Post by K Man on Feb 14, 2005 15:08:04 GMT -5
{In compliance with Zarni and Medesha's request for something a bit more...uplifting, I present a Valentine's Day Story for y'all. Hastily produced, but hopefully it get its point across. 
}
__________________________________________________________________________________________
February 14th, 2005
“Usual today Mr. Sanders?”
The wrinkled old man nodded slowly, the jowls of his aged chin shaking like a Thanksgiving turkey. “Of course Cindy, and please, it’s Anthony.”
“Sure thing Mr. Sanders.” Cindy, a young waitress of less than three decades in age smiled facetiously. She always knew Anthony Sanders preferred to be addressed by his first name, but she liked to tease him. Everyday he would come to eat, and every day she would call him by his last name. After all, they saw each other enough that she would even go so far as to call him a friend.
Anthony Sanders was a hobbled man, almost one hundred years of age, and it showed in his gait. He did his best to keep up with the young waitress, limping along behind her, his coat clenched tight about his body and jingling as though laden with change. Few paid any attention to the two as they made their way through the restaurant.
She ushered him between the tables of the empty dining hall at the American Buffet–an all you can eat restaurant often thickly populated with the elderly as they ate alone–finally seating him at a booth in the corner, the same one he always requested. As he shuffled his nearly century-old body onto the cracked vinyl bench, trench coat and all, Cindy lightly skipped back to the register, only to find Marcus leaning on it.
Marcus was the manager of the day shift at the American Buffet–a position that most would find prestigious, but was actually reserved for those blessed enough to be family of the owners, and dim-witted enough to excel at little else. He was an obese, weasel of a man, less than five feet tall and almost as wide. He often eyed Cindy and her lithe form like fresh meat. His eyes were like a rat’s, small and beady. He disgusted Cindy, but she was forced to respect him professionally, at least since his inception as manager a little over two weeks ago.
“That guy again? What the hell? Doesn’t he have a life?”
Cindy bent down and picked up a loose receipt, taking the opportunity to roll her eyes. “Most older people don’t Mark.”
“‘us’...it’s MarcUS.” The rat-manager sneered. “And so what? That doesn’t give them the right to eat at the same place day and day out.”
Cindy smiled, still hidden from view. She knew Marcus didn’t like the shortened version of his name and usually it was enough to get rid of him, but it appeared that today would be a different story. She tried to stay under the edge of the counter long enough, praying that no one entered the door that would require her attention. Fate had a different plan as second later, the doorbell buzzed; an indication that more customers had entered the restaurant.
“I mean, how long has that guy been coming here anyway?” Marcus went on, ignorant of the new elderly couple that had approached.
“Every day since I’ve been working here. Five years at least. I’ve heard from some of the other girls that’s he’s been coming here since we opened.” Cindy took the money of the newly arrived couple and shuffled through a drawer to obtain a pair of clean silverware sets.
“Well I don’t like him, he gives me the creeps.” Marcus stood out of the way to let Cindy do her job.
“Ahh, have a heart Mark.” Cindy sighed, thankful that she could finally leave the man’s presence.
“Why?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day...”
February 14th, 1976
Anthony Sanders tossed open the door to the Bingo hall and ran inside, out of breath. He hurriedly slapped a few crisp bills on the counter before the cashier and picked up a few unfilled bingo cards on his way in. He buttoned his coat tight about his body and made his way to the head of the room, squinting his eyes for clarity.
He spotted his good friend from the service, Trent Hasper, sitting at a table in the corner, alone. He made his way through the sea of cheap card tables and metal folding chairs to his companion and sat down, squeezing into the both next to him.
“You’re late.”
“I know.” Anthony replied. “Car trouble.”
“No worries.” Trent took a lengthy drag from a dying cigarette and stamped a red dot in a square on the card. “You really think it will happen today?”
“I don’t know. But I’m here waiting for her...I’ll always be waiting for her.” Anthony took a deep sigh, his words laden with meaning. He removed a red ink bottle and began to stamp the card squares in the order they were called, just like his friend.
The two sat in silence for some time, both absent-mindedly stamping their cards with the dripping red ink–both ignorant of their winnings and devoid of the care to notify anyone of them. They kept their old forms hunched over the cards, white hair tucked neatly under their caps and bodies bundled in their overcoats; two old men, in their sixties, playing bingo. It was Trent who finally broke the silence as he took a drag of nicotine and stared out of the nearby window.
“You still love her? As much as you did?”
“Of course.” Anthony replied without even looking up. “...don’t tell me you’re faltering like the others...”
“No, no, no...” Trent quickly brought his gaze from the windows and back to his cards. “It’s just that the others claimed to have loved her just as much...and they are all gone. Jonesy, Zagnut...all of them without as much as a parade. It’s just us two.”
“I know. But we swore to protect her...all of us did.”
Trent sighed. Stamping out another winning row and casually tossing the card aside like trash. “I just get tired of coming here everyday, waiting for her to come back.”
“It’s not as bad as when this place was a trash dump.” Anthony chuckled and gave his friend a slight jab with an elbow. The two men smiled and went back to stamping their cards, watching and waiting. Again, it was Trent that broke the silence minutes later.
“Hey Colonel...happy Valentine’s Day...”
February 14th, 2005
Marcus picked up the plate so quick from under him that Anthony stabbed the table with the fork. Quizzically, the venerable man looked up through impossibly thick lenses.
“Are you enjoying the food today sir?” Marcus leered, practically leaning over Anthony’s feeble frame.
“Very much so...” If it was possible to wrinkle a washcloth into an expression of anger, Anthony’s face had pulled off the impression.
“That’s nice sir.” Marcus transferred the plate from one hand to the other, jabbing his free finger into Anthony’s trench coat. “You aren’t planning on taking anything extra home are you?”
Just as Anthony’s toothless gums managed to find a response, Cindy grabbed Marcus by the arm and pulled him aside, into a small waitress stand. She stood between her manager and the old man, blocking both from viewing each other.
“What ARE you doing?”
Marcus stiffened and casually tossed the plate into the bin with the other dirty dishes. “I’m keeping our costs down. I think he’s stealing things and taking them home.”
Cindy widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Are you insane? He’s just a harmless old man.”
“Harmless?” Marcus stood on his toes and peered over he shoulders at Anthony huddled in the corner booth. “Look at his coat. He always keeps it bundled tight around him. It’s bulging like he’s carrying something and I swear I hear scraping metal when he walks by. What if he’s stealing dishes or plates?”
Cindy could not believe her ears. Her mouth remained open, mind rapidly searching for the reason behind such blatant...stupidity. She could not retort, only remain silent and picture Marcus being hurt in a hundred different ways.
She finally found the words to respond. “Every night we count inventory. Have we been missing dishes? Have we been missing silverware? He’s here everyday and if he’s taking something everyday, we’d be missing astronomical amounts of items right?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s not taking food?”
“It’s an all-you-can-eat restaurant...Mark.”
Lacking any words, or perhaps trying to protect his ego, Marcus simply walked away, muttering under his breath.
“Get back to work.”
}__________________________________________________________________________________________
TRUE LOVE
[/center]February 14th, 2005
“Usual today Mr. Sanders?”
The wrinkled old man nodded slowly, the jowls of his aged chin shaking like a Thanksgiving turkey. “Of course Cindy, and please, it’s Anthony.”
“Sure thing Mr. Sanders.” Cindy, a young waitress of less than three decades in age smiled facetiously. She always knew Anthony Sanders preferred to be addressed by his first name, but she liked to tease him. Everyday he would come to eat, and every day she would call him by his last name. After all, they saw each other enough that she would even go so far as to call him a friend.
Anthony Sanders was a hobbled man, almost one hundred years of age, and it showed in his gait. He did his best to keep up with the young waitress, limping along behind her, his coat clenched tight about his body and jingling as though laden with change. Few paid any attention to the two as they made their way through the restaurant.
She ushered him between the tables of the empty dining hall at the American Buffet–an all you can eat restaurant often thickly populated with the elderly as they ate alone–finally seating him at a booth in the corner, the same one he always requested. As he shuffled his nearly century-old body onto the cracked vinyl bench, trench coat and all, Cindy lightly skipped back to the register, only to find Marcus leaning on it.
Marcus was the manager of the day shift at the American Buffet–a position that most would find prestigious, but was actually reserved for those blessed enough to be family of the owners, and dim-witted enough to excel at little else. He was an obese, weasel of a man, less than five feet tall and almost as wide. He often eyed Cindy and her lithe form like fresh meat. His eyes were like a rat’s, small and beady. He disgusted Cindy, but she was forced to respect him professionally, at least since his inception as manager a little over two weeks ago.
“That guy again? What the hell? Doesn’t he have a life?”
Cindy bent down and picked up a loose receipt, taking the opportunity to roll her eyes. “Most older people don’t Mark.”
“‘us’...it’s MarcUS.” The rat-manager sneered. “And so what? That doesn’t give them the right to eat at the same place day and day out.”
Cindy smiled, still hidden from view. She knew Marcus didn’t like the shortened version of his name and usually it was enough to get rid of him, but it appeared that today would be a different story. She tried to stay under the edge of the counter long enough, praying that no one entered the door that would require her attention. Fate had a different plan as second later, the doorbell buzzed; an indication that more customers had entered the restaurant.
“I mean, how long has that guy been coming here anyway?” Marcus went on, ignorant of the new elderly couple that had approached.
“Every day since I’ve been working here. Five years at least. I’ve heard from some of the other girls that’s he’s been coming here since we opened.” Cindy took the money of the newly arrived couple and shuffled through a drawer to obtain a pair of clean silverware sets.
“Well I don’t like him, he gives me the creeps.” Marcus stood out of the way to let Cindy do her job.
“Ahh, have a heart Mark.” Cindy sighed, thankful that she could finally leave the man’s presence.
“Why?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day...”
***
February 14th, 1976
Anthony Sanders tossed open the door to the Bingo hall and ran inside, out of breath. He hurriedly slapped a few crisp bills on the counter before the cashier and picked up a few unfilled bingo cards on his way in. He buttoned his coat tight about his body and made his way to the head of the room, squinting his eyes for clarity.
He spotted his good friend from the service, Trent Hasper, sitting at a table in the corner, alone. He made his way through the sea of cheap card tables and metal folding chairs to his companion and sat down, squeezing into the both next to him.
“You’re late.”
“I know.” Anthony replied. “Car trouble.”
“No worries.” Trent took a lengthy drag from a dying cigarette and stamped a red dot in a square on the card. “You really think it will happen today?”
“I don’t know. But I’m here waiting for her...I’ll always be waiting for her.” Anthony took a deep sigh, his words laden with meaning. He removed a red ink bottle and began to stamp the card squares in the order they were called, just like his friend.
The two sat in silence for some time, both absent-mindedly stamping their cards with the dripping red ink–both ignorant of their winnings and devoid of the care to notify anyone of them. They kept their old forms hunched over the cards, white hair tucked neatly under their caps and bodies bundled in their overcoats; two old men, in their sixties, playing bingo. It was Trent who finally broke the silence as he took a drag of nicotine and stared out of the nearby window.
“You still love her? As much as you did?”
“Of course.” Anthony replied without even looking up. “...don’t tell me you’re faltering like the others...”
“No, no, no...” Trent quickly brought his gaze from the windows and back to his cards. “It’s just that the others claimed to have loved her just as much...and they are all gone. Jonesy, Zagnut...all of them without as much as a parade. It’s just us two.”
“I know. But we swore to protect her...all of us did.”
Trent sighed. Stamping out another winning row and casually tossing the card aside like trash. “I just get tired of coming here everyday, waiting for her to come back.”
“It’s not as bad as when this place was a trash dump.” Anthony chuckled and gave his friend a slight jab with an elbow. The two men smiled and went back to stamping their cards, watching and waiting. Again, it was Trent that broke the silence minutes later.
“Hey Colonel...happy Valentine’s Day...”
***
February 14th, 2005
Marcus picked up the plate so quick from under him that Anthony stabbed the table with the fork. Quizzically, the venerable man looked up through impossibly thick lenses.
“Are you enjoying the food today sir?” Marcus leered, practically leaning over Anthony’s feeble frame.
“Very much so...” If it was possible to wrinkle a washcloth into an expression of anger, Anthony’s face had pulled off the impression.
“That’s nice sir.” Marcus transferred the plate from one hand to the other, jabbing his free finger into Anthony’s trench coat. “You aren’t planning on taking anything extra home are you?”
Just as Anthony’s toothless gums managed to find a response, Cindy grabbed Marcus by the arm and pulled him aside, into a small waitress stand. She stood between her manager and the old man, blocking both from viewing each other.
“What ARE you doing?”
Marcus stiffened and casually tossed the plate into the bin with the other dirty dishes. “I’m keeping our costs down. I think he’s stealing things and taking them home.”
Cindy widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Are you insane? He’s just a harmless old man.”
“Harmless?” Marcus stood on his toes and peered over he shoulders at Anthony huddled in the corner booth. “Look at his coat. He always keeps it bundled tight around him. It’s bulging like he’s carrying something and I swear I hear scraping metal when he walks by. What if he’s stealing dishes or plates?”
Cindy could not believe her ears. Her mouth remained open, mind rapidly searching for the reason behind such blatant...stupidity. She could not retort, only remain silent and picture Marcus being hurt in a hundred different ways.
She finally found the words to respond. “Every night we count inventory. Have we been missing dishes? Have we been missing silverware? He’s here everyday and if he’s taking something everyday, we’d be missing astronomical amounts of items right?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s not taking food?”
“It’s an all-you-can-eat restaurant...Mark.”
Lacking any words, or perhaps trying to protect his ego, Marcus simply walked away, muttering under his breath.
“Get back to work.”
***
