Happiness Is a Warm Bum

Happiness Is a Warm Bum By J.D. Walker Six o’clock on a Sunday morning was the best time to walk the beach. I enjoyed a leisurely stroll, no matter the weather, pretty much every day. I’d lived next to water most of my life, and preferred it that way. I liked to gather strange-shaped rocks, broken glass, anything that was unique and interesting as I took my stroll. I’d carry tiny treasures home in my pockets. As I watched the sky lighten bit by bit, I thought about all the things I’d done and still hoped to accomplish. I’d just turned fifty and had no children, though my employees could be considered such, I suppose. The bookstore in town was my baby, but lately, I needed something…more. I wasn’t in the closet, but I hadn’t necessarily announced my preferences to the world when I moved here eleven years ago to open the store. I simply turned down the ladies who asked me out on dates as gently as I could, and let everyone figure things out on their own. Lost in thought, I wandered by the Misty View Motel knowing that very soon Tory Cuthbert, the owner, would be out here doing his regular morning run. We usually passed each other on his way back home. I hadn’t done anything like running in years. My bones weren’t up to the strain anymore. Tory was like me, an out-of-towner who’d liked it here and decided to settle. He was also gay and happily involved with one of my employees. The sky was pink and blue by the time I reached my half-way point. I sat on a rock, the fisherman knit sweater and jeans I wore keeping most of the brisk January wind off my body. As I scratched my bearded jaw, I heard the sound of an engine on the road behind me. I turned and saw the rider of a dirty, weather-beaten motorcycle pull off about fifty feet from where I perched and park. Curious, I watched as he swung a leg over the seat and stood. He was a tall drink of water. The biker stretched, his hands pressed into his spine as he leaned back as far as he could. Must have been a long ride. Usually the eyes were one of the first things to fail as you got older, but I still had excellent vision, and no need for reading glasses—yet. And though I couldn’t see the face of my mystery man—the helmet and goggles hid almost everything—the lines of exhaustion on his body were visible. He still hadn’t spotted me, so I was able to study him further. He seemed solidly built. Everything he wore fit him like a glove, though each piece was shabbier than the next, well-worn, and dusty, with holes in all kinds of places. When the man removed his head gear and eye protection, I gasped. A scar ran down the right side of his face and disappeared into a bushy moustache and unkempt beard. He turned sharply to face me, and my heart jumped. Piercing, almost colorless eyes bore into me, at once suspicious, desperate, and lonely, and it was all I could do not to jump up and envelop the stranger in a big, warm hug. Here was a man who hadn’t experienced love or happiness in a long, long time. * * * * I decided to remain silent and let the stranger make the first move. It would give him the upper hand and hopefully make him feel more comfortable and in charge of the situation. “You live around here?” he asked, his voice rough and full of grit, like the man himself. He was probably a drifter—a bum on wheels. Didn’t bother me. Sometimes all you could do to escape your past was roam. “Yup.” “Know a place I can clean up? Maybe earn some cash?” He ran a hand through shoulder-length, messy, dirty-blond hair with streaks of gray. The sun had fully risen now and I could make out more details about his appearance. “Slow time of year around here. Picks up in the spring.” His shoulders slumped before I continued, “But I could use some help with odd jobs around my place, if you’ve got nothing better to do. Give you a shower, too.” Why I made the offer, I didn’t really know, but I wanted to give something to this man who seemed weary beyond words. He would probably be cautious, though, and I wouldn’t blame him. He frowned. “What’s in it for you?” Just as I thought. I shrugged. “I get some work done that’s been lying around for far too long—nothing more. Take it or leave it.” I stood and dusted the sand off my butt. “If the answer’s ‘yes,’ I live two miles down this road, house number 255. If nothing else, you can have a free shower and a meal before you head out again.” I left him standing there, feeling his eyes on me as I sauntered slowly back the way I’d come, my bones a little stiff from the cold, and perhaps age. I glanced down to see if I could spot anything else out of the ordinary that might have washed up on the shore since the last time I looked. I was curious as to what decision the biker would make. He’d have to trust that I meant him no harm, and I could tell that he wasn’t the sort to do that easily. How sad.