Story: Freedom

“Sandra, come here. Look at that!”

Nonie’s granddaughter came over to peek out the lace curtains. She searched the alleyway below. Some garbage cans, a tabby cat. Nothing unusual.

“I don’t see anything Nonie. Want me to fix you something to eat?” Sandy’s job was to look after her grandma every day after school. Sandy’s mom said everyone has to pitch in and help.

“No, you’re not looking. Look! Right there. He’s right next to Merna’s garbage. He won’t find anything there. She’s a vegetarian.”

Sandy was getting used to these “episodes” as her mother called them. This was especially embarrassing last Saturday. Nonie wouldn’t cross the street. She stood on her sturdy legs, crossed her arms over her enormous bust and slowly moved her head from side to side like a 4-year-old.

Worst part was the smirks and laughs as people passed them. Sandy thought of pretending not to know Nonie.

“Nonie, do you hear that? Someone’s calling you.” This is how Sandy got her grandma to move in public. The weird thing is Nonie would hear someone calling her.

“Ok. Yeah. I see him.”

“Sandra!” Nonie sighed and tugged on the black cord that kept her glasses around her neck where she could find them.

“Do you think it’s ok to lie to me because I’m senile?”

Sandy was shocked. This was exactly what she thought. This time she looked for the man.

“Nonie, I would never lie to you. He’s right where you said he was. He’s wearing bluish pants and a brown jacket.”

“I think he’s intelligent. Don’t you think he’s intelligent?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even tell what he looks like.” Sandy was usually patient. She could be more patient when she was doing something like making Nonie’s sofa bed, watering the spindly plant on the formica counter or warming up leftovers her mom sent from home.

“Look at all his stuff.”

The man looked like he was growing out of his jacket. His large-boned wrists were visible as he concentrated on sorting what was in the shopping cart.

He placed everything neatly into the duffle bag and drew the string tight. He always sorted his stuff behind cheap apartment buildings. That way, even if anyone noticed him, they woudn’t care.

He would leave the cart where it was. He could always find a shopping cart, food in back of restaurants and objects to sell from what people threw away as trash. He stretched to loosen the tension in his shoulders and that’s when he saw them.

The old woman was moving arthritic fingers as if she were waving to him and the young girl’s face was a dim oval behind the lace curtain. The man hefted the duffle bag over his shoulder, walked down the alley, turned left and disappeared.

It was almost dusk. Very soon the man would quietly and carefully find his way back to his private spot, past the line of cypress trees, behind the sign that warned against trespassing.