Welcome to Grist Mill

[ 1974 ]

  Grist Mill, Kansas had made huge strides in building, population and jobs since it was founded in 1929. Founded if you call an old grist mill being converted into a single family home. A single family home that housed the Kearney Brothers; carpenters and serial killers that spent many hours in the Donna Lynne cafe wondering aloud why the law could not catch the murderous beast. The law did, finally, catch not one but two beasts. They hung. But that was then.

  Now in 1974 there were three major subdivisions, a large number of outlying farms and a strip mall complete with two bars and a laundrymat. That’s when you know a town has it going on. Yes sir. And that is exactly what Jake Larson thought as he tooled his ‘68 Impala into Grist Mill and the Black Mire subdivision where he had bought the smallest place on the block. A white ranch  complete with asbestos siding and a 10X12 patio. There was no built in BBQ but K-Mart solved that problem with a round grill - on wheels.

  Jake Larson watched, from his peripheral vision, as his first visitor approached his patio. Jake pretended to be unaware as he turned the single burger on the grill. At sixty eight Jake had few ladie admirers but that was about to change.

  “ Yoo hoo. Hello there.”

  Jake turned with a feigned look of surprise and watched as the elderly, blond and grey haired lady approached with a tray covered with a kitchen towel. “ Why hello there neighbor. Looks like you have a gift there for me, that or you’re practicing your waitressing skills."

  “ Muffins. Bran muffins with flax seed baked in. My name is Mary. Good to see someone close to my age move in. Lot’s of kids here.” Mary raised her eyebrows as if she had said crocodiles instead of children.  “ Here I’ll let you take these.” Big smile. Jake purposely let the tin of muffins slip from his hands and watched them fall to the patio.

  “ Damn it. Look at what you made me do. I was looking forward to those muffins. Clumsy woman.” Jake picked up the tin and sat it on his small patio table. Just out of reach of the now shaking Mary.

“ I’m so sorry. I must have let it go too soon. I’ll take the tin and make more. So sorry.” Mary’s eyes welled up. Her thin frame and submissive posture made Jake smile inwardly.

  “ I’ll wash your baking tin and drop it off tomorrow. For now my burger is done and I’m going in to get away from the mosquitoes and other pests. Don’t worry about the muffins. No doubt you were born a fumble finger. No crime in that. Have a good evening and thanks for the thought.” Jake walked into the house with the burger and baking tin. He never looked back but knew Mary was probably walking away wringing her hands and blaming herself for for being a BAD Mary.

  At two in the morning Jake woke up and took the pan of muffins to the driveway and ran over it repeatedly. The finished product was a very flat tin with oozing bran muffins trying to escape their new confines. With a note he had scripted in red ink, prior to killing the pan, he walked to Mary’s. Sitting the ‘muffins’ down on her front stoop he then taped the note to her door. It read: Mary, Sorry but the muffin tin was damaged more than I thought. Have a good day, Jake - P.S. Come over for cards sometime. And bring cookies.

  With the rest of the moonless night ahead of him Jake wandered the neighborhood and slashed bike tires and soaped windows. Before giving up for the night he lit two evergreens on fire and regretted he couldn’t stay and watch.

  Tomorrow would be better. - end