Short stories
                                                               
                                                                The day I do

The day I met Mrs. Parker, or should I say she met me, I was picking sweet fat blueberries off her tall blueberry bush.

The couple lived next door to our house.  The bush sat near the road, so I figured in my five year old mind it was okay to pick
just a few. Besides those berries looked so tasty just sitting there on a bush as big as my dad's coupe.

I had grabbed a couple of handfuls, when Mrs Parker came out of the house and started walking towards me. I wanted to run
into my backyard but couldn't. The lady in a flowery shirt and pink slacks wasn't yelling for me to go but stay.  Mrs. Parker
looked real old with her grey hair and glasses. Only my aunts and grandmother had hair like that color and wore glasses.
Some old people don't like little kids like me picking their berries.  Mrs. Parker was different.  Walking to me, she had
something shiny in her hand.

"Why don't you use this, Mikey? It holds more berries than your hands will."

I got worrried. She knew my name. "Who told you my name, Mrs. Parker?" I had to ask. I knew hers from my mom and dad
saying it.  Again she smiled. "Mikey, I know the name of every child passing by my yard. Would you like something cold to
wash those berries down? Before I could answer her, Mrs. Parker was gone into her house. I thought maybe I should go
home, so I turned to leave. Then she called my name, "Mikey, you forgot your drink."

The youngest of nine, all my brothers and sisters went to school, or ad friends of their own.  They did not always want,
"Tagalong", me, to follow them. My mom always warned me about strangers. Mrs. Parker was not a stranger. She lived next
door.

I stayed that day, sat and drank with her for awhile. I stayed as long as I did because she made the best cookies, next to my
mom's. She never had any children of her own. She should have.  She loved them so. A couple of days later I met Mr. Parker.
I liked him. He was fun.

Mr. Parker worked real hard to make the yard pretty for Mrs. Parker. Sometimes he let me help him. Mrs. Parker told him to
slow down all the time. She would raise her voice just a bit and say," If you don't slow down Rodney Parker, you'll have a
heart attack." I wasn't sure what that was, but figured it wasn't good.

Mr.Parker would stop what he was doing, look at her, smiling, and say, "Priscilla, the day I do, I'll tell you." Then he'd return to
his work.I liked to visit the Parkers. I did every chance I could.  My mom told me not to bug them. She even went to see
them one day I was there.  Mom asked if I was troubling them.  "The day he is, I'll tell you." Mr. Parker told
her. And I stayed a little while longer. My mom went home.






















With summer gone, i spent less and less time at the Parker house.  First grade required a lot of my time during the day.
Sometimes the Parkers were around after school. Sometimes they weren't. Then they were not around at all for a long time.

Not ever having a real grandfather, Mr. Parker let me call him "Gramps". He sort of liked it.  Telling him both my grandfathers
died before I was born made it special for him. Being five I didn't know much better, when I asked him if he'd die too. He
looked at me and said with a smile, "The day I do, Mikey, I'll tell you."

As I sit here looking out my window, I remember those days. I can smell the flowers all about his yard. I can hear Mrs. Parker
singing as she baked cookies. I can even see "Gramps" bending his tall body down to weed the flower bed, sweat covering his
head, and soaking what little hair he had left. And I can hear Mrs. Parker's soft gentle voice getting raised enough to get
Gramp's attention.

I know now what a heart attack is.  Grampa Parker did die, but he never told me. I guess that means he'll always be around if
I need him. Mrs. Parker I was told died shortly after he did. I guess she figured he needed someone to take care of him.

As for me, I am no longer "Mikey". Now it's Mike. I comb my grey hair, what's left of it. I look through glasses at a pair of
blueberry bushes in my back yard and enjoy life. Every so often my grandchildren and I will take my shiny bucket, yes it still
shines, and pick blueberries off a bush as big as my dad's coupe.

Then we'll sit there, savor the juicy fruit, and have fun. When my grandchildren ask me if I will die someday, I'll stop what I'm
doing. I'll look at them and smile. Then I'll say, "The day I do, I'll tell you”.


Carl Hills
chills32@comcast.net


                                   
Copyright 2007 (All rights Reserved)
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