There was a family who every time we drove past their mansion I’d wave to their son in the yard. He’d be out tumbling around streaking grass stains on his white clothes. He’d look up, but he wouldn’t wave back. My dad said they were so rich, if they didn’t want to wave, they didn’t have to.
I pulled back the giant brass knocker and stood between the Romanesque pillars, asking if they’d like to hire a professional waver. The butler said hold on and went away. When he came back he asked when I could start. I said I could start anytime. They set me up outside, dressed me in the same clothes as their son, gave me a lawn chair I could sit in while the yard workers worked.
I’d been out there long enough the wife was concerned how much I sweated. She sent someone with a pitcher of lemonade for me. The first few cars that drove by I waved at, even though they didn’t wave back. Word got around. Before I knew it, there were two-hundred cars a day coming by just to wave at me. So much that the husband said they should talk to the city about putting in a toll booth. When my arm got tired I slouched in the chair, drank all the lemonade away. They hired a man to stand behind me just to hold me up.
I decided to retire and they gave me a pension. I stand outside in front of my own mansion now, when the paperboy or tourists come by waving I just stare back. The mailman asks why I don’t do it even for him. I tell him I did it for years; there are just some things you shouldn’t give away for free anymore.
Guy Cramer is a writer from east Texas whose stories have appeared in: Paragraph Planet, Short Beasts, Vestal Review, Flash Frontier, Major 7th Mag, and JAKE. He has forthcoming work in 5 Minutes and Does It Have Pockets? He is on Instagram @guy.cramer
No comments:
Post a Comment