James Collins worked like a human pocket-watch. He was dependable and sturdy yet somewhat impractical for his day. He also seemed to be chained to one job for most of his life. As he wobbled from the end of the laminating machine where he stacked cardboard day after day, he had a bit of spring to his tired step. This meant it was Friday, and he could prop his feet up at home and enjoy conversation with his wife as long as it lasted. He also knew he was only 24 hours away from eating the fish he would catch during the day on Saturday.
“James”, a voice beckoned before his timeclock punch. “I need to see you for a second, if you don’t mind.”
Jerry Grainger had been the plant manager for about 15 years, 20 less than James had been employed by Dover Paper. The difference was Jerry looked no different for the years. His look stayed the same; same glasses, hairstyle, and blue oxford short-sleeved shirt. The furrows in his brow grew more noticeable, but beyond that, he was simply Jerry.
“Have a seat, James.” He pulled the chair out at his desk.
James sat down and saw a folder with his name on it in front of Jerry. He had heard rumor that the raises promised every year had finally come in. He wasn’t nearly as happy at the prospect as his wife would be.
“James, you have been a go-to guy for a long time for this company. Greg wanted you to know, from the top down, your hard work has not been missed. You helped us through some lean times, and we appreciate everything you’ve done.” He opened the folder. Inside the envelope was a set of keys and a hand-drawn map. ” This here is my brother’s summer house, lots of great fishing there. I know you like to fish.”
James smiled and nodded.
“James, you go up there and enjoy yourself for a week. This will help you clear your head. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have to let you go from the factory.” Jerry looked down, fiddling with the folder. “I just don’t know what to say James.”
James acted briefly as if it were no more a surprise than having to work overtime. He lifted from his chair, took the keys and map, raised his hand in a goodbye gesture, and walked out. He didn’t even punch out.
“James!” Jerry pleaded with no response. James still had the wrinkled smile on his face as he yelled out toward the laminator “See ya boys.” They were clueless and waved, one shouting “See ya, Jimbo.”
James got in his old blue truck, like him, not pretty to look at but as dependable as they come. As he dusted his way down the drive and out the gate, he had many thoughts, but only one recurring one. Melinda was at home and hoped every Friday for good news. The past Friday the company had to delay pay, and he was still living on fumes. Whenever Melinda got upset, James would remind her how good the plant had been to them both.
He sailed through these thoughts, not minding the bumps and potholes. In the end of his circling swirl of thoughts, there was but one. “I am washed up and useless to everyone.” He was tired and this had taken his wind. If you have ever been punched in the diaphragm, you know the feeling. A sinking desperation with not a clouded silver-lining anywhere. One thing was certain, James had seemed to plan for this day. Every time he crossed the toll bridge, he smiled as he passed the spot where he thought “If anyone were to jump from that there spot with a view of the mighty river, well, I suppose I couldn’t blame him for picking that spot.”
James had two routines for more years than he could remember. Stopping at the Hardees on Friday for a cup of coffee to wake his mind for good conversation when he got home, and the fumbling for the toll money for the booth directly after Hardees. Initially, he thought, he really didn’t need to stop for coffee this time. Who needed it before diving into a beautiful river?
James started wrestling with competing thoughts. He figured if he could just muster the courage to make it home, then he could rest and maybe even find enough hope for another day. He realized that would require a cup of coffee to quicken his mind and give him a boost of caffeinated courage. In fact, he would settle for the small coffee this time. But he needed the money to do that. He had 55 cents in his pocket, and the toll was 25 cents.
The small coffee he figured was about 85 cents. He fumbled his way through the crease in the truck seat and managed to muster up a gritty and grimy dime. As he pulled up to the drive-thru window, he was stretching deep into the dusty floorboard of the truck, grinding his knuckles against the tiny rocks that always seem to appear out of nowhere.
“May I help you?” As soon as the last word was uttered from the speaker a sinking feeling poured over him. But as he fingers slid around the seat bolts, he felt the most amazing thing. A quarter! He rubbed it between his fingers. This quarter was the most important quarter he had ever found.
“I would like the 85 cent coffee please.” James smiled at his newfound gift from above, even glancing up for a second to give a little smile and nod to the sky.
He pulled to the window. “That will be 89 cents please” the young cashier requested. James had forgotten about the tax. Then he got the cold steel look of determination again. “I have 85 cents.”
“I’m sorry sir, I need 89 cents, or this comes out of my pocket.” No doubt, a new employee.
Then James smiled the way only a man who had just relinquished something can. “Well, at least I have enough for the toll.” James glanced to his right and could see the place in the bridge he had planned for his departure and then lifted his foot from the brake pedal.
As he rounded the drive-thru corner, someone stepped out and startled him to a stop. The manager, a kind man who had worked the window for many years was attempting to stop him.
As James rolled down his window, the man outside held up a large coffee. “This one is on me buddy! You have been coming through here as long as I can remember. I apologize for your treatment at the window.”
“This means more than you know…” James’s lower lip trembled slightly. “God bless you, God bless you.”
“My pleasure James, my pleasure.” The man had seen his name sewn into his shirt many times.
James pulled out past the Help Wanted sign he couldn’t help but notice, with a newfound desire to talk to his wife about the miracle of little things and small gestures.