You Never Know

You never know what life will bring, where it will lead you, when it will leave you.

The other day in the grocery store, Tom was rounding the corner when he came knee to eye with a young girl of maybe three years old. If he hadn’t stopped, he would have walked right over the poor thing. The girl looked up at Tom, her eyes widening as her head arced back. Tom looked down and smiled. “Well hello there,” he said, trying to sound friendly.

 

The girl just stood there staring upwards. Slowly her mouth opened into a big ‘O’ and as her eyes began to shift from ovals to slits, a sound rose from her tiny belly, up her chest, and then her neck, until it burst out of her like only a child’s scream can. Tom noticed one of the store clerks watching them. Tom looked at him innocently and shrugged. He didn’t know what to do. The clerk frowned as if Tom were somehow responsible for the screal emanating from the girl.

 

“There, there,” Tom said. He patted the girl’s head, but this just made things worse. She yelped a couple times and then, screaming louder, ran down the aisle toward a woman who Tom assumed was her mother. “What’s wrong baby?” The woman glanced over at Tom and then at her daughter.

 

The girl pointed at Tom. “Him,” she said, sniffling. “He wants to eat me.”

 

Tom couldn’t believe his ears and was about to protest when the girl’s mother burst into laughter. “Eat you?”

 

“Him a giant, mummy. Giants eat little girls, right?”

 

By now a small crowd had gathered around – all of them chuckling at the little girl. Another lady nudged Tom. “Hey, I’ve got a five year old who’s been acting up a lot lately. Care for a little snack?” The woman laughed.

 

Tom smiled, but anyone who knew him would have known he wasn’t all that amused. Being big and tall was a curse sometimes and this was one of those times.

 

“He’s plump and juicy,” the woman went on. Then she lost it. She laughed so hard she couldn’t stop, not even when the tears came.

 

Tom kept smiling but started to edge away from the crowd. He left his cart by the frozen dinners and began walking toward the exit. Minutes later he was in his car, pulling out onto 98^th Avenue.

 

When he walked into the house, Maggie gave him a puzzled look. “Where are the groceries?”

 

Tom muttered. “Don’t have them. There was this girl…”

 

“What?” Maggie yelled. She was standing on a ladder washing down the top cabinet doors.

 

Tom picked up the mail and sorted through it, not really looking at anything. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. He sat down in the living room – in his chair – and lighted a cigarette. He knew Maggie would make him snuff it out, but he didn’t care. A giant accused of being a baby eater should be able to smoke in his own home. Tom laughed a little. It was funny, but every since the third grade when Mrs. Bailey measured him in front of the class, Tom found it difficult to be singled out because of his size, even if the culprit was an innocent three year old.

 

“Are you smoking in the house?”

 

Tom stood up and walked toward the front door.

 

“Tom?”

 

He opened the door and stepped outside. “No,” he yelled. “I am blowing the smoke outside.”

 

“Doesn’t smell like it.”

 

“I’ll shut the door then.” Tom sat down on the front stoop.

 

Matthew Swanson was mowing his lawn. Tom was sure Matthew had mowed his lawn three days ago, but there he was again pushing his oversized Toro across his tiny patch of green, cutting his field of green in a perfect diagonal pattern. Tom looked at his own lawn. Matthew was constantly giving him advice on lawn care, recommending fertilizer or noting the appropriate length of time between watering to ensure a lush result. Matthew would offer such advice while casting a disapproving eye at Tom's lawn, which typically was uncut, dappled with brown spots, and highlighted with dandelions and the occasional gathering of mushrooms.

 

Matthew despised invaders like dandelions and mushrooms. "You know," he would say. "If you don't catch them early, they spread like wild fire."

 

"Really?" Tom would say. "Like wild fire? No kidding."

 

Come to think of it, Matthew was always giving advice. It didn't matter about what. Matthew had an expert opinion on just about anything, which he felt compelled to voice with an irksome tone of superiority. Tom took a deep draw on his cigarette and exhaled. Only a committed smoker can comprehend the delight of that act: the slow and steady inhalation followed by the controlled release of smoke into the atmosphere. It was contemplative and soothing, despite the risks that people like Matthew delighted in pointing out.

 

Tom wished he had a different neighbor -- someone with a spotty lawn, a bit of a paunch, and a preference to drinking beer over proffering opinions. He smiled to himself. No doubt Matthew prayed for a new neighbor as well. On that, they were in agreement.

 

Tom dropped his cigarette and snuffed in out with his shoe. He looked up just as Matthew's Toro died down. Matthew waved. It was an obligatory gesture -- the thing neighbors are supposed to do -- and they both knew it. Tom picked up his cigarette butt and stood up. "Great diagonals, Matthew. Superb job."

 

Matthew beamed. He waved again, this time with a little more enthusiasm.

 

Tom gazed down at the cigarette butt between his fingers and then at Matthew. Something stopped him from turning and going into the house. He knew he should do just that, but there was this inner voice egging him on. The smirk that formed on his face was involuntary. Lifting his hand slowly, he took aim and flicked the cigarette butt into the middle of his lawn. He knew he would fetch it later, if for no other reason than to avoid Maggie's admonishment, but for now this small rebellion was his to make. He watched the butt soar through the air and bounce twice before settling appropriately on a splotch of brown grass. As much as he wanted to, he didn't look at Matthew. Tom just turned and went inside.

 

Tom made dinner that night. Maggie told him off for not coming home with the groceries, though she did find his story amusing. He figured the least he could do was cook something. The kids thought perogies and corn was odd fare until Tom suggested that they could make dinner from now on if they thought they could do a better job. They quickly moved on to other topics.

 

The meal was almost over when Maggie decided to let the kids in on Tom's grocery store drama. She ignored Tom's evil eye and before long everyone was laughing, including Tom who by now was over having a conniption about it.

 

"Gee, Dad," Jonathan chuckled. "We could have had small girl for dinner instead of perogies."

 

"Yeh," Melissa joined in. "Roasted child-ling with orange sauce. Yum."

 

Tom leaned back in his chair. He loved his family and he knew they loved him. Being ridiculed by his wife and offspring aside, Tom figured there were a lot of people in the world that didn't have this. A family that enjoyed being a family.

 

Tom was in the middle of doing the dishes when he heard the sirens. He was the last one to make it to the living room window. There was an ambulance and a fire truck across the street, their mars lights shooting ominous beams around the neighborhood. Tom and the family went outside and stood watching from the middle of their front yard. They weren't the only ones doing that. The block was full of onlookers.

 

It wasn't long before they brought Matthew out on a stretcher. Tom figured he was still alive because they hadn't covered his face. Grace, Matthew's wife, was crying. Maggie ran across the street and put her arm around Grace. Tom heard the words "heart attack." He put his arm around Melissa and watched the ambulance speed off to the hospital.

 

Maggie ran past Tom into the house and re-emerged moments later with the car keys. "I'm taking Grace to the hospital," she said.

 

"Yes, of course," Tom said.

 

Tom walked over and helped Grace into the car. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm sure he is in good hands."

 

Grace hugged Tom. "Matt was just mowing the lawn, you know, like he always does."

 

"Yes," Tom said. "I watched him. He does such a good job of it."

 

Grace smiled through her tears. "He does, doesn't he?"

 

Tom closed the door and waited until the car was out of sight. He walked the kids back into the house. They sat at the dining room table in the quiet.

 

"The sirens were so loud," Jonathan said.

 

"I've never seen that before," Melissa said.

 

Tom looked at his children. They sat there, confused and worried. He wanted to assure them that everything would be okay, but he couldn't. What if he said that and Matthew died? They were too old to offer false hope. "He was just mowing the lawn," was all he could muster. Then he added, “He likes diagonals.”

 

Minutes later, Jonathan was upstairs doing homework and Melissa was on the phone telling her best friend Sandra about what happened.

 

It took about ten minutes to finish the dishes. Tom put on a pot of coffee. Maggie would want a cup when she came home. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched the coffee drip into the pot. For some reason he enjoyed the gurgling noise the coffeemaker emitted at the end of its cycle.

 

He looked around. The kitchen needed renovation. He had promised Maggie last summer he would find a contractor, but he didn’t. Instead he invested $1,000 in a Canadian company that claimed to have a gasoline additive that doubled gas mileage. Some one had told him about the stock at the check out line at the grocery store. “It’s the next Microsoft,” the man said. “I’m putting all I can into it.” Tom figured he’d make a quick profit and be able to renovate the kitchen and the down stairs bathroom. A month later the company was de-listed for fraud.

 

Maggie was furious. Tom wasn’t going to tell her at first, but the thought of being hiding his stupidity through lies and deceit did not strike him as a good strategy. “You’re always doing something,” Maggie said, throwing up her hands. “If we had all the money you invested in your get rich quick schemes, we’d be rich!”

 

This summer he would get the kitchen done. Maggie was right. His little schemes never panned out. Tom walked to the living room window. The aroma from the coffee followed him, caressed him, offered comfort.

 

Everything looked like it always did. The lights were on at Matthew and Grace's house. A bunch of kids were playing street hockey even though they could hardly see the puck anymore. A car crawled by now and again. Tom turned his head when the telephone rang.

 

It’s for you!” Melissa screamed.

 

Tom spoke with Maggie for a few minutes. Grace was in a bad way and Maggie said it would be best to stay at the hospital. “It’s a shock, isn’t it, Tom?”

 

Tom nodded. “Hard to believe,” he said softly.

 

“I mean he was mowing his lawn just a couple hours ago. You two were talking.”

 

“Yes,” Tom said.

 

“What did you talk about?”

 

“Nothing really. I complimented him on how well he mows the lawn.”

 

There was silence – both of them listening to the other breathe.

 

Maggie broke the spell. “You never know,” she said.

 

"You never know," Tom whispered. “Maggie, I have to go.”

 

Tom didn’t hear his wife say she loved him. Later he apologized for leaving like that, but sometimes there are things to do that can’t wait. By the time Tom made it outside, the tears had begun their release. They were slow tears, private tears, but they burned as they slid down his cheeks.

 

He stood there in the middle of his unkempt lawn and scanned the neighborhood. Just last week, the Tomlinsons moved in to the old Jackson place. Their kids were about the age of his kids when they moved here. This is a good place to live, he thought. Such a good place.

 

Tom looked at Matthew’s lawn. It seemed to shine in the moonlight. Then he bent down and picked up the cigarette butt, put it in his shirt pocket, and sat down on the front stoop to wait for his wife to come home.