A Stranger's Pocket
My 2/2014 submission for Writer's Digest My Story competition:
“If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” A gruff voice said.
Startled, I looked up to find a tall old man standing over me. “Excuse me?” I asked in a broken voice.
“Now I know your young ears heard me plain as day, so guess.”
I studied the old man. He was weathered, like he’d been through a war. He had thick white hair and dark, crinkled skin. I must have seen him in the mall before; he looked familiar. He tightened his white bushy eyebrows over his tiny eyes; urging a response from me. “Leave me alone, old man.” I barked, unamused.
“It’d end that ridiculous blubberin’ you’re doin’, but suit yourself.” The old man grumbled and walked away.
The next day, I returned to work as usual. The old man didn’t cross my mind until lunch time when I looked over the rail of the two-story mall and saw him sitting in the same lounge area where I had encountered him yesterday. He was talking to a woman who looked like she had no interest in what he was saying but was trying to be polite and listen anyway. He must have nothing better to do, than bug strangers; I thought to myself.
When my shift ended, I peered over the rail again. He was sitting there having a conversation with someone else, who also appeared uninterested.
I tried to sneak past the lounge area but in my peripheral I saw the old man notice me, hold up one finger to his audience, and rise to his feet.
He approached me and happily said, “If you can guess what’s in my pocket, it’s yours.”
“Look, I’m sorry you’re a lonely old man, but I don’t care. I’m not interested in your stories nor is anyone else.” I said harshly and continued on my way. A twinge of regret came over me. I hesitated looking back at the man, expecting a response. Instead, he glared at me through his bushy white eyebrows and twitched his thick white mustache in distaste of my behavior.
I did not work the following three days. I thought about the old man though, and how I could have been much more pleasant towards him. I could have humored him; he was old and there was no reason for me to be rude after all.
When I returned to work, my usual route took me past the lounge area and I couldn’t help but look for the old man who was not present.
“Welcome to work.” My manager greeted me. “You know you are not allowed to have visitors during work hours. I’m writing you up.” He said as he handed me three envelopes.
“What are you talking about?” I asked angrily.
“I’m aware you’ve been gone three days, but each day a white-haired man came by asking for you.”
“A man?”
“Yes. A friend of yours, or relative, I assumed. One more write-up and you’re fired. Get to work.” He ordered as he closed his office door in my face.
I thumbed through the envelopes. Great. The only white-haired man I knew was a complete stranger. I reached the last envelope, and realized it was much thicker than the others and not from my manager. I opened it and the letter read:
“Son, your attitude wasn’t appreciated. At this point I realize you don’t remember me. We met in a bar two weeks ago. You were drunk and distraught, thus bestowed upon me all your misfortunes. You were quite annoying, but then you asked me to guess what was in your pocket. Amused, I played along. To my sad surprise, you pulled out an eviction notice you’d just received - so I bought you another beer. We talked for hours after that; about life, lovers, beers... I took a liking to you and drove you home.
“Had you guessed what was in my pocket, judging by what I’d learned about you that night, I think you would’ve said ‘keys’. You’d have been right too. I had a key for you which went to a box containing the attached. My kids won’t like this, but I reckon you deserve it more than those selfish people.”
Behind the letter was the man’s Last Will and Testament leaving his home, and all his fortune, to a complete stranger.
“PS:” the letter continued, “There’s one condition; don’t be an angry person like me. See you in the next life, kid.”
“If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” A gruff voice said.
Startled, I looked up to find a tall old man standing over me. “Excuse me?” I asked in a broken voice.
“Now I know your young ears heard me plain as day, so guess.”
I studied the old man. He was weathered, like he’d been through a war. He had thick white hair and dark, crinkled skin. I must have seen him in the mall before; he looked familiar. He tightened his white bushy eyebrows over his tiny eyes; urging a response from me. “Leave me alone, old man.” I barked, unamused.
“It’d end that ridiculous blubberin’ you’re doin’, but suit yourself.” The old man grumbled and walked away.
The next day, I returned to work as usual. The old man didn’t cross my mind until lunch time when I looked over the rail of the two-story mall and saw him sitting in the same lounge area where I had encountered him yesterday. He was talking to a woman who looked like she had no interest in what he was saying but was trying to be polite and listen anyway. He must have nothing better to do, than bug strangers; I thought to myself.
When my shift ended, I peered over the rail again. He was sitting there having a conversation with someone else, who also appeared uninterested.
I tried to sneak past the lounge area but in my peripheral I saw the old man notice me, hold up one finger to his audience, and rise to his feet.
He approached me and happily said, “If you can guess what’s in my pocket, it’s yours.”
“Look, I’m sorry you’re a lonely old man, but I don’t care. I’m not interested in your stories nor is anyone else.” I said harshly and continued on my way. A twinge of regret came over me. I hesitated looking back at the man, expecting a response. Instead, he glared at me through his bushy white eyebrows and twitched his thick white mustache in distaste of my behavior.
I did not work the following three days. I thought about the old man though, and how I could have been much more pleasant towards him. I could have humored him; he was old and there was no reason for me to be rude after all.
When I returned to work, my usual route took me past the lounge area and I couldn’t help but look for the old man who was not present.
“Welcome to work.” My manager greeted me. “You know you are not allowed to have visitors during work hours. I’m writing you up.” He said as he handed me three envelopes.
“What are you talking about?” I asked angrily.
“I’m aware you’ve been gone three days, but each day a white-haired man came by asking for you.”
“A man?”
“Yes. A friend of yours, or relative, I assumed. One more write-up and you’re fired. Get to work.” He ordered as he closed his office door in my face.
I thumbed through the envelopes. Great. The only white-haired man I knew was a complete stranger. I reached the last envelope, and realized it was much thicker than the others and not from my manager. I opened it and the letter read:
“Son, your attitude wasn’t appreciated. At this point I realize you don’t remember me. We met in a bar two weeks ago. You were drunk and distraught, thus bestowed upon me all your misfortunes. You were quite annoying, but then you asked me to guess what was in your pocket. Amused, I played along. To my sad surprise, you pulled out an eviction notice you’d just received - so I bought you another beer. We talked for hours after that; about life, lovers, beers... I took a liking to you and drove you home.
“Had you guessed what was in my pocket, judging by what I’d learned about you that night, I think you would’ve said ‘keys’. You’d have been right too. I had a key for you which went to a box containing the attached. My kids won’t like this, but I reckon you deserve it more than those selfish people.”
Behind the letter was the man’s Last Will and Testament leaving his home, and all his fortune, to a complete stranger.
“PS:” the letter continued, “There’s one condition; don’t be an angry person like me. See you in the next life, kid.”
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