J is for Jogah contd.
Nothing good he imagined. He was too young to have read anything that might explain the purpose of the door, leaving the only plausible answer open to his imagination. He did not want to see what used that door, but at the same time his innate curiosity filled him with a desire to keep a close eye on it, to make sure whatever did come through, was not going to harm anyone.
As the afternoon neared early evening the last of the furniture had been placed and the canvas tarps had been removed. His mother was in the kitchen fixing dinner while his father sat on the front porch to share a beer with the men who moved them. Jeffery had come down and was sitting in one of the lawn chairs on the porch as the men spoke quietly about their families, and what had prompted them to move people’s belongings for a living.
One of the older men who had chosen a glass of iced tea in place of the offered beer was sitting near him and Jeffery noted that he kept glancing in his direction. He also noted that in addition to not wanting a beer, he was different in that his only participation in the conversation was in response to any questions that came his way. Between these his attention kept drifting back to Jeffery.
As the other men laughed at a coarse joke he turned to Jeffery. “You’ve seen them?”
The question was to the point and Jeffery immediately understood the context in which it had been asked. Had he seen them? Of course he had, but after that night in the kitchen he never said a word to anyone else about it. His mother’s response to his assertion that he had seen a ghost was to send him for counseling. To an old man who smelled of cigarettes and whiskey. Who kept coughing into his handkerchief that Jeffery noted was becoming spotted with blood. He only went to the counselor for several sessions before his appointments were dropped without reason. Maybe the doctor had assured his mother there was nothing wrong with him short of a child’s imagination, but Jeffery suspected something else had happened.
“Seen what?” Jeffery responded with all the innocence he could muster.
The old man smiled, one front tooth gold and glowing softly in the waning light. “You’re a cagey one. But you know what I mean, I can see it, there’s an air about you.”
“What kind of air?” he asked.
The old man’s face broke into an even wider smile, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “I like you, you know what’s going on, you’re closer to them than you think. But keep in mind they can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
“What can’t hurt me?” Jefferey had become unsettled with the old man’s comment, his suspicions growing that the old man knew about his special talent, though he had never told anyone.
“I was like you the first time I saw one, it doesn’t get any easier, but you can learn to ignore them, in fact I believe that’s the best you can do. If they knew you could see them that would acknowledge their presence and they would never leave you alone.”
It was all Jeffery could do to shrug indifferently. The old man had hit the nail on the head. The how and why were not important. But the fact he could see it was. What was it about him that stood out?
“There’s a glow about you, I have it too, but you haven’t learned to see it yet. You will in time, and when you do you’ll be surprised by how many there are of us.”
By this time the conversation on the porch had turned to leaving and the old man’s co-workers were calling for him to come along. Bill was his name, and he responded by throwing a wink in Jeffery’s direction before placing his half empty glass of iced tea on the table beside him and pushing himself to his feet.
“Just remember, they can’t hurt you unless you let them.”
With that he was gone, following the other three to the two trucks parked in the driveway. Vanishing into a cloud of diesel as the silence of the approaching night washed over them.
“What did he mean they can’t hurt you?” his dad asked as Jeffery joined him at the front door, his eyes drawn once again to the smaller door to the left of the entrance.
“Nothing, we were just talking about a new school and all that.” Jefferey hated lying to his dad but were he to tell him the truth he was afraid he might end up back in counseling.
“It’s called a milk door,” his dad said, pointing at the smaller door, “years ago milk was delivered every day and some people built small doors for the milk to be put inside by the delivery guy.”
“Why couldn’t they just go to the store?” Jefferey asked.
“I guess that’s the way it was back then.”
To be continued!
Richard Schiver 