GIVE A DAMN

Story about a cantankerous old man and his daily routine.

He swung his long, pale legs over the side of the king-sized bed and rubbed his wrinkled face with an age-spotted hand.

"Damn sun," he grumbled.

Shoving his feet into plush house shoes he shuffled into the tiny bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Damn dripping faucet," he mumbled.

His routine oatmeal breakfast did nothing to satiate his slight hunger. Dropping gobs-full of the bland foodstuffs into the garbage disposal, he turned his bulbous nose up in disgust.

"Damn cholesterol," he complained.

Walking stiffly to the back window, he noticed the grass needed mowing so he mosied out to the storage shed. Birds were chirping and flittering about in the cool morning breeze.

"Shut up, damn stupid birds!" he yelled. Several moved on to more pleasing destinations; several perched atop the sagging wooden fence and warily eyed the cantankerous gentleman.

"Damn lawnmower," he kicked the machine. Out of gas. He would have to make the short trip to the station.

Gazing at the knee-high weeds, he shook his head. "Damn. It'll have to wait."

Pushing open the creaking side gate, he rounded the corner of the house and began to look for his daily newspaper; not caring if anyone saw him in his pajamas. He searched. Not under the tree. Not behind his car. There it was, once again, in the bushes.

"Damn paper boy." His face began to flush with anger.

As he tucked the black and white print beneath his arm and trudged slowly toward the front porch, he faintly heard his name.

"Hey, Mr. North." A child's voice.

Cocking his head slightly to the left, the man turned up his hearing aid.

"Shut up, Becca," another child giggled. "Don't call him over here."

Shading his eyes from the bright mid-morning sun, he shook his finger at the next door neighbor's children. "Damn kids! You ain't gonna sell no lemonade. Nobody wants your swill."

The children cringed as Rett North's screen door slammed loudly behind his arthritic-worn body. Becca cried as her older brother Evan punched her in the arm. "Told ya. He's so mean."

Rett settled into his faded blue recliner, lit a cigarette and found the Dear Abby column. Always Dear Abby first, sports section and then the comics. Most of the comics weren't funny but he did enjoy Peanuts. Charlie Brown was sometimes a likeable character. No one seemed to understand him. Rett identified.

Finishing up with his newspaper routine, he glided toward the bathroom and relieved himself; returning for his daily dose of Judge Judy.

Rett greatly admired the ol' gal. She said what she wanted, when she wanted and there was no backlash; no hard feelings and no mistake about her intentions. He respected her straight-forwardness.

Turning up the volume, he leaned in and focused intently on the case. A young college-aged boy had borrowed money from an ex-roommate and had promised to repay it with a forthcoming tax refund. The promised monies never materialized. Judge Judy was mid-tirade when the words: "Breaking News" suddenly flashed across the television screen.

"Damn Breaking News," Rett yelled into the room.

A tornado had ripped through Texas. Devastating death toll. Millions of dollars' worth of damage. Many missing; trapped.

"Damned tornado," Rett's anger intensified. "I'm missing Judge Judy, damn it. I don't give a damn about those people. I don't even know them." Rett was concerned about being out of sorts without his daily routine.

A train-engine roar drowned out the elderly man's complaints.

"Damn noise," he hollered loudly. "Can't even hear myself think."

Beyond the back window, the sky grew dark and ominous; darker with each passing minute. Debris began to fly over the fence. Swirling. Landing in the weeds, the bushes and on the porch.

"Damn it," Rett whispered as the massive twister sucked the breath from his lungs and the life from his body.

Judge Judy was the farthest thing from his mind.

Author's Note

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