A Pat On The Head

 

Donny Connors climbed up the rickety wooden steps to the old farmhouse. His arms were full and the box of groceries he carried, weighed almost as much as he did. Or, at least it felt that way. He wrinkled his nose for the fiftieth time, the stalk of celery sticking out of the top of the box kept tickling it with each step he took. He didn't understand why anyone would ever need that stuff anyway. He hated the taste of it as much as he did the leaves on his nose.

Leaning the box on the door frame and supporting it with one knee, he knocked on the door, then waited with dread for old man Riley to open it. It took longer for the old man to answer the rap on the door each time Donny made a delivery. He was pretty sure by now, the old coot did it on purpose.

Finally, the box began to slip. Donny had to sit it down on the porch or drop it. Immediately regretting the decision, he heard those familiar dragging footsteps like Frankenstein's, coming to the door.

The ancient, weather beaten, gray door flung open with such force, a whoosh of wind sucked Donny's hair around his face. He looked up at the gruff old man, a furrow in his young brow, as he dreaded what the old man would complain about today.

“Got your delivery, sir.” he said to the towering figure above him.

The grizzly old man leaned down to peer into the box. One gnarled and swollen finger poked among the boxes contents, “I don't see the coffee in there. That's the thing I needed the most. What'd you do, forget it again, boy?” He stood up straighter, then leaned against his cane in the other hand.

“Nope. I mean, no sir. It's right in here.” he said. The time for him to pick up the awkward box was getting nearer. Donny always feared he would drop it and spill the contents on the dirty porch. He had devised a way of using his feet and arms to prop it on his knees and this worked most of the time. But there was always that chance...

“Bring it on in then. Hurry up now, you're letting fly’s in.” the old man told him. He turned to shuffle to the kitchen.

Donny managed to stay far enough behind him that he didn't bump him with the box. He had made that mistake once and never intended for it to happen again. The old man had raged at him for five minutes about being disrespectful to his elders.

Sitting the box on a chair by the table, Donny knew that he was almost free. All he had to do was wait for Mr. Riley to pay him for the groceries and he could get out of that scary old place. His eyes ambled over to the sink, piled high with dishes and pans. Every inch of counter space was covered with something. The floor was so filthy he couldn't tell if it was tile or just plain dirt.

The old man slowly lowered himself into the chair on the other side of the table with a huge huff of air. Donny knew he would sit there, because the other two chairs were full of boxes and yellowed newspapers.

For some unknown reason, Donny leaned over on the stack of papers with his elbow. Within seconds the pile began to tumble over, taking Donny with it. He reached out for the table to break his fall, pulling a pile of plastic containers and more papers over on top of him. He wound up with his tummy across the seat of the chair and his face staring down at the mass of papers strewn over the floor.

Pure fear shivered over him, while he tried to find a handhold to get himself up with. Donny glanced over his shoulder at the old man, expecting his fury to lash a whooping on him. Instead, the old man peered over his glasses without saying a word.

“I'm sorry...I'll clean it up, sir. I didn't mean to...” he stammered.

“See that you do.” Mr. Riley replied calmly. “Unload this box, then you can use it for the papers.”

A new fear entered Donny's brain. Where could he put the stuff in the box? There was no room on the table or counters, or even the floor. There was barely any room left in the path that wound around the table. He reached in the box and lifted the precious coffee can out.

“Uh...sir, where do I put this?” he asked. He didn't want to be rude, his mother had taught him not to be nosy in other peoples homes. He just wasn't so sure this house qualified for that rule.

The old man laid his pen down on top of the check he was writing, ever so slowly. His head turned from side to side as he perused the room, “I don't rightly know myself. Oh, just put 'em in the chair there that you emptied.”

Donny surveyed the contents of the box and decided which items to take out first, placing them carefully on the chair in a pyramid fashion. One mistake and the whole thing would topple over.

“Uh, Mr. Riley? Would it be okay with you if I put the newspapers in a trash bag? That way I can use both chairs for the groceries.” he asked with the innocence of a twelve year old boy.

Mr. Riley closed the checkbook and looked at the pile of items the boy had stacked. “Under the sink.”

Donny supposed that meant he could get a bag from under the sink. He made his way over to it and opened the cabinet door. A multitude of bags, boxes and cleaning bottles fell onto the floor at his feet. He was losing hope of ever leaving this house today as he shoved them back in. The door wouldn't shut correctly though. With slouched shoulders he pondered this new problem, an idea took shape.

Quickly making his way to the box he had emptied, he took it carefully back over to the cabinet and put all of the items neatly into it. A sigh of relief left his skinny young body when the box fit perfectly under the sink, with a slight shove on one side of it, so it wouldn't push against the drain pipe.

With renewed energy, Donny stuffed all the newspapers into two large trash bags. The problem now was, he couldn't lift them. All he really wanted to do was run out of this house and never come back, but he knew the old man would never let him have the check before he got rid of those darn trash bags. Doggedly, he poured half of each bag into two more.

“Where should I put these?” he asked.

“Out back.” the old man said without even looking at Donny.

Donny took the bags one at a time out the back door and sat them beside the row of trash cans. When the last bag was set in place, he looked around the yard. It was amazing. Row after row of discarded items were lined up as neat as a pen. One item in particular caught his eye. It was a basket for a bike.

Donny walked over to it and inspected it for damage. It was in perfect condition, and much larger than the one attached to his bike now. It had belonged to his older brother. He picked the basket up off of the pile and turned it around. It would hold a box of groceries without tilting it over the handlebars.

“Like that do 'ya?”

The old mans voice startled him so that he dropped the basket on his foot. Limping on one foot he looked up at Mr. Riley, standing right behind him. How come he didn't hear that old shuffle sneaking up behind him?

“Sorry sir, I was just looking at it. I didn't hurt it.” Donny told him fearfully.

The old man smiled. Donny had never seen him smile, it was almost scary.

“Tell you what boy, you did such a nice thing for me, taking out those old papers, you take that with you.” Mr. Riley told him. “Afraid I can't manage getting in and out of the house too much these days, that was a big help young man. I just can't tell you how much I appreciate it too.”

The old man reached over to Donny and patted his head, “You're a fine young man.”

Donny left that day with his new basket firmly attached to his bike. He grinned to himself as he pedaled back to the store with the check for Mr. Greely, the owner. He had made a friend that day. One that he never in a million years expected to make. He didn't think of him as Frankenstein anymore either.

From that day forward, until Mr. Riley died some years later, Donny went once a week to take him his groceries and do chores for him. By the end of the first year after they became friends, Mr. Riley could see that his kitchen floor was actually yellow tile.