The Little Old Man
Once upon a time there was a little old man. He was mean. When he was young, other kids picked on him because he was little. This is what made him mean. Living alone his adult life didn't make him any happier either. His house was at the end of a dead-end street. Not at one of the sides, but at the end like a cul-de-sac without a circle court. The neighborhood kids said he was a crazy man living in a haunted house. He wasn't crazy, he was just alone.
One day, while he was outside pulling weeds in his flower garden, he sensed movement behind him. He didn't turn around right away just in case it was his imagination. That's what noises usually were around his place. People never visited him so why would this noise be any different? He went about pulling weeds. He was clearing weeds in the spiderwart when he heard the noise again. That was it. He couldn't ignore it again. It sounded too much like scuffling feet to not look. When he did look, he saw a young boy about seven or eight years old standing there watching him. The boy had blonde and was not wearing any shoes. His t-shirt was white with a picture of some cartoon character on it. The shorts had many pockets and from the looks of them, they were full of stuff he picked up on a walk. "What do you want?" the old man asked gruffly.
"Are you the crazy man who lives here?" the boy asked.
"I live here. What do you want?"
"I'm taller than you. My dad's taller than me. Why are you short?"
"I stopped growing when I was about your age."
"Why?"
"I asked too many questions and that made my brain work too much so it made me stop growing."
"You mean it took the growing energy from your body and kept it in your brain so you could learn?"
"Yes. That's it. Now why are you here?"
"I wanted to see if you were real. All the kids talk about you but they've never seen you. Now I can go home and tell them you are real and as short as they say."
"Well you could tell them I am and that I'm scarier than you thought."
"I couldn't lie to them. That's bad. Dad says liers go to the hot place. You know...down below." the last two words were whispered.
"You mean you don't tell lies?"
"Nope."
"Not even little white lies?"
"Nope."
"I don't think I've ever heard of a boy your age not lieing."
"I didn't say I never did. When I was little, I broke my mom's favorite vase. I was running through the house like an airplane." The old man's face winced up. "You know, like this." The boy stuck both arms straight out to his sides an ran in circles. "Vvvvvvvvvvv!" was the sound he was making.
"Watch out for my flowers!" the old man yelled. Too late. The spiderwarts were trampelled. The boy stopped and looked at his feet. He was standing in the middle of the flowers.
"Gee, I'm sorry sir." he said as he stepped out of them. "Can I help you stand them back up?"
"No! You've done enough damage. Now go home."
"But I haven't finished my story yet. Mom asked me about the vase. I told her the cat, Mr. Paws, must have done it. I didn't know anything about it. Well, she knew I was lieing because I forgot Mr. Paws was at the vet that day getting a haircut. Later Dad told me that people who lie got the the hot place. I don't lie because I don't want to go there. Dad says it's a bad place. They don't even let you play cards or checkers or tag."
"That doesn't sound fun at all."
"I know. That's why I don't want to go there. I better go home now. The sun is farther down in the west. It's time to eat supper." he turned to go. "See you tomorrow!" the boy yelled over his shoulder and was gone.
The little old man stood there with weeds still in his hands. "What was that?" he said out loud to anyone who could here. He looked to the west, "The boy's right. I'd better eat too."
That night, he couldn't keep his mind on his book. He was reading his favorite "Journey to the Center of the Earth" for the umpteenth time. Nothing has ever distracted him from his book as that little boy did. Will he really be back tomorrow? He hoped so. He may be an annoying little kid, but he talked to him. People just usually stare or go the other way. "Well I might as well go to bed. I'm not getting any reading done." At that he got up, blew out his reading candle and went to bed.
He woke up late the next day. First time in fifty years he was able to sleep that long. He also hadn't felt so refreshed either.
After eating a hardy brunch, he went outside to work in the garden. Today he kept his ears open for any sound of the boy. He heard it about the same time as the day before. This time he turned around right away. There he was; wearing the same shorts, boys do that, but a different shirt with another cartoon character on it. "What are those flowers there?" he pointed to the bed the man was standing in.
"Those are my iris. Here, smell." he put one to the boy's nose. "Aren't those pretty?"
"Yes, and they smell good, too."
"Well, did you tell your friends that I was real?"
"Yes I did, and nice too." The man looked stunned. "What's the matter?" the boy asked. "Did a bee sting you? Put some mud on it. Mom says that will pull the stinger out. She did that last year on my back." He was looking around for some mud. "I sat down at our picnic table backwards and I leaned back and a bee stung me. Mom put mud on my back and I felt better real soon. Here's some." he found the end of the hose. Water was trickling out of it. He scooped up a handful of mud and stuck it out to the man.
"A bee didn't get me. I'm alright. Would you like to help me pull some weeds?"
"Sure! Which ones are the weeds?" he said kneeling in the dirt.
"You see the leaves of these iris? Pull anything that doesn't look like that."
"OK."
The entire garden was weeded about a half-hour later. "Thanks for the help boy. It would've taken me all day tomorrow to finish that."
"You're welcome. I better go home now. Time to eat. I'll see you tomorrow." and he was gone.
The next couple of days, the boy was there the same time everyday except Sunday. On Monday, the old man asked the boy where he was the day before.
"I was at Church."
"Why were you at Church?"
"To learn about God. Don't you go to Church?"
"Not for a very long time."
"I thought everybody went to Church. You should go, it's fun! You get cookies and juice with your bible story. It's pretty neat."
"Well, maybe sometime. You better go home now. I'll see you tomorrow."
"OK. Bye!"
The next day, the boy did not show up. When the time came for him to be there and he wasn't, the old man sat in his rocker on the front porch. That night he couldn't keep his mind on his book again. Where was the boy? Is he alright? Did he get into trouble somehow? These and other questions kept him up late into the night.
He woke up early and not very well rested. It was raining so he wouldn't work in the garden. He sat on the porch hoping the boy would show up. He did. The old man was so happy he felt like dancing a jig.
"Hi there!" said the boy. He was dripping wet.
"Come up here before you catch a death of cold." The boy sat on the porch floor. "Where were you yesterday?"
"Had to go to Church."
"Why? It wasn't Sunday."
"My grandma died."
"I'm sorry. It's hard when someone close to you dies."
"That's ok. Mom said she's in heaven now and that's the good place. She said I'll get to see Grandma again someday. I'll tell her you said hi."
"You do that. Maybe you'd better go home now. It looks like the rain is turning into a storm."
"Will the flowers be alright?"
"Oh ya. They like rain."
"Bye. See you tomorrow."
A couple days went past as normal. When the old man woke up Sunday morning, he decided to go to Church. He got cleaned up, even shaved, put on his best clothes and slowly walked the three blocks to the local Church.
He arrived late, the way he planned, and sat in the very last row. When the service was over, he tried to get out quickly but the congregation was faster than him. He sat back down to wait for a break in the crowd. Soon he heard: "Hey Mom, look. it's the little old man!"
"Honey that's not nice to say."
"But there he is!" and the boy squeezed through the people. "Hi," he said to the man. "Did you like the cookies and juice? The cookies are small and dry but the grape juice washes them right down."
"I didn't have any this week. Maybe next week."
"Mom, here he is. I told you he'd be here sometime."
"Pleased to meet you, sir. My husband and I have heard so much about you."
"Thank you and the same back at ya."
"Won't you come over for dinner? We're having ham and beans."
"Oh no. I couldn't. Maybe some other time."
"OK. Come on you guys, we better go."
"Bye mister!" the boy yelled over his shoulder.
The next few weeks went as normal with Church on Sunday and dinner at the boy's house.
One day, when the boy got home from school, his mom and dad were sitting on the front porch. "Honey," his mom said. "We have some bad news for you. I'm sorry honey, but the little old man died last night. He fell asleep and never woke up."
"Son," his dad said squatting in front of him. "We know it's hard when a close friend dies. It's ok to cry when you feel sad."
"It's ok dad. I don't feel sad. He's in heaven now and I'll see him again someday." he started to go inside. Over hi shoulder he said, "I'll introduce him to Grandma!" and he was running up the stairs to his bedroom.
The End
© Streettales September 15 1999