I woke up this morning to the sound of rain tapping gently on the metal roof of the house. It was cool in the bedroom, the sort of cool that made me wish there was warm male body beside me to curl up against. Okay, so there was a warm male body, only it was on the foot of the bed and it had floppy ears and a cold nose. Not exactly what I had in mind at the moment.
I had to make a run to the store already this morning. I'd forgotten that the little town grocery didn't open until 1 o'clock on Sunday, so I had to go across the road to K's milk, bread, video rental, tanning bed, propane fillin' one stop shop. It's usually just referred to around here at "the beer store."
I went in the back to the video rack, scouring the selections for a copy of "Saving Grace," with no luck. I can't find a copy of that DVD anywhere, I'm going to have to resort to ordering a copy from Amazon I guess. I first saw the movie about two years ago, on television and loved it instantly, before I even knew who Craig Ferguson was.
Admitting defeat, I walked back over to the counter to pick up some smokes. The girl behind the counter, Rene, works about three part time jobs here in town. It seems like she's running the cash register in every store I go to. As I paid for my purchases, I was startled by someone coming up behind me and grabbing my sides. I spun around, ready to whack someone upside the head and saw that it was Joe.
Joe used to attend the work center for developmentally disabled adults where Ma was the assistant director. Since it's closing, you see the former "clients" wandering around town, lost with nothing to do to fill their time. The center at least gave them somewhere to go everyday, a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Joe was one of the least mentally challenged of the clients, but because of his seizure disorder he'd never been permitted to attend school. His face is scarred by years of collapsing to the ground and more stitches than anyone should ever have in their lifetime. During my time as the First Responders director with the VFD, there were countless occasions when me and my fellow volunteers would find ourselves kneeling by his side, one trying to control the bleeding from the gashes he always managed to get on his head as another held his hand and gently talked him back into consciousness.
"Hey Joe! What are you doing in here? Ain't you got nothing better to do?" I asked.
"I'm a angel," he said, with his cocky little shit eatin' grin.
"Someone's been feeding you a line of bull again."
"You're a smartass," he responded, giggling.
He then reached over and removed my cigarettes from the counter and proceeded to put them in his pockets.
"Son, you'd best be forkin' them back over. Don't make me whoop you right here in front of God and everybody."
He giggled again.
"He's been up to meaness all morning. He needs whoopin'. I'll be glad to help ya," Rene added.
I guess that scared him, Rene is a tough little cookie, and still giggling, he began removing the cigarette packs from his pockets and placing them back on the counter.
"Do you need a bag?" Rene asked.
"She is a bag," Joe said.
"OOOOOOOO I know you did NOT just go there. You did NOT just call me a bag," I said, trying not to crack up and faking as much anger as I could. Joe on the other hand was snickering so hard I thought he was going to fall over.
"Mmmm hmmm.... yes he did. How about I hold him down and you tickle him 'til he pees," Rene was on my side. He was outnumbered.
Now he was laughing hard and backing up to the other side of the store. The old timers who had been sitting over by the window discussing the Sunday paper were egging it on, telling him he'd better git, he'd done went and pissed off a couple of women and they weren't going to help him.
I took my cigarettes and chocolate milk (I was having a craving) and headed out the door.
"You be good Joe, and try to stay out of trouble, ya hear?"
"I ain't gettin' in no trouble. I'm a angel," I heard him say as I went out the door.
I smiled as I climbed back in the van.
Yes you are Joe.
6 comments:
'Made me smile, thanks Mahala.
Angels at the beer store...I love it.
Every little town needs and angel...some need more than one. Sounds like you got a good'un.
How sweet. I have known people like him in the past - and they are indeed angels.
LOL... I know a lot of "joes" and I luv every one of them.
They always make me stop and take a deep breath and a bigger look at life... no matter how crazy and busy it is at the time.
What a sweet post. :)
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