The Maytag Man

It has been a lovely sunny day in my world. I am reading a terrific mystery novel. It is one of those I don't want to ever end.

A friendly tap at the door is probably Fed-ex. Although only August, I started ordering Christmas gifts. You know I used to love the malls with bright shiny decorations, the two year olds climbing on Santa's lap bringing back memories of my young Wendy. How I struggled to get a smile, like every other parent I was promising the perfect present. Not a doll but a fire engine that had cool disappearing foam, not water, to put out the fire.

These days it is much easier to use my debit card on the Internet and find just what I want. Shoot, I can even have it gift wrapped. It just makes sense. I will save shipping charges since it goes straight to their house. It is eco-safe without throwing non recycable garbage away twice.

My daughter has always been a strange one. She aspires to be in charge of a major fire station. She wants to be the one to put her life on the line, riding up in the "cherry picker" to save children from a flaming, dangerous building. She had begged me when she was a toddler to go up in the lifter. When she was three, I went by the station and as a special gift for her birthday, Wendy, the Captain and I went up in the picker. One of the other men had placed their firehouse cat "Sizzles" upstairs and Wendy got to rescue it. That night, at her party, she told her three friends all about being a hero.

It is also the time of the year for Girl Scout cookies. Wendy used to always win for the most boxes sold for her area. How much should I spend? I musn't dissapoint her. I am thinking, “Thin Mints” or the chocolate coconut ones, "Somoas", adding up the cost. Every year they go up fifity cents. Heck, Edy's Ice Cream even has a flavor for each one now. I unlock the door.

There stands a man with a smile in a Maytag uniform.

I tell him, "Sorry, wrong house. I have a Whirlpool. I thought Maytags didn't need repairs."
I laugh.

It happened so quickly, a foot in the door, his gloved hand over my mouth. No time to scream. Then an oily rag stuffed in my mouth, and hands tied behind my back.

I want to say, "You can have everyhing!"

Then it hits; the fear! I sweat, my heart skips a beat, my bladder lets go.
I see the knife stained with blood, know my tomorrows are yesterdays.
My body isn't mine. I am lifted high as loving arms hold me.
I never felt the knife that took my life away.

By Kathie Stehr
2010