Friday, December 24, 2021

Twelve Wheeler Christmas by Diane Bator

 


One of the fun things I've been able to do this past couple years is be a part of several podcasts. This short story, was shared on Randy Lacey's Between the Lines blog before Christmas. I wrote it with a local man in mind who pushes several shopping carts around town. I often see him parked outside a local bank sitting on the bench and minding his own business. This story is purely fictional.


Twelve Wheeler Christmas

By Diane Bator 

Ben watered the six-inch Christmas tree with a cold, shaky hand. He was surprised it still thrived in the damp cold of the Ontario winter. Was it his imagination or had it grown just a titch?

He capped the water bottle, careful not to spill a drop. There might be a need for it later to soothe his rumbling stomach.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, “you can’t park that here.”

That was the line of three shopping carts Ben pushed through the streets of town. His Twelve Wheeler. Up and down both the busy and the quieter streets where shops stood. Never in front of people’s homes. He didn’t want to be reminded of where he’d come from.

He released a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m not parked. I’m watering my Christmas tree.”

She put her hands on her hips but took a step back like she was afraid, or he was contagious. “Then water it and move along.”

“I will,” Ben said as he tucked the water bottle into the middle of his ratty, rolled up sleeping bag.

The woman tapped her foot while she waited.

Ben sat on a nearby bench and pulled out half a chocolate bar.

“When?” she finally asked.

“Soon as I’m ready.” He unwrapped the chocolate and breathed in the sweetness before he took a small bite.

Her shoulders seemed to tighten even more. “You’re making my customers nervous.”

Ben snorted a laugh. “They’re in a bank at Christmas. They’re already nervous. None of them have any money. Everything’s on credit.”

“How would you know?” she asked.

His gaze darted from the chocolate bar to her heart-shaped face. “I was them three hundred years ago. This is all I have left.”

She shifted from heel to heel before she glanced up and down the street. “When is the last time you ate?”

“Right now.” He held up the last inch of chocolate. “I got lucky. Dollar store had these marked down.”

A pained expression crossed her face. “I mean a real meal.”

“Dunno. Before I got the chocolate bars.”

“When was that?”

“You’re nosy. I don’t like strange, nosy women,” he said.

This time, she laughed, which surprised him. “My name is Rose. I’d like to buy you lunch.”

His hazel eyes grew wide before he gave a nod. “Ben. I haven’t been on a date in thirty years. I’m not starting now.”

Rose shook her head. “I’m going across the street to get my lunch. Could I bring you back a sandwich or something?”

He took one last bite of the chocolate as he studied her. “No date?”

“My husband wouldn’t approve.”

“Okay then,” Ben said. “But no funny stuff.”

“Agreed.” She smiled then headed to the corner and strode across the street.

While she was gone, Ben wiped his hands on the clean part of his pants and got up. One by one, he pushed all three carts across the street in front of town hall. He soon had them lined up along a low, stone wall and sat for a rest.

“Are you leaving without your lunch?” Rose called out to him from in front of the bank.

Ben shielded his eyes from the sunshine. “Nope.”

She joined him in front of the stone wall and handed him a steaming paper cup. “There’s cream and sugar with your lunch in the bag. Where are you going?”

“You’re nice to buy me lunch,” he said as he set the cup on the wall and took the bag. “I won’t scare your customers today.”

Her face softened. “Thank you. Merry Christmas, Ben.”

A small grin lit his face. “Huh. That explains why people are being nicer than normal.”

Rose’s cheeks reddened. After a minute, she reached into her purse. “You’re right. I’ll tell you what, Ben. Next time you come by the bank, come inside and ask for me. We can have lunch together again. Maybe even talk.”

Ben took her business card then tucked it in the folds of his sleeping bag next to the water bottle. “Okay. Whatever you say. Merry Christmas, nosy Rosy.”

Just a reminder to pay it forward whenever and wherever you can!

Have a very Merry Christmas! 

Diane


No comments:

Post a Comment

Escape With a Writer Has MOVED!

  You can find all of the latest and greatest releases, interviews, and books at: https://escapewithawriter.wordpress.com/