A Storied Man

Bernie is a poverty-stricken woman whose life takes an unexpected turn when an old friend returns to town. This is Part Five.

Related reading: Talk With a Killer, Wall

Part Five

She looked above the wall to see Glenda, all six-foot-four of her, wearing a red overcoat that somehow outshone her long, tangled, flame-orange hair. Paisley patterns drawn in ballpoint pen ran down her faded jeans to her tan work boots.

Glenda smiled and winked. She grabbed the wagon tongue and bolted for the nearest paved path.

“Dammit, Glenda, come back here!” Bernie shouted.

Bernie dropped the empty milk jugs and dashed up the stairs. Her heart already pounding in rage, she hit the sidewalk in a full sprint after Glenda.

On the flatter terrain of the park’s east side, the faster Glenda easily took a commanding lead, loaded Red Flyer in tow. Within seconds she was 30 feet away.

Bernie’s wagon was her only thing that had never been someone else’s. “Somebody help me!” she screamed.

The tennis courts lay just ahead to the left. A couple stretching in matching gray sweatsuits stopped to look. Bernie fixed her eyes on them. “Please! Do something! She has my wagon!” Bernie thought that sounded silly coming from a grown woman, but still wished someone would step in to help.

The couple leaned toward each other and moved their lips, then smiled, but never looked at Bernie. They held their rackets above their heads and continued stretching.

Bernie’s legs ached. Her lungs burned. She felt her feet slowing as she tried to pump them faster. Glenda turned back and smiled. She seemed tireless. She obviously had been getting plenty of food somehow.

Glenda turned and crossed the intersection of Main and Frauenthal toward a florist’s shop. Bernie knew she couldn’t catch her, so she scanned a shallow ditch for something to throw. An empty beer bottle lay near a rusty, collapsed culvert. She picked it up and cocked her arm to throw.

Someone grabbed her throwing hand. Confused, Bernie whirled around to see a man whose face looked familiar. “What are you doing? She’s getting away!” she shrieked.

“Whoa, easy,” he said. “If that bottle ends up in that florist’s window, then you will be worrying about much more than your quarrel with that Amazon woman.”

She could barely tell, but he sounded almost British. That confirmed that her instincts were right.

“Jeff Stivins?” she said. He still was as handsome as he had been in high school.

“Bernice? Bernice Maven? Is that you under all that filth?”

“Yes. I know I look a fright.”

“Nonsense. I can tell it’s you, the beauty queen of yesteryear.”

“I never won any contests like that.”

“Well, when I left here in high school, you were one of the prettiest in town. And your soul was pure. Now, what did that brute do that had you hurling litter at her?”

“Oh, that was Glenda. I was just here filling up my water bottles and she stole my wagon.”

Jeff tossed the beer bottle into a green metal trash can. It banged hard against the can’s walls, but did not shatter.

“That was inconsiderate of her. Perhaps I should not have grabbed your arm, after all.” He smiled. Bernie grew warmer.

She wondered whether to mention her evening plans. Would Jeff be there with Shonda and Jeremy? Maybe she shouldn’t go. No. Shonda wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t want her there.

She tried to sound calm instead of nervous. “Glenda’s like that. A bully.”

“Wait. You mean that was Glenda Sparks?” Jeff said.

Bernie picked up a twig and started breaking off its tiny branches. “In the rotting flesh.”

“How did you two end up on the streets?”

“I think her temper and the fact that she’s a crazy asshole did it for her. Me… well, that’s a longer story.”

“I would like to hear it. I must go now, but why don’t you join me at the Red Apple Inn tonight? Does seven o’clock sound good?”

Bernie suddenly became aware of how grimy she must look, and thought surely the breeze and the cold were the only things keeping Jeff from holding his nose. She had been willing to visit an old friend, but no way could she make herself look and smell good enough for a date that night. She turned her eyes downward. “You know, I kind of –”

“Nonsense. I want you there, unless you have something that must keep you away.”

Bernie looked up, her eyes brighter. “No, nothing too far from there,” she said. Two invitations to the Red Apple Inn in one day? She didn’t question it farther.

“Good news, Bernice. I look forward to it.”

Jeff walked to a blue Ford Taurus, probably a rental, and she saw the lights blink twice quickly. She could only imagine the familiar affirmative chirp of a car alarm disabling. As soon as he pulled away, she turned and ran. Different from when she was chasing Glenda, however, it was as if Bernie ran toward something good.

For the first time in years.

(Continue to Part Six)

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