be!”
It was a Saturday morning; about eight or so. Wooster slurped another bit of coffee, and watched as Paul Compton’s garage door swung up. Paul had one of those electric garage door openers. Used to be when a garage door swung up, there was someone there to greet ‘cause they swung it up by hand. Now it just opened, and maybe someone was there, maybe not. Paul was there. He spied Wooster sitting on the porch and smiled at him, accompanied by a small wave. Wooster smiled back, and held his cup up. Paul nodded and set his tools down. He walked back into the garage and disappeared for a moment. He returned holding a cup. He strolled down his drive, looked both ways, and crossed to Wooster’s white picket gate. “Morning Wooster.”
“Well good morning to you Paul. Have a cup?”
Paul opened the gate saying, “You know I will.” He hefted the cup he had retrieved from his kitchen. It was a gift from Wooster a few Christmases back. Paul said it felt good in his hand and he’d use it when they had coffee. He really did that every time too!
Paul was about forty or so, Wooster thought. He was a nice young man—had a good wife, Loreen, and good kids too. The kids didn’t spend much time with Wooster. Most kids had too much energy to spend time with Wooster. He didn’t mind. They tired him out just as much as he thought he must bore them! The Comptons had gotten to know Wooster the day they moved in. It was a Saturday, and Wooster had been on the porch watching, as usual, when the moving truck arrived. Their little one, at the time, had wandered over and sat down on Wooster’s porch while the adults were busy moving in. Wooster had chatted for a good fifteen minutes with the boy before his mom and dad had noticed he had disappeared. They came a runnin’ when they saw him. It gave them all a chance to meet, and they’d been friends ever since. The Comptons had Wooster over for dinner every couple weeks since. They were a nice family. Wooster knew he was an old man, and they were young and had lives. He appreciated their generosity.
Paul came out from the kitchen where he had gotten some coffee for his cup. He pulled the other rocker up a little and plunked down, groaning a little as he did. Wooster looked over at him and said, “So what’s on the agenda today? Looks like you were planning some work.”
Paul slurped some coffee, then said, “Yeah, that little fir there on the corner of the lot,” he pointed by swinging his cup gently at the tree, “I’m taking her out. Loreen doesn’t like it.” He didn’t take the tone that said, “I wish Loreen would let it be.” Wooster had heard men moan and groan about their wives’ yard wishes before. Paul didn’t do that. His wife ran a nursery. She knew plants and landscaping, and Paul knew that she had some plan. He often said she was the brains of the operation and he was the brawn. Wooster knew that Paul had brains too, but just used them in other areas.
“I saw you up late last night” said Paul.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep. You must have been up late too to notice, eh?” replied Wooster. Wooster couldn’t sleep too well anymore. His doctor had said when you get older you sleep less. “Great,” thought Wooster. “I’ve slept crummy all my life. Now I get to sleep even crummier!”
Paul shrugged, “Naw, I just woke up a little hungry, so I came down for a snack. I saw your light on. Nothing wrong?”
Wooster shook his head, sipped some coffee, then said, “Naw. Nothing special. So how you taking that tree out?”
“I thought I’d first take the branches off, then cut her down to about three feet, then dig the stump out.”
Wooster nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah. I better get on it too. I want to catch the game at one. You watching?”
Wooster and Paul sometimes watched baseball on Saturday afternoons. Wooster shook his head, “I think I’ll pass today if you don’t mind. I’m pretty sure I’ll need a nap and I don’t want to nod off on you.” Of course, it would not have been the first time he’d nodded off on Paul. But that was not intentional. He was pretty sure he would need a good hour or so of sleep this afternoon.
Paul nodded and said, “Ok, but if you decide different, just let me know. I’ll bring the chips.” He grinned at Wooster and drained the last of his coffee. “Ok, I’m on it!” And with that he stood and headed back across the street. Loreen came out into the garage as he crossed to their driveway. She smiled at him, then waved to Wooster and yelled, “Hey Wooster! Good morning!” Wooster raised his cup to her and grinned. She was a nice gal.
It was about 8:45 by the time Paul had assembled his tools. The tree wasn’t big, so he was gonna use a bow saw to cut the limbs off and to cut the trunk down to about three feet. Course, size would make no difference to his tool selection. He didn’t have much at the house anyway. He began and was about half way through the limbs when Wooster heard Ronnie Waldron coming up the side of the house. Ronnie lived next door. He would come out his back door and crawl under the hedge to get to Wooster’s. They often sat in the back and drank lemonade together.
Ronnie was a nice kid, and he was Wooster’s speed too. Ronnie was retarded. He had other friends, but most kids (not intending to be mean or anything) just were in a different league than Ronnie. Ronnie was unable to keep up. He didn’t speak well. He was uncoordinated. He was slow to think and act. It was like a station wagon at the Indy 500. The cars were all good, but the wagon just didn’t fit in well.
Ronnie rounded the corner and flashed a huge smile at Wooster. “Hi Mr. McDowel!” he shouted enthusiastically. He was enthusiastic every time he saw Wooster; like he found a long lost friend anew each day.
Wooster grinned at him and said, “Hey Ronnie! Sit yourself down!” The two fit well at this point in life for one reason. Wooster was a quiet man, and sat a lot on his porch. Ronnie was a quiet kid, who didn’t mind sitting on the porch. They were perfect company. “Have a cup?” Wooster prodded with a grin. It was a ritual. Wooster would ask Ronnie if he’d like some coffee, and Ronnie would say, “No. Mom says I can’t have coffee.”
With a grin to match Wooster’s, Ronnie answered, “No, Mom says I can’t have coffee ‘cause I’m too little.” His eyes sparkled, for he knew Wooster was just teasing him.
Wooster nodded and said, “Well, moms know best.”
Ronnie came onto the porch and sat down in the rocker left vacant by Paul. He settled back into it, and this left his feet not quite touching the ground. But if he stretched real hard, and pointed his toes, he could make the rocker rock. And he liked that. So the two sat side by side listening to the soft squeak of Ronnie’s rocker.
After a bit, Wooster said, “I think I’ll get another cup. Would you like some milk, Ronnie?”
Ronnie nodded his head and continued to rock. Wooster ambled past him, got in the door and got back with a cup of coffee and a small glass of milk. He hardly spilled any as the screen bumped him! He handed Ronnie the glass and said, “Now careful not to spill.” Ronnie almost always spilled, but Wooster treated him as any other kid. He got the “don’t spill” command just like Wooster’s kids had when they were little. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t spill, it just meant, “I love you and don’t want you to spill.” After all, they were on the porch and heaven knows Wooster had spilled enough milk and coffee out here to fill a bathtub!
When Wooster was seated, and Ronnie had the first coat of milk mustache on his face, Wooster pointed over at Paul and said, “I’m watching Mr. Compton pull that tree out. Mrs. Compton says it doesn’t fit there.”
That was one thing that tipped you off about Ronnie and his retardation. He didn’t respond
