9:45. 15 minutes to spare. He thought he’d just sit down and read his daily paper for a bit until they came, but then remembered that he’d skipped it today. The magazine rack beside his recliner had issues of Reader’s Digest back to 1992; he grabbed one and flipped to Life in These United States. His mild chuckling changed to a grin when the knock came.
“There’s my girls!” He opened the door and his arms wide to the three little girls outside of it, then kissed their mom on the cheek. “How are we today? Come in, come in!” A pile of boots and coats and bags formed as Maddie, Olive and Lacey came in chattering and laughing, showing him their books and dolls and toys. Lacey, the baby, held up a rubber duck with a cane and grey mustache. “G’anpa duckie!” She said proudly, “See?” John held it up admiringly.
“You’ll be all right?” John’s daughter, Kayla, asked, exhaustion and relief in her voice.
“Absolutely, don’t worry about a thing.”
“Maddie can tell you just about anything you need to know for the baby.”
“I don’t doubt it.” John’s oldest granddaughter, all of seven, looked proudly serious and capable.
“I don’t think I can be back before 4.” There was doubt in Kayla’s voice.
“No problem, no problem. This is a treat. I’ve been looking forward to the girls all week.”
Kayla raised her eyebrow, as if wondering whether he knew what he’d gotten himself into, but she said, “Ok. Thanks again, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her cheek again. “It’s going to be ok.” Kayla looked at the floor.
“Well...I’ll see you tonight.”
“Ok, baby. I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks.” Kayla closed the door behind herself as she left, and John turned to the ask the girls what they should do first, only to find himself ankle deep in a sea of fancy doll clothes and tiny shoes. He laughed, “Ohhhk. Let’s just move these into the living room.”
Maddie looked at him, puzzled. “How can you tell where the living room is?”
John laughed again. It was a good question--the stove, refrigerator, and sink, with a small counter space and cupboard, were bordered by a 3’x8’ strip of linoleum; he called this the “kitchen.” “It’s where the carpet starts,” he said.
“But isn’t that the bedroom?”
“Well, the living room is here.” John stepped off of the linoleum onto the carpet and pointed to the recliner and magazine rack. Next to the recliner was a half wall topped with four dark brown spindles, spider plants hanging between each of them. John walked around this wall now and said, “And this...is the bedroom.” His double bed was covered with a factory made quilt, a kitchen chair in the corner for putting on his shoes, a lamp behind it.
The girls had been there before, but they needed to investigate. They looked over and in all of John’s few belongings, spending a long time gazing into the dark mystery of the closet, where they found a Chinese checkers game that demanded playing at John’s tiny round table that straddled the kitchen linoleum and living room carpet.
“This is the dining room,” he joked.
“Isn’t this place kind of tiny?” Maddie said seriously while her sisters laughed at John’s joke, or at least at his silly mannerisms.
“I suppose so, but it’s really everything I need.” Maddie put her head to one side and thoughtfully nodded, not fully convinced, maybe, but unable to think of an argument to the contrary.
After Chinese checkers, the girls wanted to try out John’s TV, but about 15 minutes into “The Price Is Right”, Olive declared loudly that she was very, very hungry.
“I guess it’s not too early for lunch,” John agreed. He made bologna sandwiches while the girls guessed how much the groceries on TV would cost.
“A thousand dollars!” Olive said excitedly.
“More like 5 dollars.” Maddie was matter-of-fact and ignored the fact that her own figure turned out to be just as far off as Olive’s.
“All right girls, lunch is ready.”
The four assembled at the table and tried to keep their elbows out of each other’s way. Olive peeled her sandwich open and said, “I don’t like mayonnaise.” Maddie authoritatively told Olive to be polite, then gulped hard on the big bite that had gone gummy in her mouth. Lacey squeezed the whole thing tight into a ball and peered closely at it with a scientist’s examining eye. When 15 or 20 mintutes has passed, John figured that everything had been eaten that was going to be eaten and brought out the cookies, arranged prettily on a teacup saucer, and gave them each a small glass of milk, saying, “How about a treat?” Olive eagerly grabbed four cookies. Maddie grabbed one but looked at it critically before taking a dainty nibble.
“It’s not a real Oreo,” she declared. Olive was about to put the last bite of her second in her mouth, but quickly put it down.
“No, but it’s just as good.”
“No it’s not! It’s gross!” Olive crossed her arms across her chest, cookie crumbs still on her mouth and finger tips.
“It really isn’t the same.” Maddie laid hers down primly, knowingly.
“I’m...I’m sorry girls. I thought you’d like them.” John tried not to let his disappointment show. He hadn’t thought twice about the brand of cookie when he bought them.
“It’s ok,” Maddie said but declined to taste hers again. Lacey started crying and let out a huge gob of half-chewed cookie fall from her mouth onto her napkin. Olive snuck her third cookie into her mouth whole.
“Nap time for you,” John said to Lacey and scooped her up.
“Olive takes a nap, too,” Maddie informed him.
“Yes...are you ready?” Olive shook her head, pretending not to be chewing.
“Well, let’s finish up then.”
John finally got her to bed with an armful of dolls and doll clothes. She lay down and played with a doll held in front of her face, but in a few minutes, both of the little girls were asleep. Maddie was sitting on the floor by the recliner, reading a book by the light of the lamp by the chair, curled up against it’s rough, faded plaid upholstery, and he picked one up as well, but after a little while, she crawled onto his lap and said, “Grandpa, tell me a story.”
“A story, huh? Hmmmm...How about a little secret?”
“A secret? Okay…”
“It’s the secret of making all cookies taste good. You know...when I was a little boy,we had some hard times. My family didn’t have a lot of money.”
“Same as now.”
“Now?”
“Aren’t you poor? Isn’t that why your house is so tiny and your cookies are fake?”
“Oh my...Maddie, I am not hungry, I am not cold, I have clothes to wear, I have medicine when I’m sick. I’m certainly not poor.”
“Ohhh,” Maddie pondered this, “But back then, you were hungry and cold?”
“Sometimes,” their faces were both very sad and serious, “Not usually, but sometimes. And we certainly used all of our money for things that we needed…you don’t need cookies to stay alive, do you?” She shook her head. “Well, the secret is that cookies taste better when you don’t have too many. And if I got a cookie, and it didn’t happen often at all, that meant someone else gave something up so that I could have it. It meant that somebody loved me. Do you understand?” She nodded. “That makes cookies taste a whole lot sweeter.”
“Did you give something up today?”
“My newspaper.”
She looked at him very seriously, weighing his words. Finally, she said, “Grandpa…can we take the cookies home?”
John smiled. “Of course.”
“And now can you tell me a real story?”
John chuckled, “Of course.” They had gone through three fairy tales and an episode of Bonanza by the time Olive and Lacey woke up with matted hair and pink faces. One more game of Chinese checkers took them through to another knock on the door, Kayla there to pick them up.
John chatted with her a moment about how the day had gone for each of them while the girls gathered up their things. While Maddie was putting tiny shoes in the diaper bag, she also pulled something out and spent a moment over it at the kitchen table. All of the girls hugged John and cried that they had to leave.
“Please come again soon!” he encouraged them.
“We will, Dad.”
“Supper next Tuesday?”
Kayla nodded. “I’ll bring Chinese.”
“Well...only if you want to.” But he was pleased. He kissed her goodbye and reluctantly closed the door when they had made it down the hall and he could no longer hear them on the stairs.
For supper in the tiny apartment that felt too big now, John had the leftover pieces of the bologna sandwiches. They stuck to the roof of his mouth. He scrubbed a grape juice stain that Lacey had left on the bedroom floor. Then he ate the snack pack of real Oreo cookies that he had found on the table with a note around them, “To Grandpa, love Maddie.”
Perfect last line! 💛