Winter Season

Esther

Esther observed her guest. His head was much closer to the ceiling than hers. She knew her house was small. It was a guess on her part that she had 7 foot ceilings.

It was really hard to tell what build he had under his coat. But she was assuming he was slender. The coat was narrow. From what she could tell, he had light skin and sandy brown hair and a large nose. Not so large that he looked deformed but his nose was the second feature she noticed. His face was incredibly thin. Interesting things could be done with a large nose. She smiled to herself. Then, she reminded herself about how big of a freak magnet she was. And here’s another one she suspected. She told herself people just don’t offer to help you anymore. Even before she left New York, the landlord already had her apartment rented. He had even offered her $500.00 if she would leave a week early. Plus she could keep the van as long as she needed. Out of the kindness of your heart just didn’t exist anymore. He had an angle; she just hadn’t had time to figure it out.

“Oh,” she gasped pulling his attention back toward her. She extended her hand toward him. “Esther Morrison.” When she got close to him, she could smell Old Spice. She loved Old Spice. It was a rustic manly scent that put her senses on alert. “Old Spice?”

He blushed, “yeah. Oscar Patterson.” He accepted her handshake. Her hands weren’t soft or rough but they were strong. He felt something strange in her touch, something he couldn’t define.

He noticed her looking at him. “How tall are you?”

“6’2”, why?”

“You look so much taller.” He blushed slightly. She cleared her throat, “well Oscar, I haven’t decided what I want to do yet. I just have so much going on up here,” she moved her hands around her head in a circular pattern. “I don’t know if I want to unload the truck or sit on the steps and cry.”

“Sit on the steps and cry.”

“Because I’m an emotional girl?” She scolded.

Wow, he thought. She really is wrapped tightly. “No, to clear the mind. Get it out, start fresh.”

She studied his face for a moment. He was being sincere. What a change? Someone being sincere. “If it wasn’t for the fact that crying makes your eyes red, your face puffy, and makes me physically sick, that would be a good plan.” She took a deep breath and they walked outside.

“If I may ask, how does crying make you sick?”

She turned on the sidewalk to face him. “It makes me heave. Sometimes I throw up, other times I just heave so much it hurts. A little cry is okay.”

“You have different stages of crying?”

She smiled, “well yeah,” she said as if he was a bloomin’ idiot. “There is the fighting back the tears cry where you might shed a tear or you might not. Then we have the light cry when something great happens to you; say you got flowers when you weren’t expecting them. The medium cry is when you watch a sad movie. The big sobbing, throwing up cry is when you have to move to Kentucky in December starting your life over and you’re terrified inside.”

“You don’t seem terrified to me.”

“Thanks. I’ve already had that cry.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “what can I help you with?”  

“I guess the first order of business will be unhooking my jeep.” There it set like a cold gray beast parked in the way of a lot of work. She just stood there staring at it. “You know what I want to do?” She remained in the yard with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Should he even ask? To him, a woman with her hands on her hips meant danger.

“I think I want to buy cleaning supplies and clean the house before I unpack a thing.” Keep the truck forever, she thought wickedly to herself.

Oscar just shrugged his shoulders. Say something stupid. But what?! He wasn’t good around women. That could explain why he was fifty and still single. 50% of his students thought he was gay; 30% thought he was metro-sexual, and the other 18% didn’t care. Oh, but 2% wanted to have sex with him. How did he know this? They laid their survey on his desk one day during study hall.

“Show me around town.”

She snapped Oscar back into reality. “Shouldn’t you shut your front door?’

She just stared at the door as she thought about his question.

Winter Season