CONFESSIONS

Story 9: TRICKY ON THE COURT

I start to open the van door; stop when I spot a distinguished, grey-haired gentleman walking toward me on the driver's side. Closing the door and at the same time rolling down the window I ask, "Need a ride?"

"Well... yes I do. I'm almost too embarrassed to admit it," responds the gentleman, lowers his glasses. Then he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Embarrassed? Don't be embarrassed around here ... but, just out of curiosity, why are you embarrassed?" I ask. I feel a fondness for the man, like people with exposed weaknesses.

He smiles awkwardly. "I locked my keys in the car; need to get another set from home ... I just don't believe it."

"Ah, don't worry about it. These things happen. Hop in."

The gentleman sees me pick up the log clipboard along with a pen. "I'm going to Riverside Drive, just beyond Ontario," he instructs.

"Exact address...?" I record it and ask, "Your last name?"

"Burns... Grant Burns."

"Is that B.U.R.N.S, or...?

"Yes. B...U...R...N...S..."

I record the name, then carefully back out and turn the van around: people tend to appear out of nowhere around the shop. Then I head east, pass a man walking on the sidewalk who looks like he breaks blood vessels in his eyes whenever he lifts weights.

"What year is this van?" asks Mr. Burns, glances at the dash, turns, looks in the back.

"This year..."

"It rides better than my old Taurus, although I love my car."

"The Taurus is a great car. Big trunk..."

"Yeah, that's true."

"I'm retired, so, except for this job I don't drive much, like, maybe three thousand miles a year. Because of this I own old cars and rent if I travel. My vehicles of choice, if I bought a Ford, would be a van or a Taurus."

"I'm still working but, yeah, it serves my purpose. I guess I should retire- I'm sixty-eight- but I don't have any hobbies, and I enjoy what I do."

"Well, in law you can hang out your shingle until ... whenever."

"The trick is keeping up with things but, yes you can."

"There's nothing wrong with keeping busy. My dad always preached that. Mind you, I do have hobbies. I sail and I play tennis."

"You play tennis? Where? Did you know Lou Torres?"

"Mister Tennis? He was at Windsor Indoor."

"That's right. I used to play there, maybe, twice a month. Don't anymore. But I'm downtown so I go to the 'Y' at lunch." Mr. Burns then starts to name names, most of whom I don't know.

Finally, I interject, "I played at La Salle Racket and Fitness, took students there since I coached. I used to be a teacher."

"Lou was there for a while."

"Yes, he was. He just died, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. Nice guy."

"Yes, he was."

"So, where do you sail?"

"On the river... Have you ever sailed? You live on the river."

"No, I never have. I always felt it took too much time."

"Well, it's like golf. It does take time."

"Are you a golfer?"

"No!"

"Well, that was definite," I say, smile, interject "Where's your place?" I sense we're close and decide I'd better pay attention.

"Right there by the stone wall."

In the distance, just before a curve, I see it. As we get closer, I spot an opening in the wall and a long, curved driveway going off on an angle from the road. The house is partially obscured by the branches of an old oak tree until just before I pull up beside the attached garage. Facing me is a large bay window providing a direct view through the house and out to the waterfront.

"Just be a minute," advises Mr. Burns. He scrambles out of the van, disappears through the unlocked front entrance of his home.

I roll down the van's windows, release my seat belt, and stretch with one arm out the window. Through the bay window I see Mr. Burns wander back and forth, to and fro, finally head back to the van.

"You won't believe this. Both sets of keys are in the car," he quietly explains, climbs back into the van frustrated, but surprisingly composed.

"Hey, don't worry about it. We have professional car door openers at the shop. We'll get those keys."

"So it happens?"

"It happens."

"Base to shuttle... Don't forget those keys for the Lock Doctor," announces the dispatcher.

"I'll be back soon," I reply.

En route to the dealership Mr. Burns asks several times if I knew so-and-so, from such-and-such tennis club, and in all but one case, the last one mentioned, I didn't. But I do know Ray Harvester.

"Yeah, I know Ray. Knew Ray... He was my neighbor for several years. We'd play at the high school courts at the end of the street. I met him several years ago- he was in his mid seventies at the time- and he was still playing tennis."

"Some of those old guys are tricky on the court."

"Are you saying I'm tricky?" I say, smile.

So, now you know I taught school. And I have some revealing stories about former students, and their parents, and principals, and other teachers and... That is unless I see a chipmunk with a blue tail and a red nose climbing up the clothes pole.