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The Towel

Andrew J. Hogan

    The gate swung open, and the visitors entered the old cattle sorting yard, behind which hovered the old slaughter house where Lenny was being held. It had been five years since Aunt Flo’s last visit; Uncle Mike had come with her that last time.
    The prisoners lined up on one side of the cattle chutes, the visitors on the other. Barbed wired had been added between the side planks to prevent the visitors from touching the prisoners. All exchanges took place through the guards, for a price.
    “Aunt Flo,” Lenny called. They moved to opposite sides of the chute. “You’re looking well.” Lenny smiled, but not so much that Aunt Flo could tell most of his teeth were missing. “Sorry to hear about Uncle Mike. I hope he went fast.”
    “He didn’t,” Aunt Flo said. “You look like shit. Are you every getting out of here?”
    “Not so soon,” Lenny said. “Had a little problem with one of the guards. That’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Aunt Flo stared, silent. “I was wondering, now with Uncle Mike gone, if you might be willing to pass on to me something I could remember him by, his towel?” Aunt Flo continued staring, remaining silent. “You see, there’s twenty guys in my stalag, and we have to use the same towel after we shower. We ain’t had a new towel in a year or so, and my being sent here, unjustly, for diddling that little girl, well, I get to use the towel last.” Aunt Flo still silent. “Well, it’s not so bad in the summer when it’s warm, but in the winter I’d sure help to have a nice towel like the one Uncle Mike used.”
    “Well now, Lenny, that towel was one of Mike’s favorite things,” Aunt Flo said. “I already gave away his other favorite thing, the rawhide belt, to your cousin Pete.”
    “Uncle Mike told me the ‘M’ was his initial,” Lenny said. “I’d be something for me to remember him by.”
    “The ‘M’ stood for the Monarch Motel. That’s where Mike and me spent our honeymoon. Uncle Mike stole that towel from the Monarch just for that reason. It’s a keepsake.”
    “Oh,” Lenny said. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any other...?”
    “Nope. All the other towels are spoken for.”
    “Okay, I, ah...”
    “Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, Lenny. Seems like you’re making the best of this bad situation.”
    “Thanks for coming, Aunt Flo. Hope you’ll come to visit a little sooner next time.”
    “With Mike gone, I’m all alone with all the grandkids during the work week, even your little Phyllis. She’s growing up real fast, in case you’re interested.”
    “Sure. Thanks for taking care of her. Tell her her Daddy says hi.”

 

Originally published in Summer 2015 issue of the BEECHWOOD REVIEW

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