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HELPING HAND

 

There was so little time. With every breath he tried to take, the minutes ticked away. My husband's big blue eyes became narrow slits. He barely mumbled but knew I was by his side, day after day and many miserable nights on a miserable cot next to his bed. A river flowed down my cheeks, neck, into my blouse and washed away my heart.

 

Details, details filled every waking moment I had, stuffed my dreams with ferocious lions waiting in the tall grass to jump out and devour me.
 My neighbors, friends, even small family, became burdensome. I could not smile, didn't want to get dressed to go out, relax. There was just too much to handle. When I really thought I should see a psychologist, Alfred came to me in a dream and told me what to do. He was so smart.
'Delly, get busy, get away from the house, the papers, the insurance. Find something new to fill your time, help others.' As I tried to drink my nuked instant coffee, something niggled at me about Alfred telling me something, but it had evaporated in the morning sun. I was on my own lonely island full of brambles and thorns.

 

'Delly, Delly,' my mind releases its chains and I know I have to stop pitying myself, get busy, invest in tougher woes others harbor and mine will lessen. Never having needed to read the Silver Star's list of the day's, week's activities, I begin reading what's on available what sounds interesting. The list is long, promising. Maybe, just maybe, this will be my medicine. I will be choosey, needing a convenient place near-by, bright, busy, where my foibles can be tolerated.

 

 First place I contact is the Cancer Society. I tell Ms. Yawner that I am computer literate, can type, answer the phone and want a busy, bright office to work in. She bubbles, gives me the address, which is not near my home but I go anyhow. The office is drab, has a single chair, several phones on the only desk, two files and a small window on the side of the   building. She tells me that women do come in to find out where to go to be fitted for false breasts. I tell the woman at the desk with the phones, that this is not at all what I want and put her down hard.

 

The following day I approach Fire Engine House #12, enter and see at least ten handsome young men sitting down to lunch. Two are cooking and serving. Several stand to welcome me, ask if I'd like to lunch with them. How could I not smile? My grin must have made me look like Little Miss Sunshine coming to see the mock turtle. 'Gentlemen, I am here to answer your request for a hostess in your station house, one who can type, handle your paper work and I can sure do that AND wash dishes. Captain O'Rourke 's smile is not as bright as mine was as he tells me the spot is filled. He asks for my name, phone, e mail address and suggests I try the Sheriff's office. I thank them all for their taking care of this district, always alert, always on hand, and bid them so-long.

 

My spirit is already sagging but the Sheriff's office does sound intriguing. I apply to assist wherever I am needed. Sheriff Olmstead has his handy records book on top of his cluttered desk, looks it over and starts asking me questions, telling me that I have to pass Security. The first thing on tap is to have my photo taken. He hands me a number to hold on my chest, tells me to relax but not smile. Click. In but a second there I am in my silk blouse looking like a frightened convict. It will take two weeks before a full report on me reaches him. I will be notified if and when I should return. 

 

In only twelve days I receive a call to come to Station 12 at Crawford Mall, across from Old Navy in the side court. 'Wear low heeled shoes. Be here promptly at 9:45 a.m. July 2. The mall will be busy and you will have much to learn.' Ah! This sounds perfect. My blood boils with excitement. I am there at 9:30, meet the Chief who will teach me what I have to do after lunch. 'In the meantime, Gloria Stazak will be here at ten and she'll give you a briefing.' He hands me a small, tinny looking badge to pin to my chest. I do as he says and think it looks stupid, sticking out like a pistol, but keep my mouth shut. There are two high stools behind the round counter and one low chair. I get the low broken down chair and have to stand to see if someone comes to the counter.

 

'This is important,' the sheriff says. 'Lean over, I'll show you how to take fingerprints.' Yowzie! He shows me. It's easy and I have special fluid to clean fingers. A young man approaches and Gloria takes a booklet from him, skims over it and asks Gloria what she has to do for him. 'Take his prints! He's applying for a government job. Never mind, I'll do it, she says. I'm tickled pink, I have to see it done more than once, then I'd liked to try doing my own print.

 

A lady with two small children stops by., 'Where is the ladies room, Miss?' she asks. I don't know. I don't use public loos. Gloria gives her directions. The next 'customer' is an elderly man who wants to know where he can get a heart shaped box of chocolates. I point across the large aisle to Wonka's Chocolates and tell him to go ask them. I have already finished the day's crossword puzzle, Sudduko and have done nothing but feel unneeded, unwanted. My shift is over at 3:30. Francine comes on and I go home, frustrated, disappointed, need time to rethink this whole new deal. At home, I fix a sandwich for myself, watch Law and Order, exhausted from my new job, I fall asleep.

 

Bad dreams wake me early. A fireman is taking my fingerprints and leads me to the gallows that is next to a candy shop. I will give this one more chance.

 

 I think–think some more and decide I won't.