Dreams of the Sleepless

The Old Man

Across the street was the diner. Hunger was gnawing away inside, but I thought better of the idea and walked past, headed home. Maybe I would come back later in the day after some time had passed and things had settled down.

As I walked past the old man's house, he was leaning on the gate. He stuck out his withered hand and said, "The name's Eli."

I stopped and stared at his outstretched hand for an instant, not sure what to do. I wasn't interested in who he was and certainly didn't want to be neighborly. Feeling stuck, I took his hand and said flatly, "Glad to meet you." I lied.

After an awkward pause, he continued, "And yours?"

This is what I wanted to avoid. After another awkward pause, I groped for a response. "John," I said, lying for the second time.  I felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but he continued to grip my hand tightly and studied me closely.

"You got a last name, John?"

Again, I struggled for an answer. "Smith . . . John Smith." Might as well make it a clean sweep. I lied for the third time. It was a stupid lie and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back. Eli just flashed that wry smile that I had seen earlier.

"Good to meet you . . . John Smith."

At that point, I tried to free myself by saying I needed to be going, but he gripped my hand firmly.

"I've got a business proposition for you," he started out. "I've got some work that needs to be done." He motioned with his free hand toward the house. "And you need money—"

"What makes you think I need money?"

Again, he flashed that wry smile. "Well, let's see. For starters, a person who has money doesn't count what he has before ordering a cup of coffee. Then there's your recent visit to Willard's across the street. You didn't go in to buy anything because you came out empty handed. I'd say judging from the white band on your tanned wrist where your watch used to be, you went in to pawn your watch. But you didn't get what you had hoped for. People never do." He paused to watch my reaction. "That's how I know that you need money."

I was angry. I hated people trying to analyze me, professional therapists or prying neighbors. I hated that he was right. I almost walked off. Almost told him where he could put his theories, but he was spot on. And for some reason I liked the old man. Maybe it was because he got some sick satisfaction from what had happened in the diner. Whether it was because I was desperate for cash or because he intrigued me, I stayed.

"Well, Eli, I guess you've got me all figured out. So, what do you have in mind?"

A wide smile came across his face. He released my hand and turned and waved at the house again. "I haven't been fit for maintaining this place for years. You can see it needs painting and some repair." He turned back to me. "I'll pay you five dollars an hour to paint the house and replace the missing shutters." He paused, maybe because he saw the disgust on my face.

"Five dollars an hour? That's not even minimum wage." I laughed. "There's a ton of loose paint to be scraped and primed. Then there's the painting, much of it up on a ladder. You're joking, right?"

He just kept on smiling. "Nope, I'm serious."

I just stood, shaking my head. I looked at the house and then glanced down the road toward my little dirt lane.

When he sensed that I was wavering, he spoke again. "You're approaching this all wrong. You see the glass half-empty. I, on the other hand, see the glass half-full. You need money. I need work done. We both get what we need. You get a job making five dollars an hour, which is probably the only job you'll find around here. See, the glass is half-full."