Buttoning his coat had become another grueling task which took his chubby arthritic fingers a long time to accomplish, after he buttoned the coat, he pulled on his gray cap and headed out the door. He was always cautious and would lock his front door, always placing the key in his right pocket, it used to go in the left, but, that one had a hole now.
Walter proceeded down the porch steps and once he finally made it down all six steps, he turned to the right. It was winter now and becoming dangerous for Walter to take his daily walk to the small store, but, it was something he had to do. He walked over the uneven gravel very cautiously, the wind was unkind to the old man’s frail body, but, Walter walked on. Giving up wasn’t part of his day.
Three blocks later, Walter reached the store. He opened the creaky door and stepped inside. He always avoided making eye contact with Miss Hewy, a 78 year old woman who used to be one of Walter’s dearest friends, and who now worked part time at her husband’s business. He proceeded to the first shelf where he picked up three cans of tuna fish, two for him, and one for the stray cats in the alley behind his house. He also picked up a small jar of mayonnaise and a pint of milk. He purchased these same items everyday; he was a very simple man. He walked up to the cash register and laid his items down, looking down at his shoes while the old woman punched in numbers. Miss Hewy kept a tab of all of Walter’s spending, then mailed him a bill once a month, Walter liked this because he didn’t feel obligated to strike up a conversation when exchanging cash.
Miss Hewy bagged Walter’s groceries while he continued to look down at his feet, she slipped a package of hot chocolate into his grocery bag, a sneaky smile spread acrossed her face, she felt sorry for him, especially on such a cold day. Walter took his bag and headed outside. The walk home never took as long as the walk to the store, so it seemed anyway. It’s sort of like when you’re a child and your on your way to visit your grandma, getting there takes forever, but, the drive home, seems to take no time at all. This is what it was like for Walter, he would never admit it, but, he liked the extra little things Miss Hewy would slip into his bag, he never actually drank the hot chocolate, but, he had a tin can full of the packets in his kitchen.
Once he made his way back up the porch stairs, Walter unlocked his house and walked inside. Now came his second most favorite part of his day. He hung his coat and hat up in the dusty closest, put his groceries away, and sat down in his study in front of his old typewriter.
The typewriter was his best friend and his worst enemy all in one. Walter had been a writer all his life. He was actually well known for some of his novels. He seemed to have lost his talent; though he still tried , day in and day out. He was working on a story about a magical land where animals talked and creatures of habit loved company. The typewriter was his escape into better times, he felt young again whenever he was writing. He would spend a few hours every day punching one letter at a time, cursing his arthritic fingers as he went. When he felt as if he had accomplished something, he would stop and prepare his lunch.
A tuna fish sandwich and a tall glass of milk. He placed his food on the metal table and sat down, once again glaring at the empty chairs around the table. To take his mind off his loneliness, he looked around his kitchen. It was an old fashioned kitchen, a huge rounded refrigerator, a gas oven, wooden cupboards, and an old radio, which took up most of the space on the counter. Walter looked at the clock 11:15; it was time for him to go on his second journey of the day. Once again he struggled with his coat and hat and walked out of his house, making sure to lock it of course.
Once he got to the bottom of his porch steps, he turned to the left. Walter pleaded with his legs to hurry up; he wanted to get to his destination before it was too late. He was headed to the Elementary School. Two blocks and twenty minuets later, Walter walked up to the chain-linked fence. He spent a good deal of time standing behind this fence, looking at the pride and joy of his life, although, she never looked back.
Oriana was her name. She was six years old now, the daughter of Walter’s lone son John. John wasn’t a part of Walter’s daily schedule, but Oriana was. Walter had never talked with Oriana, and, Oriana had never met Walter. While standing at the fence, Walter was suddenly overcome with memories from earlier times. He remembered standing at this very same spot waiting for Johnny to walk out after his first day of school. Johnny loved his father very much, but, he was six then, now, he was a grown man living near the city, a well-known doctor. Walter was proud, although, he would never admit it. When Helen died, no one was left to mediate their arguments, so, harsh, and cruel things were said that neither meant. However, as so many of us do, John and Walter both had terrible tempers and held wicked grudges.
Walter shook this image out of his head and continued to watch the little girl. Oriana reminded Walter a good deal of little Johnny all of those years ago. She had brown hair. Tied in pigtails, huge blue eyes that reminded Walter of ink in a pen, and freckles all over her tiny nose. Walter’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted--
“Excuse me, Sir?” came the squeaky voice of Oriana. “Could you please throw me my ball, Tommy threw it over the fence and I can’t come and get it.”
Walter just stared at the little girl. This was the first time she had ever talked to him. “Sure, Walter’s low voice rumbled, I’ll get the ball for you.”
The little girl clapped her hands and jumped up and down and then patiently waited for the old man to retrieve the ball.
Walter waddled over to the ball and ever so slowly bent over to pick it up. He snatched the ball off the ground and walked back toward the chain linked fence.
Oriana tried her best to be patient with the old man; but, eager little girls can be hard to please when you can hardly button up your own coat.
Walter stepped close to the fence and held the ball over his head. This was quite a funny site for Oriana and so, she giggled still waiting for him to heave the ball over. Walter counted to three and let out a groan as he hurled the ball upward. Much to his surprise, the ball went over the fence and landed at the little girl’s feet.
“Thank you so much!” she giggled. “Your very much welcome Oriana,” replied Walter’s growl of a voice. Oriana took a step back and looked a little frightened. “How do you know my name?”
Walter’s mind was racing, he thought long and hard for a reasonable explanation. A logical one at that. She is only six years old, what does she know about logic and reasoning, Walter thought as he stared down at his shoes.
“Your his angel, aren’t you?” Oriana asked not realizing that comparing Walter to a sweet looking Angel was quite odd.
“Who’s Angel?” he replied becoming very confused.
“My Daddy’s,” Walter tried to reply but the little girl continued to talk. “Ever since daddy first got cancer; he told me that the man in the picture with him was his angel and that he was watching over him, watching over all of us.”
The little girl continued to talk excitedly.
“Daddy is coming home from the hospital today, is that why your here? So you can tell me that he is doing better?”
Walter couldn’t find the right words to say, he wouldn’t have to, for, at this moment, he was no longer alone on his side of the chain-linked fence.
The unmistakable voice of Karen, John’s wife, soon filled Walter’s ears.
“Sweetheart, go tell Ms. McMaster’s that I’m here, you get to leave early today Oriana.”
With that, the little girl turned and started running toward the rest of the children on the playground to find her teacher.
Karen turned toward Walter, “How are you?” she asked with a pleasant smile. “Good,” he replied with a soft akward tone, “how sick is he Karen?”
Karen proceeded to tell Walter all about John’s trials and tribulations in his fight with cancer. She informed him that they hadn’t told anyone outside of the family and that she didn’t contacted him for John didn’t want him to worry. She also told him that things weren’t looking very good for her husband and that he wants to be taken off all of his medicines.
Walter’s heart dropped. He stood in place and absorbed all of the words Karen spoke to him. Once the little girl had returned with her book bag and lunch box, Karen invited Walter to join her, John and Oriana for dinner the following night. She said that she would be more then happy to pick him up and drive him home. In the end, Walter reluctantly agreed; Karen and Oriana drove off to the hospital in the city to take John home.
Walter watched them leave and then turned toward where his house lay, he walked home in what seemed like only a few minuets. During that walk, Walter seemed to have a change of heart about various aspects of his life. By the time he reached his front door, he had a smile on his face.
He unlocked the door and threw his coat and had down on the overstuffed couch. He walked around the living room and drew back the gray curtains allowing sunlight to flood the musty room. He spent all afternoon drawing back curtains and talking to the stray cats that lived in his alley. Normally, he would have forced him self to sit in front of that old typewriter.
Walter went to bed an hour later that night and slept until 7:30. He sat up, smiled, and the yawned. He walked down to the kitchen not bothering to change out of his pajamas. Once in the kitchen, he headed strait for the tin full of hot chocolate packages. He made him self a large cup of it and set it on the table. Next, he went to the backdoor and retrieved the newspaper. He walked back into the kitchen and sat down at his old metal table. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and reached for the telephone. He then proceeded to dial.
“Operator assistance, how may I help you?” “Yes, I’d like the number for the local newspaper” Walter said with a grin.
