short story about a workaholic running into a little girl
It was the Christmas season, and I was sitting in my recliner reflecting on my life. No one really likes me. I don’t know why. Sometimes I think they’re all just jealous.
The women don’t like me because I’m beautiful. It sounds conceited, but it’s the truth. The men don’t like me because, having always been lucky in business, at the ripe old age of thirty-one, I was voted Manicura Cosmetics’ Saleswoman of the year.
The only person I ever felt really liked me—loved me even—was my brother. He used to call me “Boots.” He died though, about three years ago, so now I’m truly alone.
I don’t need anybody.
I have everything I could ever want: a beautiful home in the elite, Sherwood Acres housing development, a staff of household servants, a 2006 Lexxus, hot off the assembly line, jewelry, furs, trips, respect. However— I’m lonely. At night, when the servants retire, and the boot lickers leave, I’m lonely.
In the evening, I usually walk around, fix a drink, turn on the tube, and flounce into a chair. I flip through the stations. Nothing. I’ve bought every slicer/dicer the television infomercials have available. I have every NordicTrak/Six Second Abs/Body Sculptor known to man. I can’t take any more vitamins. What’s wrong?
When the lights go out, I just lie there. I contemplate. What do I contemplate? I don’t know.
I give money to the church, and I give to charities. I don’t have time for a boyfriend. My family complains because I never come around, but I really don’t have time to socialize. I send my parents money, so they live comfortably, but in order to succeed in this world, you don’t have time to frolic.
Something is missing. Maybe I’ll get a dog. No, I don’t have time to feed and walk him.
Suddenly, I heard a clatter out on my porch.
What in the world?
I walked to the door and opened it. A blast of freezing air took my breath away. The weather station had announced the temperature as seventeen degrees below freezing, a record low for our West Virginia town of Barboursville. I started to quickly close it against the strong wind pushing the door inward, when I saw her. A little girl, about three years of age, was picking through a box of Christmas wrap and gift boxes I had left on the porch swing earlier in the evening.
She wore a corduroy jumpsuit, covered by a threadbare jacket. No hat or gloves. “Goodness! Get in out of the cold!”
I ran and scooped her into my arms, swooping her into the foyer, and kicked the door closed. Her hair was straight, but tangled, sticking together in places by—jelly? She stared at me with large, round doe eyes. She blinked them casually.
“My mommy is at wook,” she said in a solemn monotone.
“How did you get here?”
“My mommy is at woook!” she said, more sternly.
I had to chuckle. She was the cutest little thing, and it looked as though she was one tough cookie.
She still held a bow she had picked up outside, but she threw it down and charged over to my coffee table. I love glassware, so I had an exquisite antique Dugan glass candy dish displayed on the table. She snatched it up, and squealed in glee. “Pretty!”
“No, no,” I said, taking it out of her hand.
Before I could set it back, she tore over to my piano and crawled up on the bench. “Clang, clang, clang.” She banged on the keys.
I rushed to the instrument and lifted her off the bench and deposited her on the floor.
I had been outside earlier and the sun was so bright reflecting off the snow that I had to wear sunglasses. I had left them on the lamp table. She ran and snatched them up. Exasperated, I thought, who cares? I can get more sunglasses. I dropped into a chair. I just looked at the little imp wondering what her story was.
She ran to my side and cocked her head. In a voice that reminded me of “Froggy” from “Our Gang” she asked me, in a robotic fashion, “Do-you-want-your-sun-glass-es?”
I laughed out loud. It was the funniest thing I had ever heard. “What?”
“Do-you-want-your-sun-glass-es?” she asked again, this time in a high, squeaky voice, handing them to me.
I laughed again, dropped the sunglasses, and slid down in the floor beside her, giggling.
I pulled my purse into my lap, looking for something with which to amuse a three-year-old. Gum? No, not a three-year-old. Money? Nope. She crawled onto my lap and snuggled herself down. I handed her the purse and she started rummaging. She lifted out one item after another. She would hold it up to me and laugh. Then, she would throw it aside. Next good item.
After a half hour, I felt as though she had been part of my life for years.
“Are you hungry?”
“Hungry.”
I took her into the kitchen. “Do you like scrambled eggs?”
“Eggs.”
I chuckled. Darling child.
I whipped up the eggs, served them to her, and turned to the refrigerator to get orange juice. When I turned back, she was gobbling down the eggs.
“Do you like orange juice?”
The Froggy voice again. “Juice.”
She ate all the eggs and drank down the juice. I looked again at the jelly in her hair. “Would you like to take a bubble bath?”
She nodded her head rapidly.
I drew her a warm bubble bath, washed her hair, dried her off, and redressed her. I sat in my recliner with her in my lap facing me. She lowered her chest to mine. In moments she was sound asleep.
I stroked her hair and hummed “Here Comes the Sandman”, a tune my grandmother had taught me.
“Where did you come from? Where do you belong?”
I looked down at the little back rising and falling. “Who wouldn’t take better care of you than this?”
I started thinking. I’m so lonely. No one is taking care of this angel. She squirmed in my arms and lifted her head. She looked at me and smiled. She stretched out her little hand and patted my cheek.
“Who you?”
I smiled. “You can call me “Boots.”
“Boots,” she said. Then her eyes closed again and her head fell back to my chest.
I could get someone to watch her during the day. I could cut back my hours. Maybe my sister would sit for her. I could buy her new clothes. This is the answer. I need a child of my own. I need this child.
I started planning. I’ll go to Child Protection Services tomorrow. I will go to my attorney and have him draw up adoption papers. I’ll get started first thing in the morning. I carried her to my bed and climbed in after her. Soon, I had joined her in slumber.
The next morning, I felt myself coming out of a deep sleep. When I opened my lids, two glowing eyes were a fraction of an inch away from mine.
Froggy croaked. “Do-you-want-your-sun-glass-es?”
I laughed, and she fell on top of me giggling.
We got up and made our way into the kitchen. I prepared breakfast and she gobbled it down in a few bites. She was on her second helping of pancakes, and I sat and watched her.
This is good. This is right. This little angel is going to light up my life.
She finished her breakfast and I prepared to take us out. I decided to see my attorney and then stop in at Child Protection Services. My hands shivered and my heartbeat quickened. I’m finally going to have a family.
“You stay right here in the living room. I’m going to warm up the car, and then we’ll see about my getting custody of you.”
She had my cosmetic case and was taking items out and putting them back.
“’Kay, Boots.”
I went outside leaving the door open so I could hear her if she cried. I noticed I was humming. What is that? Oh, yeah, “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
After starting the car, I got out and turned toward my porch. I saw a lady bustling down the street headed straight toward me. She wasn’t dressed warm enough for this weather, but she seemed frantic. I shrugged it off and started up the steps to my house.
“Please! Please, Ma’am,” she shouted, running up to me.
“Have you seen a little girl?”
My heart stopped. “A little girl?”
“Yes,” she gushed. “My little Anna Marie.”
Anna Marie.
“Have you lost her?”
The woman broke into sobs.
My hands balled up into fists. “What did you do to lose her? How could you lose your own child?”
“Her father had custody yesterday. He was supposed to meet me out at the corner. I waited for hours. I walked up and down the streets. When I finally got home, my landlady had a message for me. She said the hospital had called. He had had a heart attack. When paramedics got there, no one saw a child. Oh, my God! What could have happened to my baby?”
I hesitated. She was my child now. “Mommy!” I heard from my doorway.
“Anna Marie!” She rushed to the child.
I heard the crack as my heart broke. Now here I am, in my recliner. No one really likes me. I don’t know why.
glad i saw this story flagged as mainstream. it's an excellent read the ending was a bit of a surprise about the heart attack, etc. thanks a million for sharing
What a treasure! I really enjoyed reading this story, and it really hit the tender spots of my heart. Sadly, there are far too many lonely people in this world. You left me with the hope that this workaholic had not waited too long to enjoy the more important things in life. In this story, you only let your character have a small taste. You alone have the power at your fingertips to create further happiness for her. Please allow it to happen. There's just has to be a continuation to this story.
David Lee Thompson, Author
River of Memories: An Appalachian Boyhood
"No one really likes me?" definitely hits the core. It's an enjoyable read that you wish would continue...
David S. Grant is the author of Corporate Porn, an alcohol and sandwich fueled romp through the darker side of corporate America and the lighter side of the adult film industry. Corporate Porn can be purchased at http://www.silverthought.com/davidgrant/
Check out his website: http://www.davidsgrant.homestead.com and review his stories at The Authors Den.
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