This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by J.R. Murdock SmashWords edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Further information may be requested by contacting J.R. Murdock directly at jay@ofgnomesanddwarves.com
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Don't Use the Phone
By J.R. Murdock
Beatrice Paisley closed her watch and placed in back in her pocket; she had a very busy day ahead of her.
After a brief stretch in the early morning light, she roused herself. She got up from behind the bus-stop bench where she'd made her bed the night before. Meticulously she folded her dirty, worn, red blanket and set it to the side. She then neatly rolled her dingy sleeping bag and tied it with a length of twine. Once both these items were taken care of, she placed them into her dented shopping cart.
The spot chosen was for two reasons. Firstly was for the spigot behind the bench. Beatrice was able to get water whenever she needed it and right now she was able to get a quick drink and wash the sleep from her eyes. The water was cold, but refreshing and her quilted jacket was perfect for drying her face. Once she had completed this simple morning task, she adjusted her clothes and tucked her long, black hair up under her knit cap.
The other reason why this spot was so perfect for Beatrice was the location of the telephone. It was placed at the end of the bench and easily within arms reach, even for her short arms. Each day she would sit vigilantly and wait for the day when the phone would ring. She knew the day was coming soon, and she wanted to be here when it happened.
There was one thing left to do this morning and Beatrice would not be able to do that until she had enough money to go into the restaurant. Though they had facilities, only paying customers were allowed. The morning search was performed of all her pockets: pants, skirt, jacket, shirt. She even removed her shoes in case she had hidden away a dollar or two in them. Sitting on the bench and replacing her shoes, Beatrice knew this was going to be a long day. She'd only managed to locate thirty-five cents and that wasn't even enough to get her a cup of coffee. She remembered the days when thirty-five cents was enough for a light breakfast and have enough left over for a newspaper.
Beatrice got up and rummaged through her cart to see if she could locate any more money. There were times she would hide money from herself for just a situation such as this. She moved aside the blanket and sleeping bag and looked through a small shoe box. Inside were many small coins from other countries, her wedding ring, her late husband's wedding band, and a photo of her husband. She looked at the picture as she did every other day and gave it a kiss. The picture was taken when her husband served in World War II. He had traveled to many countries and always sent her coins from each he visited. Those she left in the bottom of the shoe box along with the rings. The picture had been taken before he left for his final flight, a bombing mission over Berlin. Her husband, Gregory Paisley, never returned home. She also kept that final letter she'd gotten from him.
Since the day of his passing, Beatrice found herself wishing to be dead, but didn't want to upset the good Lord by taking her own life. She knew her husband had gone to heaven and she wanted to make sure she would join him. It took a great many years, but Beatrice's funds dwindled away until she had nothing left. Her parents were gone, she had no brothers, sisters, aunts, or uncles to turn to. Gregory was never able to bless her with a child and she had secluded herself from her friends for so long, that she didn't feel right asking for their help. So here, on this bench, she lived out her life, and waited.
She closed and gently kissed the top of the box and replaced it to her cart. She found an old coffee cup down toward the bottom. It had a small chip on the rim and the once brightly colored flowers were faded and mostly indiscernible, but it would serve as her begging cup all the same. It shamed her to no end to resort to begging, yet if she did not do so, she would starve and the Lord would never forgive her for doing such a thing. With each penny, nickel, dime, quarter, or precious dollar she would get, she was sure to hand out a blessing to each person and wish them a wonderful day. Today would be no different.
The clock outside the bank, which sat on the corner of the block, read 6:24 am. Beatrice knew the first bus would arrive at 6:30 am and that gave her enough time to take her place at the end of the bench to await the arriving passengers of that bus. Many she already knew as she was here every day. She knew which ones to ignore and which ones to smile at. Beatrice took her place at the end of the bench next to the phone and waited for the bus to arrive.
The clock ticked to 6:30 am just as the bus rounded the corner, filled with passengers. Beatrice put on her smile, missing only a few teeth, and held her cup with both hands. Just as it did every day, the bus stopped and opened its doors.
"Morn' Bea," the driver greeted.
"A blessed morning to you, Stanley," Beatrice returned with a smile. Stanley had picked up Beatrice a few times and given her free rides whenever she needed to go anywhere. There had been a time or two he deviated from his route to drop her off at the social security office so she wouldn't have to take another bus. The money wasn't enough to live on, even with her simple lifestyle. It was toward the end of the month that Beatrice didn't have any of that money left and that time was now.
The passengers got off the bus. The first Beatrice knew as Sue. Sue was a lawyer at one of the downtown law firms. She was aggressive and not very polite. Beatrice removed her smile when she saw Sue and tried to ignore the sneer. Sue usually delivered comments such as, "Why don't you get a job," or "Go haunt some other bus stop," and Beatrice let them roll off like water off a duck's back.
The next off was Albert, an older gentleman who used a walking cane. Albert always had nice things to say to Beatrice and oft times would sit and talk to her. He pitied her situation and tried many times to help her get off the street, but she resisted any help with the exception of the few dollars he would give her.
"Bea," Albert said with a smile. "I see you're up early this morning. It's always a pleasure to see that beaming smile of yours."
"Flatterer," Beatrice said as she turned her reddening face away and batted her hand at Albert. She held her cup out when Anthony, a clean-shaven boy, got off the bus and he dug into his pockets and deposited a few coins.
"Bless you, Anthony."
"Please Bea, call me Tony. You sound like my ma," Anthony said and without waiting for a response, he headed down the block to his work at the bakery.
Albert took a seat next to Beatrice and put his arm around her. "I wouldn't flatter you if there wasn't anything to flatter you about. When are you going to let me help you find a place to live. This is no place for a beautiful woman like you, Bea."
"You know I could never take advantage of you, of anyone, like that," she replied and held her cup up when Larry got off the bus. He only smiled and shook his head. Beatrice knew he didn't always carry money and when he did, he was more than happy to share.
"Well, here," Albert took out his wallet and placed a ten dollar bill into her cup. "Take that and get yourself something to eat. I know how you get toward the end of the month. You need to manage your money better, Bea."
Beatrice took the money out of the cup and placed it into her pocket. "I know and the Lord knows I do try, Albert. But you know how things get. Sometimes when I'm sleeping, these hooligans will take my money out of my cart or even out of my pockets."
"All the more reason for you to let me help you out, Bea. I can't stand the thought of someone doing such things to you. You need to get off the street."
"Take care Bea," Stanley called out, having dropped off all his passengers for this stop.
"I'll see you in an hour, Stanley," Beatrice said with a wave, knowing his route would bring him back.
"I've got to get going myself, Bea," Albert said as he got up. "You get yourself something to eat, and I'll stop back by and maybe I'll be able to take you to lunch later on."
"I'd love that Albert. And bless you." Beatrice said looking into Albert's eyes.
Albert got up and left. Beatrice, who now had money to buy food for breakfast, got up and pushed her cart down the block to the bakery where Anthony worked. Though they knew each other well from the bus stop, the manager would insist she be a paying customer before he'd allow her to come in, if at all. Anthony had nearly gotten fired on more than one occasion when he'd either allowed her to use the facilities without buying anything or buying food for her so she could come in. The manager didn't tolerate the homeless and to him, Beatrice was just another cockroach of society.
Anthony stood at the door when Beatrice arrived, putting his apron over his black and white striped shirt and donning his floppy hat. Though the bakery served all different types of pastries as well as food, the manager liked to pretend it was a French café and made the employees dress as such.
"Hey, Bea," he greeted when she walked up, pushing her cart. "We're in luck today. I think the manager's out sick. Come in."
"Oh, I don't want to get you in trouble. I'll only stay for a bit. Do you mind if I use your facilities first?"
"Go ahead, Bea," Anthony said with a smile.
"You're such a dear." Beatrice led herself to the back of the restaurant and took care of her business. When she was through, she returned to the front and noticed the manger was indeed not sick and was in the process of yelling at Anthony.
". . .and how many times have I told you not to let that old lady in here," he screamed and pointed his finger at Anthony. Beatrice felt her face flush in fear. She never liked anyone getting in trouble for her and Anthony was getting a horrible tongue lashing. "This is the last time this is going to happen. You're Fired!"
Without a word, Anthony took off his floppy hat and shoved it in the manager's chest.
"There you are!" He yelled at Beatrice, "Get your homeless ass out of my restaurant and stay out!"
Beatrice lowered her head and passed the manager as quickly as she could. He growled at her as she passed by which caused her to flush even more. Anthony waited for her outside. He was even nice enough to get her cart for her.
"That man don't got a good bone in his body," Anthony said with a scowl. "Don't know why I worked for him for so long."
"But you need the job, honey," Beatrice said, sorry she was the reason he'd been fired.
"Nah, I don't need a job that bad," Anthony said. "I can get a job anywhere. It's not like that's the only place to work at." Anthony laughed a bit. "Heck, it was fun getting him so worked up every time he'd see you in there."
Beatrice enjoyed a laugh with Anthony. He pushed her cart all the way back to the bench. She returned to her spot next to the phone and Anthony gave her a hug before he walked up the street.
It was only 6:50 am and she wasn't too hungry just yet. The sky was clear, the sun was shining brightly and Beatrice prepared herself for the 7:00 am bus. Every half hour a bus would arrive at this stop. The people on the 6:30 am all knew her and knew her well, but the folks who arrived on the 7:00 am didn't always know her and some even tried to use her phone. She retrieved her umbrella, black with only a few small holes, from her cart and placed it on her lap. Then waited.
The clock read 6:58 am and the bus rounded the corner. Chin, the driver of the second bus, was usually ahead of schedule. Because of this, Beatrice knew he wouldn't give her anything but a few words. These usually consisted of "Hey, get off that bench." It always made her smile in the way he would deliver those words. Today was no different.
"Hey," Chin yelled as he opened the door. "If you not going ride bus, get off bench. I call security this time. I mean it lady, get off bench or I call."
The threat was empty and both knew this. Beatrice just smiled at Chin as she always did.
Only two people got off the bus, a young man dressed in a suit, and a young girl wearing a leather coat, torn nylons, and a black skirt. Her hair was messier than even Beatrice's, though certainly intended to be in such a state of disarray. The man walked down the street, but the young girl spat her gum on the ground and pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. She unrolled it and walked to the phone.
"Don't use the phone, dear," Beatrice said in a sweet voice.
"Why not?" the girl replied snottily.
"I don't let anyone to use this phone".
"Yeah, well what are you going to do about it? It's a public phone and I'm going to use it."
"Please dear, don't use the phone."
"Shut up, hag! I'll use the phone if I want to."
The girl's hand reached for the receiver only to be stopped by Beatrice's. "I asked nicely, dear. Please, don't use the phone."
"Back off!" The girl screamed as if Beatrice was a leper. "Now get out of the way, I'm going to use that phone."
Beatrice stood and held the umbrella in front of her defensively. She then positioned herself in front of the phone. "No, dear, you're not."
"Freak," the girl said and spat at Beatrice's feet. But just as Beatrice wanted, the girl left.
Beatrice waited to make sure the girl really left. Sometimes they liked to sneak back and try to use the phone despite the warnings they received. The girl never looked back and instead crossed the street and went down the block. Beatrice assumed she was headed to the mall where most girls her age would go.
The day continued on and off like this. Some people would get off and without her asking, give her money. She was sure it made them feel better and she never turned down monies given. Only a few people would try to use the phone and always she would be able to convince them to not. To find another phone was always an option when faced with Beatrice armed as she was with her umbrella.
Starting at 11:00 am the buses would start to come every fifteen minutes until 2:00 pm. Being that the 10:30 am had just left, Beatrice knew she had a few minutes to spare to get something to eat. She didn't want to risk going near the bakery again today, so decided to head the opposite direction, across the street, to the deli. The owner there was at least cordial to Beatrice, though he did encourage her, at times, to not over stay her welcome.
Vincent, the deli owner, always wore his white apron and chef's hat, though he hadn't cooked anything for an age. His black moustache was curled up at the ends just as the wood carving that was his sign out front. Black pants and a black shirt completed his outfit. He stood up from the menu board and greeted Beatrice at the door.
"Good morning, my sweet," he said and bent down to kiss her hand.
"Masher," Beatrice teased. "I just need a bite to eat and I'll be on my way, Vincent."
"Today, my sweet, it's on me. My pleasure for my best customer." Vincent bowed deeply, tipping his hat, and motioned for her to enter.
"You know I insist on paying. I'll not allow you to spoil me. Before you know it, I won't be able to fend for myself."
"As you wish, my sweet," Vincent returned his hat to his head and returned to writing up the afternoon menu.
Once she had her sandwich, she left to return to her bench, but not before she'd given Vincent a peck on the cheek. He pretended to faint and caught himself. An exchange of smiles and she was ready to head back across the street to her bench. She looked at her cart next to the bench, but someone was standing at the phone, and dialing.
"No!" she yelled in horror and dropped her sandwich. Without looking, she ran into the street. The man wore a black suit and had short, brown hair. She yelled again and the man turned to look at her. She stopped in the middle of the street and could only stare. The face looking back at her was that of her late husband.
The screech of tires and the blare of the car's horn made her look away and focus her attention on the car. She had no time to move out of the way, but God was with her as the car made a full stop. Vincent ran from the Deli and looked out over the scene. Beatrice had her hand on her chest and looked near collapse. Other cars slowed to see what had occurred while Vincent helped her back to the deli side of the street. She tried to breathe deeply and tears trickled down her face.
Vincent picked up the dropped sandwich and placed it on the small table where he sat Beatrice. She brought her gaze up and across the street, only to see the phone. No one was there and no one had been there. She knew it was all in her mind, but it didn't hurt any less. Vincent, who'd returned with a glass of water, gave her a hug for comfort and allowed her to sob for a minute.
"You take your time. You can go back across whenever you're ready." Vincent's tone was somber and his real voice was comforting.
"Thank you," she said as she used a napkin to dry her face. She stayed for only a few minutes to regain her wits. When she was ready, and before the next bus arrived, she got up and waited for the light to change before crossing the street.
After the 11:00 am bus had left, she proceeded to eat her lightly abused sandwich, enjoying every bite. Though Vincent didn't cook or make food anymore, he'd hand-picked a fine crew who worked with the same love he used to.
The day proceeded with only a few interruptions. Most people didn't try to use the phone and she was able to convince those who tried to find another phone for their use. She only brought her umbrella to bear upon one man who didn't think she was serious. He'd been rude enough to track down the police and file a complaint. Officer Ron was nice enough to only give her another warning and informed her to stop hitting people.
Much later in the evening, after the sun had gone down, the street filled with more traffic. Beatrice guessed that it must be Friday as the night before the traffic was lighter. This was one of the days she dreaded as many of the younger folk didn't understand her and pressed the issue when she denied them use of the phone. Most of the night passed by without event. Most of it.
Three young men, obviously drunk, rounded the corner of the block and saw Beatrice sitting quietly next to her phone.
"Hey lady, how long you gonna sit there?" one taunted as he flicked his cigarette into the street. The youth looked just old enough to be out of high school. He was only slightly bigger than his friends, who followed closely behind him and laughed at his comment. "So, what's up with you, anyway? All you do is sit here. Why?"
Beatrice held her tongue and gripped her umbrella tightly. As long as they didn't try to use the phone, she wasn't going to dignify them with an answer. The youth lit up another cigarette and sat down next to Beatrice. He blew the smoke in her face and caused her to cough.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" The youth and his friends laughed as if what he said was the funniest thing any of them had ever heard. Beatrice pursed her lips and pulled her umbrella closer to her body, tensing herself as she did. The youth continued his taunting. It wasn't until one of his friends reached for the phone that she let out.
"Don't use the phone!" she snapped.
"What? What's up with you lady. It's a phone." The youth made the mistake of reaching for the phone. Beatrice smacked his hand with the umbrella, not enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know she was serious.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I said 'don't use the phone.'"
The one with the cigarette let out a howl of laughter and pointed at his friend. This only made him angrier. He took the umbrella from Beatrice's hand and threatened to hit her with it. She cringed in fear that he may actually do so. He instead took it in both hands, broke it over his knee and tossed it into the street. He reached once again for the phone. Worried and defenseless, Beatrice put herself between him and the phone.
"Come on lady, I gotta call a taxi. Get out of the way."
"G-g-go use a different phone," she said, her voice quavering.
"Look, I only need it for a minute, and then you can have it back. Now get out of the way lady."
"No."
"Come on, Gus. We'll go somewhere else," the youth with the cigarette said. As he got up off the bench, he flicked his cigarette into Beatrice's shopping cart. It fell between the blanket and the sleeping bag and she could only watch. She was torn between rescuing her possessions, and protecting the phone from use. Her possessions won.
She moved from the phone to her cart and began to dig through it, unaware the three had other plans for her torment. The one called Gus got behind her and grabbed her, squeezing her arms to her sides. The other two approached the cart.
"As fast as you leapt at this cart, there must be something pretty important in there. What do you say we have a look," the leader said with an evil grin upon his face.
He pulled the cart out from between the phone and the bench and toward the street. He and the other began to rummage through her belongings. She gasped as they moved the blanket and sleeping bag and moved the top of the shoe box open.
"No!" she hollered. "You get out of there!"
Beatrice stomped with her heel onto Gus's foot. He yelped in pain and released her. She lashed out and pulled at the cart, trying to free it from the prying invaders of her private things. The two pulled against her, surprised at her strength. They shook the cart back and forth twice and she lost her grip. The two weren't expecting the cart to come free so easily and it rolled from their grasp as well. It had only one place to go; into the street.
Being that the night had worn late, there was lighter and faster moving traffic. The car hadn't seen the cart enter the street and collided with it with a loud crash. Beatrice let out a cry as the three youths laughed and ran from the scene. Her bedding would be easy to replace, but the shoe box that contained her memories flew into the air, spilling its contents. The precious coins rolled in every direction when they came down to connect with the street, but even those weren't as precious as the picture that was now caught by the passing car. Painfully she followed its path as it drifted past the screeching car and floated down ever so slowly, but faster than she could catch up with it. It disappeared down the storm drain and out of her sight, forever.
Once again the police arrived and fortunately Officer Ron was still on duty. He took a report from the driver of the car, Beatrice and a couple who'd seen the whole ordeal from the deli window, but didn't have a chance to come to her aid. Ron urged her to go to the homeless shelter for the evening, but could do no more than encourage. Beatrice stayed put, and cried late into the evening.
The clock read 3:00 am and Beatrice found herself still sobbing over her loss. If only those boys had just left her alone, everything would be fine and she'd still have the picture of her beloved. She wouldn't have lost her precious memories and she would more easily continue on. Now everything was gone. She really had nothing left. She cried and didn't know what to do next.
The phone rang. Beatrice dried her tears and sat up straight. The phone rang again. She didn't know if she should answer or not and nervously reached up and placed her hand on the received. The phone rang a third time and she lifted the receiver, her hand still shaking, and waited. She took a deep breath and pulled the phone over to her ear.
"Hello," she said softly. "Yes. Yes I'm ready, Lord."
Beatrice's head fell gently to her chest and her limp hand released the receiver, allowing it to swing freely.