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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #470770 added November 23, 2006 at 5:42pm
Restrictions: None
Turnovers
Out of his bedroom window, George watched Mrs. Bridges as she made her way into her apartment, bit by bit. Just a few hours ago, two men had come to take some of her furniture away. ‘She must be trying to make space. Maybe she’s getting some new stuff,’ George thought, although he didn’t see how, because Mrs. Bridges lived on a very low income.
It wasn’t just Mrs. Bridges. Nobody in the complex was well off. Just a few days ago George had gotten notice in the mail about a twenty percent rent increase. Since he had no place else to go, he knew he had to pay it, and so did every tenant in those five buildings. Yet, George thanked his lucky stars. He would never get that shiny red used corvette he had set his heart upon in Eddie’s Autos, but at least, he worked at a reliable establishment and could manage his money from one month to another. Still, he admired the sleek image that kept popping up in his mind.
Humming a tune, George clicked on the remote and sat on the sofa biting into a sandwich. At the end of the evening news, a slim lady wiggled behind a big boxlike glass enclosure into which numbered balls rolled for the lotto drawing. The ticket with the winning five numbers would get $700,000. ‘That can get me the car and then some,’ George dreamed. Why not? For the next drawing, he decided to spend two dollars and buy two tickets.
Next day, George saw Mrs. Bridges walking slowly by the side of the road. He stopped his car and called out. “Mrs. Bridges, may I give you a lift?”
“Thank you, George, Dear. I’m going to the Hospital to visit a friend. Are you going that way?”
“Yes,” George lied. “Get in, before you get wet. It is starting to rain.”
Mrs. Bridges didn’t own a car, probably she couldn’t afford a taxi, and the town had no public transportation. George worked on the opposite direction of the hospital, and once in a while, he drove to other stores of the chain to take care of customer complaints. Today, however, he was supposed to go straight to the office. ‘I’ll check in late and make the boss twitch his eyebrows,’ he joked inside himself.
“How is everything, George?” Mrs. Bridges asked, clicking on the seatbelt.
“Good enough.“
“What do you do after work, George?”
“I watch TV. The news mostly.”
“I had to sell my set. Anything interesting lately?”
“Last night I watched the lotto drawing. Someone from Johnsville won seven hundred gran. I think I’ll get a ticket or two myself. You never know…with luck, maybe?”
“Yes, you never know, do you?” Mrs. Bridges stayed silent for a while. Then she muttered something to herself and started scouring the insides of her handbag.
“Here, George.” She placed four quarters in the tray on top of the dashboard. “When you buy yourself the tickets, buy one for me, please. Okay?”
“Sure, Mrs. Bridges, just as soon as I can.” George grinned. “Do you have any numbers in mind?”
“No, you pick whatever.”
During the next few days, George’s work picked up. If, at the gas station, he hadn’t noticed the promo in big letters announcing that the next day’s lotto drawing was for eleven million dollars, George would have forgotten about the tickets. He hurried inside the convenience store and filled out two entries. After he handed it to the cashier, he remembered Mrs. Bridges. “Wait,” he said, “I have to fill out another one.”
“I put this one through already. Why don’t you get another slip?” The cashier suggested.
George filled out another slip and paid for the three tickets.
Late in the evening when he turned the knob on his apartment’s door, George remembered Mrs. Bridges’ ticket. He knocked on her door but heard no answer. As he returned to his own apartment, he glimpsed her walking up the path.
“Mrs. Bridges, I have your lotto ticket,” he called out.
“Hold on to it, George. You tell me if it wins. I have no way of finding out myself.”
“Come over at seven. We can watch the drawing at seven o’clock together,“ George offered.
“Will do, Dear. Will do.”
Around seven o’clock, after the news came the drawing. One ticket from the first slip already had the first two numbers. He jumped up in awe as the next three numbers plus the extra one equaled to the numbers in the palm of his hand. It was one of his tickets that had won the grand prize. His other ticket had one number matching. The numbers on Mrs. Bridges’ ticket did not match at all.
George fell back on the couch. He already saw himself whizzing by in his red Corvette. Should he give up his job? No, why should he?. He would buy into the business... Maybe buy the whole establishment... No, he should become a partner...
The knock at the door brought him back into his senses. He got up to open. Mrs. Bridges ambled in with a tray of freshly baked apple turnovers. Almost instantly, the aroma of cinnamon and apple filled inside his apartment.
“I know you like these, George,” she said. “I remembered you telling me about your grandmother baking them for you.”
“Yes, apple turnovers. Great! Thank you so much, Mrs. Bridges.”
His grandmother... The wonderful lady who raised him... Her teachings of kindness, her chubby form, and her radiant face swayed in front of George’s eyes for a split second.
“You won’t believe this, George. The owner sent the super over because he can’t face us himself. He wants everybody in my building out, so they can renovate the place and rent it for more. He offered me a third floor apartment in building C for seventy-five dollars more. Just how am I going to pay for that? I can’t even pay my rent without having to sell something or other every month.“
George’s grandmother offering him an apple turnover...“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal...”
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Bridges. I’ll see what can be done,” George said.
“Oh no, George, you don’t. I don’t want charity, please. I wouldn’t take a penny from you.”
“... but lay up for yourself treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal...”
“No, Mrs. Bridges, I mean to tell you...”
Nno, George. I know what a lovely boy you are. I love you like my own. Although I never had any of my own, if I could pick, it would have to be you. But I wouldn’t take anything of yours, just the same.”
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” A vision wavered right there in front of him. George’s grandmother watched, pointing to the ticket... Oh no, forget it, not the red corvette... “Why not? Why not, George?”
“Why not?” George echoed. “Because you don’t have to. Here, Mrs. Bridges. This is yours. You have the winning ticket!”
After the first shock was over, Mrs. Bridges and George kept hugging each other in tears of joy. Mrs. Bridges suggested that since George had picked the numbers and had gone to all that trouble of buying the ticket, the ticket was George’s; George told her that since she had paid for the ticket, it belonged to her. George thought of sharing the ticket, but Mrs. Bridges came up with a better idea.
A few months later, a new franchise opened in town. The company logo said, “George C. Goude & Ellen Bridges Enterprises.” The business grew fast and soon became a leading player in the industry of the state. Its success startled everyone, especially its owners, Mrs. Bridges and George, who had become family to each other.
It was habitual. Each evening, George stopped by Mrs. Bridges’ new home where they discussed most recent public service projects, such as low-income housing or education grants. Later, George left in his red shiny Corvette with a freshly baked package of apple turnovers.
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