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Order this writing in the book Duality with writing by Eric Bonholtzer & Janet Kuypers |
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“I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” Mary said it with emphasis, an overdue bill from the ever-growing stack nestled in her hand, waving it as a conductor might.
“Look, getting upset isn’t going to help anything.” Mike tried to console his wife. Throughout this whole ordeal he’d been a voice of reason, and that wasn’t about to change. “We’ll get through this. It’s just a tough time. Something will be provided for us, it always happens that way.”
“Yeah, well what if it doesn’t happen this time? What if we lose our house, Mike? What then? It’s been three months and nothing...”
Mike rose from his chair, a worn leather one he’d never had the heart to part with, and came to stand beside his wife. He looked at the house they’d called their own for the past twenty years, the spot on the rug where their older daughter had taken her first steps, the antique green couch where their younger daughter loved to nap, and thought about how they might lose it all. “I know it’s difficult, but it’s not like were not trying. We’ve been submitting applications. And at least I got that job at 7-11 and you’re getting some part time work at the library.”
“But it’s not enough money, Mike.” Now the tears did come, and Mike was sorely tempted to just join in the misery. But instead, he gained more resolve, letting her vent, his arms wrapped around her, feeling the plush softness of the sweater he’d bought her two Christmases ago, back when he’d had his career, before the company downsizing.
“I know, and I’m going down to Macy’s today and...”
“It just isn’t going to cover our house payment and with Nana’s medical bills, I just don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Yeah, but at least it’s a...”
Mary didn’t let him finish. “What about the car payments? And tuition for the kids?”
“We’re trying our best, sweetheart. We just have to have believe something good will happen.”
Mary smiled a little bit, resting her head on Mike’s shoulder. She was all cried out. Mike thought about the mounting stack of bills, having gone from the past due stage to the final notices. “Look, Mary. I love you. And this is a really difficult time for us, I’ll admit. I wish we had some rich parents or friends who we could ask for a little help, but the fact is we don’t. And crying about it isn’t going to help matters. Maybe you’ll get that teaching job...” He let the words trail off. It had been almost three weeks and the truth was that if they were going to hear back, they probably would have already. Mary had left the teaching profession years ago to stay home and raise the kids and at that time the principal was practically begging her to stay; now they didn’t want her back because of budget cuts. “We’ll get through this. No matter what happens, we have each other, and that’s enough.”
“But what about the kids, their school?” Both their daughters were away at college, one an aspiring novelist, the other a scientist, different as the seasons.
“We’ll figure something out. Maybe they’ll just have to put their education on hold for a little bit...”
Mike was cut off mid-sentence by a ring of the doorbell. He shook his head, irritated. He was in no mood for visitors. The interruption did prove to be one blessing: it took their attention off the troubles. Mary was already daubing her eyes and preparing for company, always the consummate hostess, even in times such as these.
As they walked to the door, Mike tried for a little levity. “Hey, if things get really desperate we can always hawk the heirloom.” He smiled as he pointed to the absurd avant-garde painting that someone had deemed ‘art’. It was a running joke. Bought years ago by Mary’s grandfather, it had been passed down through the kids hands until it graced Mary and Mike’s mantle, the painting so ugly, so incredibly bizarre it had become the centerpiece of conversation because of its sheer gaudiness. Mike’s comment did its job, eliciting a smile from Mary, something that had been scarcely seen for the past few months.
“And part with that masterpiece?” she replied jokingly. “We’ll lose the house first.” It was Mike’s turn to smile, and with slightly lifted spirits, he opened the door.
The man standing before them looked deeply troubled. Tears streamed down his young face, through a beard that was rough cut, a style that was becoming more popular these days. Mike could tell something was very wrong with this picture. The man was shaking, visibly pale, and he favored one side, his left leg looking awkward and damaged. His t-shirt had a visible rip in the side, and the skin showed through the tear.
“Are you all right?” Mary rushed forward, placing one arm on the young man’s shoulder, steadying him, as the new arrival looked like he might collapse at any moment. The man was unresponsive, seemingly in a daze. “Mike, why don’t you see if you can see what’s wrong? I’ll get him some water.”
And with that, Mary left, at a near run, her problems temporarily forgotten in her need to help. Alone with this stranger, Mike felt the urge to hug the man, tell him that everything would be okay. But then he realized that he didn’t even know what the problem was. “Are you all right son?” Mike could think of nothing better to say. “Look, my wife’s going to get you something to drink. What’s wrong?”
The man just stood there blankly for a second, blinking rapidly, and for an instant Mike wondered if this man was intoxicated or on some kind of medication. He certainly didn’t look right. Then the stranger spoke. “I’m sorry...Look at me...I’m so sorry.” Mike was taken aback. He didn’t know how to respond. Luckily no response was needed, as the man broke into a fit of sobbing, spilling out what had happened. “There was an accident. Up the street...I think...I think someone’s hurt...” Mike could barely make out the words through the hysteria, but something tugged at him deep inside. His wife was back with a cup of water in hand, forcing the man to slow down and take a few sips. “My leg...” The man rambled something incoherent, then continued on, “I tried one of the other houses...empty...” The man pointed across the street, “That house told me...‘get lost hippie.’”
Mike followed the man’s finger and was shocked. That was the McCallister’s home, good people who Mike and Mary had known for years. He sincerely doubted that their close friends would say such a thing, but the stranger was adamant. “No one will help me, please help me...” He was imploring.
Mike patted the man on the back. “It’s okay, son. Now, calm down, it’s going to be all right.” He turned to Mary and said, “Call the police, tell them we need an ambulance up here right away.”
That was when the stranger started screaming, getting even more agitated. He even went so far as to grab the front of Mike’s shirt, the fabric bunching in his hands. “No, there’s no time. You have to help them now. You have to. There’s no time.” Mike shot his wife a quick glance, as if to say maybe he’s right.
In a split second they made their decision. “All right. Show us where it is.” In an instant Mary was out the door beside her husband.
The stranger pointed, “It’s up there a couple of blocks up.” Mike marveled, wondering just how far this guy had had to drag himself for help before someone opened the door.
“Can you take us there?” Mary asked it, looking at her husband who was already starting down the driveway.
The stranger shook his head, pointing to his leg, bending to the side to add emphasis to his pained state. He sank down against the side wall of Mike and Mary’s front porch, leaning his head against the wall and beginning once again to cry. No more words were necessary as the heroic couple was already in the street, taking off at a run, leaving the stranger on their doorstep to himself.
“It was everything we had.” Mary was sobbing deeply into the couch. At least they had left the furniture, which was probably too heavy to move. Three days had passed, a time of sorrow with heartfelt condolences from friends, including the McCallisters, but despite it all, the thoughts of betrayal and grief hadn’t left.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Mike was sitting beside Mary, one hand on her leg, as he stared off into space. An insurance adjustor would be there soon and Mike vowed that he was done with tears. He thought of his friends and the well wishers in the neighborhood who were starting a collection, and he could almost smile. Almost.
“I just can’t believe someone would do that...” Mary left the rest of the words unsaid especially to people who were already in need.
“I know,” Mike said, not knowing what else to say.
There had been no accident, no trouble a couple of streets up. The stranger had been a phony, a thief with a good act who distracted people long enough, playing on their sympathy and humanity, to rob them. Mike and Mary had just been the latest victims. They’d searched two streets up and then three and then four, thinking the whole time that perhaps the man had been so confused he couldn’t tell where the accident had occurred, with each street the fact becoming more painfully obvious that they’d been duped. Then they had rushed home, only to find their house thoroughly ransacked. The rest had been a nightmare that they wished desperately they could awaken from. Still no great job had surfaced and Mary and Mike had been cleaned out of just about everything of value.
A ring at the door jolted them from their misery, painfully reminiscent of the same bell that began their nightmare just days before. Mike could almost picture it being the bearded stranger at the door as he opened it, returning to the scene of the crime. But it wasn’t, it was the insurance adjuster and Mike was less than optimistic. They’d dropped down their coverage last year to save a few bucks when Mike had taken his first pay cut, a precursor to the layoff.
The insurance man was tall and thin, the stereotype of an accountant down to the horn rimmed glasses, and Mike was not in a welcoming mood.
“Come on in to our home sweet home, which probably won’t be our home for much longer.” He was bitter, and made an expansive gesture taking in just how much had been stolen from them.
Mary greeted the man politely, the bills on the kitchen table glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. The thief hadn’t had the courtesy to take those too.
“I’m really sorry about your loss. They informed me of your financial situation. It’s terrible when thieves pick on good honest people, especially people in need.” He said it with compassion, but from the look Mike saw in his eyes, he knew the adjuster did this kind of thing so much it was becoming more of a rehearsed recitation than a genuine display of sympathy. “My name’s Luke White. I’ll be taking down all the information on what you lost. Generally these things are kind of difficult for the parties involved.”
Parties involved, Mike thought to himself, he’s already reducing us to a statistic.
The man was droning on and Mike turned his head to the mantle and its rings of dust formed around where their trinkets and keepsakes had once sat. Mr. White was going on about some procedural nonsense and Mike was fuming. He felt anger at the horrible thieves who took advantage of kind people like himself and Mary. He even felt anger at this impassionate adjustor who was rambling on as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Mr. White was asking a question and lost in his ire, Mike had scarcely heard. “What?”
“I was just going over it with your wife and I was asking you, ‘what exactly did you lose?’”
Mike stared at him, dumbfounded, wondering if this guy was blind, feeling a prickling seething emotion that made him angry at himself. “Can’t you see we lost everything except for some furniture and that stupid painting?!” He gestured to the running joke.
Mike was about to say something else until he caught the look in the adjustor’s eyes. Mr. White was staring, as if in shock, a look very similar to the one on the stranger’s face from a few days before. “Is that...a...”
Mike just wanted to scream at him, what you can’t talk either, like that thief? Is there some kind of dumbness that’s being spread in the water?
“That isn’t an original is it?” Mr. White stepped forward, touching the frame.
Mary had taken notice of the strange tone in the insurance adjustor’s voice and her interest was piqued. “That? That’s just some old painting that my grandfather bought. Ugly, isn’t it?”
Mr. White stared at her as if she had just said Mona Lisa was a mere artist’s doodling. “You’re kidding, right? Do you have any idea how much this thing is worth of it’s an authentic Pollack? Several of his originals turned up missing years ago and have been discovered at various obscure places over time, including yard sales. And if your grandfather bought this...” He stepped closer, examining the surface.
Mike went over to his wife, gripping her hands tightly. If only what he was saying was true... But somehow deep inside they knew this wasn’t just some random set of occurrences. It was a sign, it had to be.
Mr. White turned to them with a little smile and said, “Um..I think that your financial troubles may be over. I’m no art expert, but I’d bet anything that this is an original. And that means...well I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about money again.”
Mary turned to her husband and hugged him tight, thinking of all the time they’d joked about the painting. She thought about how they’d gotten through their problems and grown stronger because of it, the entire time the answer to their situation hanging above the mantle, turning out to be an authentic Pollack. But most of all she thought about the reasons behind the reasons, the big picture made their lives fit together. Mike and Mary embraced, warmth shared between them in their newly furnished living room, and smiled, thinking of all the good for the community and for themselves they would do, all because of a long running joke that turned out to be a painting of gold.
