Another exerpt from the novel I'm not writing, We Found the Vacuum Cleaner.
I remember the bittersweet day twelve years ago when Walter Rodgers sold off his house and farm and all his equipment. They say he broke down and cried that night after he signed the auctioneer’s papers. His sons weren’t interested in farming, so a bunch of boys from back east swept in to snatch up some pretty good real estate—for just a couple of nickels. They say Walter cried over all those generations of hard farming, and how he hardly had a thing to show for it. And for his late wife who he wished was still there to help him fight off the real estate jackals.
I saw him a month later in The Big City. He invited a few of us boys to come play a few hands of poker in the assisted living center where he moved. So thinking we’d cheer him up, we went. He was in surprisingly high spirits and introduced us all around—several times. He was happy, contented, satisfied and proudly told us, “I’m real blessed to be here. Food’s good, too.” He suddenly looked much younger than his eighty-one years. His hands were clean.
And then Hattie Mae White lost her husband just about the same time. They didn’t farm; they lived in Pancake Flats and operated rental properties all around The Big City. Well, when Mr. White suddenly passed away, Hattie Mae sold off all those duplexes and little houses as fast as she could. Then she high-tailed it to the same place as Walter and settled into one of those tiny apartments. We heard that Hattie Mae was pleased to be there—without a care in the world. “No more insurance premiums, and no more busted commodes at all hours of the night! Lord a-mighty! It's such a relief."
My First Wife Chancie and I were in Phillip’s Pharmacy and Hardware Store the other day. The little bell above the door tinkled, so naturally I turned to look-see. You can imagine my surprise when the two of them—Hattie Mae and Walter—came through the door, both of them smiling from ear to ear.
They seemed tickled to see the few folks that were in the store. There was hugs, handshakes and hollering all around.
Finally, Hattie Mae blurted out, “Walter and I are getting married! Next week!”
It was real quiet for a few seconds, but when the shock wore off there were more hugs, handshakes and happiness. That Walter was now aged 93 and Hattie Mae was 85 made no difference. They were looking good and feeling frisky. It was a great day in Pancake Flats.
“Now, after we put in our order here,” Walter said, “Why don’t we all walk over to Bertie’s for some of her rhubarb pie. I sure do miss it.” His dentures clicked while he talked.
“Oh, yes, let’s do,” Hattie Mae echoed. “It'll be our treat.”
Mr. Phillips called out to Walter, “Tell me what can I help you find, Walter. Hattie Mae.”
“Well, first off, do you sell heart medication?"
"Of course we do, Walter."
"How about medicine for circulation?"
"All kinds."
"Medicine for rheumatism and scoliosis?"
"Yes, sir."
"How about some of that Viagra?" he called out proudly.
Hattie Mae playfully slapped him on the arm, “Walter!”
Mr. Phillips blushed a little. “Yes, Walter. Now you’re embarrassing me a little in front of the ladies.”
Walter went on, “Let’s see, I forgot what else I wanted.”
Hattie Mae helped him. "Medicine for memory problems!”
“That’s right. What about that and something for her arthritis?”
“Now, you know we have all those things. Quite a variety, too; anything you want.”
“What about vitamins?” Hattie Mae asked.
“Sleeping pills, Geritol, stuff for Parkinson's?" Walter kept on.
Mr. Phillips nodded all through it. "Absolutely."
“One last thing. You sell wheelchairs and walkers in here?"
“I do,” Mr. Phillips said. “All speeds and sizes, and if I don’t have it in the store, I can have it here tomorrow—or sooner if you have an emergency."
Walter and Hattie Mae looked at each other lovingly, clasped hands, nodded to each other and smiled. They turned back to Mr. Phillips.
"Well, young man,” Hattie Mae said, “We'd like your store to be our Bridal Registry."
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