LONELY SECRETS

LONELY SECRETS

By John Thomas Tuft

“Chocolate ice cream with ranch dressing, on the side, please. Maybe some whipped cream on top.” Cherry smiled at the man, pen poised above her order pad, noting his long white-gray hair tied back in a ponytail. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, and the lines around his mouth bespoke years of hard work in the elements of the weather and the pain of weathering the storms of life. Cherry paused in mid pen stroke, “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked for that before.” He smiled, “I don’t think I’ve ever ordered it before.” He pulled a small pocket calendar from his denim shirt. Pulled some wire rim half glasses from a pocket, put them on and jotted something down in the little book. Cherry watched all this in silence. “And coffee. Black. Please.” She turned away to get his order as the man paused in his writing. He chewed on the end of the pen, then slowly closed the book with a sigh, as though pursuing his thoughts any further would be just too painful.

Cherry scooped the chocolate ice cream and filled a small bowl with ranch dressing. She grabbed the coffee pot and went back to the man. In the short time she’d been away, he had arranged all of the salt and pepper shakers in a straight line down the center of the counter. Next to it was a line of napkin dispensers, perfectly aligned, with the little holders for artificial sweeteners balanced atop each one. He saw her returning and resumed his seat on the stool. He took out the small book again, and the pen, and made a note on a blank page. He eagerly sipped the hot coffee and smiled at her. “Do you mind,” Cherry began, “telling me about what you are doing?” The man picked up the bowl of ranch dressing and poured some over the chocolate ice cream. “My name is Jerry Habakkuk,” he said by way of introduction. “I travel around, different places here and there. Do you have any barbeque potato chips?” Cherry went to get a snack size bag of the chips and handed it to him. Jerry wrote in his book, closed it. Then he grabbed the bag of chips and smashed it on the counter, over and over, with his fist.

“What on earth are you doing?” Cherry cried, not wanting to see food suffer abuse in this manner. Jerry looked up at her again with that enigmatic smile. “I’m trying to figure out what trust means.” He poured the crumbs of barbecue chips over the ice cream and dressing. “Mr. Habakkuk, call me crazy, but I don’t understand,” Cherry wiped her hands nervously on the apron she wore. He held up one finger as he scribbled some more in his book. Then he took a bite of his concoction. “Needs pickles, bread and butter pickles. That’s the real trouble with tribbles, I tell you!” he exclaimed. Cherry grew a little alarmed at this. “Sir, we don’t have bread and butter pickles.” She edged away from the counter. “Would you like your check now?” she asked, fearful now of this character. Jerry Habakkuk took a big bite of chocolate ice cream with ranch dressing and BBQ chip crumbs. “I still say it needs pickles. Bread and butter pickles. And please tell me, what is faith?”

 Jerry Habakkuk abruptly dropped his spoon, stood up, and walked the length of the counter. Knocking the ceramic holders of artificial sweeteners off of the napkin holders, all the way down the line. On his way back he knocked the salt and pepper shakers all catawampus, as tears started flowing down his cheeks. Cherry watched all this is amazement and rising unease. “Mr. Habakkuk…er, Jerry, sit back down. Tell me what you’re writing in your little book.” She took a big breath. “Please. I want to know.”  Jerry Habakkuk sat back down, picked up his spoon. “Could you just check to see about the pickles?” Cherry came around from behind the counter and sat down on a nearby stool. “Tell me about your little book.” He looked up with a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s my lonely secrets.”

Cherry grew curious. “What are lonely secrets?” Jerry Habakkuk took a deep breath and began, “I’m a physician’s assistant, a PA. I work on an obstetrics unit over at the hospital.” “So, you see babies all the time!” Cherry felt this was good news. Jerry H. went on, “Last night a couple came in. The baby was coming. They knew that there was a problem, and the baby would only live a few minutes after the birth.” He looked hard at his bowl. After a long moment, “They didn’t want to touch their child. Didn’t want to hold her at all.” Cherry gasped. He continued, “I asked them if they were certain. They were. So, I took off my latex gloves. I received the baby into my hands, skin on skin. She never cried.” He stirred at the concoction in the bowl. “She never cried. I held her while she was alive for maybe six minutes. I looked at the parents, but they shook their heads no. My skin, my touch, was the only touch she had for her entire life. I took off my shirt and held her against my chest until she took her last breath.”

Cherry wiped her eyes. Jerry Habakkuk concluded, “I hope she trusted me. I carried her little body down to the morgue and kissed her goodbye.” Cherry reached out to touch his arm. “That’s your lonely secret?” Jerry Habakkuk shook his head. “No. No, my lonely secret is that right as she was drawing her last breath, I whispered to her. I touched her soft skin, and I named her. I said, you are Faith.” Then he looked up, blinking rapidly. “You sure you don’t have bread and butter pickles?”

Words are magic and writers are wizards.