Signs

For the last two years we found ourselves destitute. Although we lived in this quaint town for thirty-six years, our friends' reaction to our situation, of being without a real home, saddened us. They had put us into a category, the one reserved for all homeless people, even though they knew our tale. Our small black notebook which held all of their names and phone numbers, was useless now, so we threw it away into the trash bins which we relied on for our food.

I’m 76 years old and still hold a job. Sure it’s only part time, but I feel lucky to even have a job at my age. See, I was due to retire at the age of seventy-five. I waited until then, so that my social security check would be a little bigger, not by much, but better than if I had retired at sixty-five, or even seventy. What I really should have done was gotten my pension when I still had the chance.

The damn company that I had given my life away for, thirty years to be exact, went belly up, just when I was on the verge of enjoying my golden years. That’s a laugh, by the time you reach my age, death is just around the corner, and the way it’s been since I lost that job, made me wish that I could’ve died, but I still had Delores to look after. Unfortunately, we didn’t own the house we were in, and still had a mortgage-a mortgage that we could no longer afford.

Now on that particular day, the day that Delores and I got our windfall, we were shuffling through the rubbish bins, looking for recyclables. It was a gusty, rainy day, and we really would have preferred to be in our warm van, but the police had come around that morning telling us we had to move along. No one wanted us in their backyard, so we had to go out to try to make some gas money.

Anyways, as we were looking through a trash can, a sign above a shop broke loose, fell down, and hit Delores on her back, knocking her to the sidewalk. Luckily, she wasn’t hurt too bad, and by the time the ambulance arrived, she was already standing on her feet.

The owners of the shop, Dick and Charlie, were besides themselves. They didn’t know what to do. When my sweetheart declined the ambulance ride, they extended an invitation to lunch.

We took them up on their offer, and I must say, it was the first real meal that I had in a long time. When we told them of our situation and where we lived, they insisted on taking us to a fancy hotel, where they put us up for the night. We were in heaven!

The next day they came to our room to make sure that Delores was alright, and to take us to breakfast. This was almost too much, we weren’t used to people being so friendly, but we accepted with grace.

As I was lapping up my pancakes and Delores her corn beef hash, Charlie came right out and said, “We’d like to give you $20,000. In addition to the money, we also are going to buy you a little trailer in the senior complex. We want to make sure that you’re taken care of, and hope that this will ease some of your worries.

I think that my eyes must have popped out of my sockets, at least they felt like they had. It sure wasn’t easy for me to accept such an elaborate gift, but it wasn’t just me, it was Delores that I was worried about. I knew that we probably could take them to court, but I was too old, and too tired to fight anymore. Besides, they were nice fellows, and we didn’t need any more than what they were proposing. We cried like babies, and accepted their gifts.

So here, we are, five months later, in our own home. Oh sure people might call us white trash because it’s a trailer, but we’ve been called worse over the past two years. There are a lot of kind, caring people here-all living on their measly social security. We play cards, go swimming, take time to stop and talk to one another. I made so many new friends here that I had to go out and buy a new small black notebook, but this one is reserved for people who truly love us.