Sweet Jane and The Moron

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Do turkeys know it’s Thanksgiving? Do deer know it’s hunting season? I’m sitting here in the Florida room of my home thinking about the turkeys, deer, and other great thoughts. Usually the deer are plentiful passing by my windows. Something tells me it must be hunting season and the deer must be hiding because I haven’t seen one in weeks. Same with the turkeys, usually from this vantage point I see families of the ugly flightless birds waddling everywhere.
Too bad humans don’t have the same kind of instincts. I wish I had, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in the deep shit I did. My turkey instinct should have told me to stay away from her. I lost it all because of her. She was known around the neighborhood as Sweet Jane. She was not only sweet but beautiful. Later, I would realize she was also evil. Before meeting Sweet Jane, I had a lot going for me. I had a good job, good friends, and strong family ties. Had I been that blind? My mother took one look at Jane and told me to stay away from her. Of course, I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen to my best friend, Jeff, either. Jeff’s words were even stronger then my mother’s. I didn’t want to hear any of it, I thought I was in love and believed Sweet Jane loved me too.
The sweetness gradually disappeared. It was too late for me, I was hooked. When she believed I was ready she brought me to see her friend, Manny, and his followers. Manny wasn’t much to look at, he was short, fat, and ugly. It didn’t matter because if you closed your eyes when he spoke, you might of thought God was speaking to you. His voice was magic, deep, and melodious, he could make reading a shopping list sound like Moses coming down from the mountain. They plied me with sex and drugs, they took all my money, and then my house. I had twenty people living in my one bedroom condominium. To tell the truth I didn’t care, I was in love with Sweet Jane and cocaine. Manny’s people didn’t believe in work, so neither did I. I was fired and didn’t give a crap. There was no money to pay the bills and I didn’t care until the man came to repossess, my first true love, my BMW. The electric and phone were cut off. Manny and his people left for greener pastures. I asked if I could follow them, they laughed, Sweet Jane’s laughter the loudest.
It’s been five years since I’ve seen Sweet Jane, Manny, or the crew. When they left all I had were some clothes, a bad cocaine habit, and my grandfather’s cabin in the Pocono Mountains. My grandfather had left me the cabin years ago, and no-one knew about it but my family. I tried borrowing money from my mother, but she wouldn’t even speak to me. Somehow, I managed to convince Jeff to lend me a few dollars. He hadn’t recognized me when I knocked on his door. He wouldn’t let me in, probably afraid I’d infect his wife and kids. All he had in cash was two hundred dollars. He handed it over and slammed the door in my face.
The money was enough for me to get on a bus to Scranton, PA. I hitchhiked to Lake Ariel. With some of the money I had left I bought some canned goods. It took a while but I eventually found my country estate. Well it wasn’t exactly an estate, just a cabin with a few extras. Lucky for me it was springtime, I could survive without the power being turned on at least until the winter. I spent two weeks getting clean both inside and out. Withdrawal was pure hell, but what choice did I have. There wasn’t a drug dealer on every corner here. There weren’t even any corners. I bathed in the stream behind the cabin and managed to catch a couple of trout to augment my diet of Hormel Chile. Thank God for my grandfather, he’d left his fishing equipment and a propane stove, fully loaded. As my head cleared I realized I needed money. All I had left was forty dollars from the cash Jeff had given me. On my next trip to town for groceries I saw a “Help Wanted” sign in the window of the local hardware store. I didn’t know anything about hardware, but I had nothing to lose. Mrs. Schmidt, the owner, took a very skeptical look at me when I asked about the job. After I assured her that I wasn’t one of those wacked out drug addled serial killers she agreed to give me a tryout. I mostly stocked shelves and every once in a while, I was allowed to use the cash register. One of the happiest days of my life was the day I had the electricity turned on in my country estate. Suddenly, I was able to read after dark, and watch the one TV station I could receive on my ancient Philco black and white television.
I walked the four miles to and from the hardware store until I could afford a bicycle. I loved that bike. Mrs. Schmidt gave me more and more responsibility at the store. Being the fair-minded woman she was she raised my salary with the added responsibilities. I was then able to buy a ten-year-old Mercury Mariner that was in pretty good shape. Cruising downtown Lake Ariel in my Mercury was ten times better than cruising downtown New Rochelle in my BMW.
Mrs. Schmidt was spending less time at the store. I was concerned about her. She wasn’t a young woman and she didn’t look well. She was not the type of woman to complain, so she didn’t. I was running the store now, it was the least I could do for the woman who had probably saved my life. Barry from the diner across the street gave me the news that Mrs. Schmidt was in the hospital in Honesdale. He told me she said not to make a big deal about it and to keep the store open.
I headed for the hospital right after closing time, it was too late. Mrs. Schmidt had already passed away. She had no family that anyone knew of. Some Lake Ariel residents remembered her husband, he had died at least twenty years before. No-one remembered any children.
A lawyer named Wilson showed up at the hospital shortly after some of Mrs. Schmidt’s friends and fellow churchgoers did. He spoke to me privately. He told me Mrs. Schmidt informed him that she was dying and wanted him to make sure her last wishes were carried out. She didn’t want a wake or a funeral, only a simple burial next to her husband. The headstone and plot had been paid for years ago. She left her house and possessions to her church. Then the lawyer shocked me, she left the hardware store and all inventory to me. Why would she have done that? The lawyer didn’t know. He was only following Mrs. Schmidt’s instructions.
The store is doing well. I’ve expanded it so we can almost compete with the Home Depot in Scranton. The cabin has grown to a full-size house. I can sit here and contemplate the comings and goings of the deer and turkeys, life is good. Best of all I’ve met a wonderful woman and we’re about to get married. Thanks, Sweet Jane, thanks Manny, I couldn’t have done it without you.