Life is Good
I grieved for a couple of weeks before I was able to force myself to get up off of my ass and get out of the house. I caught the bus up to the diner. Frankie and everyone were thrilled to see me. They offered their late condolences and asked me what I was going to do now? “Is my job still open? I asked, I want to come back to work.”
“Absolutely, Frankie yelled. Abso-freaking-lutely!” I laughed at Frankie. I can’t remember the last time I laughed and it felt great. “When do you want to start?” Frankie asked. I told him I’d let him know; I still had a few loose ends to wrap up at home.
Another week or so passed by when I decided it was time to get rid of Dean’s things. I called the used car lot and asked them if they wanted the taxi. They said no. I asked them how to get rid of it. They explained that I would need to transfer the title into my name. “Bring in your husband’s death certificate and we’ll file the paperwork,” they said. My husband? I started to explain but then I thought it might be better not to bother. I remembered the coroner telling me something about sending for a death certificate. I had the paperwork from the funeral in a box in the closet. I opened the box and found the coroner’s report and the funeral guest book. I opened the guest book first and was surprised to see six entries. I remembered Jean and I signed it and wasn’t surprised to see Kob’s, Linnie’s, and Merrit’s signatures. But I was completely caught off guard and surprised as hell to see this one:
RIP my Brother
Capt. Saylor “Popeye” Mann (ret.)
I just had to smile. Nobody was allowed to call him that.
Next, I read the coroner’s report:
Deceased name: James J. Dean
Date of birth: 1/26/1951
Date of Death: 3/14/2019
Time of death: 7:11 a.m.
Cause of Death: natural recurrence
J.J. huh? I wished I would have known about that middle initial. I like that. I dragged Dean’s seabag out of the closet. I assumed he had some clothes inside that I should dispose of. I unbuckled the strap and unfolded the top of the canvas bag. There were a few neatly rolled up tee shirts and a few pair of socks also rolled up, sitting on top of a pair of folded jeans. I took them out of the bag and found some paperwork that looked like a lot of official records and communications from the Navy and the VA. Underneath that was a sealed envelope sitting on top of a folded white towel. I wondered if I should open it. I didn’t know what to do with it, but thought to myself. “Go ahead, just do it. Nobody else is gonna.” I removed a single sheet of folded paper from the envelope and read it:
Dear Beatrice, I’ve completed my missions in life now. I want you to have what is at the bottom of my seabag. Dean.
I looked up and shouted, “Damn it Dean, you’re making me cry again!“ I looked underneath the white towel and had to sit down. CASH! A big bag full of cash! $20s – $50s – $100s. I nearly fainted. There must have been $10,000 maybe $100,000 maybe a million dollars or more. I never saw so much cash in my life. I quickly tossed the towel and clothes back into the seabag, closed the flaps, buckled the strap, pushed it back into the closet, and locked the closet door. I ran to the phone. “Jean! I’m rich! I’m rich!”
“Beatrice! What are you drinking?” My life didn’t change too drastically after that other than selling the mobile home and buying a real house closer to Jean. I enrolled in a driving school and learned how to drive. I passed the driving part easily; However, it took three tries before I passed the written test. There were just way too many stupid rules and regulations. I mean all you really have to know is that the right pedal makes the car go and the left pedal makes it stop. And red, yellow, green, duh! After I got my driver’s license, I had the taxi transferred into my name. I had the Taxi company logo removed from the door and replaced it with a new one: A red white and blue peace sign with these words below it: “711 Express.”
I didn’t have to, but I went back to work at the diner anyhow. I wanted and needed the socialization. Sitting home alone watching my stories was not a healthy lifestyle.
As the years rolled by, Jean enjoyed a relatively healthy and active life (knock on wood). She loved her quilting. She hand-made beautiful quilts for everyone in her family. Each quilt had a different theme customized to each individual recipient. She said that she wanted everyone to have something to remember her by. She had a group of friends that got together frequently. She called them her “card club.” I’ve never been to one of their get-togethers so I can’t vouch if they really play cards or what they do. Jean especially loved her summer vacations. She always invited me to join in on their family reunions at Lake Erie’s Presque Isle campground every year. She and Allen had a nice camper to sleep in. Her three daughters and seven grandchildren slept in tents. I slept in the taxi. Some of the best times of my life were sitting around a campfire with the family. But I have to say, “You gotta have a lot of Captain and Coke to enjoy sticky gooey fire-burnt marshmallows! Yuk!
At our last campfire of the week, I raised my cup and said, “Let’s have a toast.” The family all raised their cups as I said “To Jean, thank you for sharing your life and sharing your family with me. You are an inspiration and you are my hero!” Everyone cheered and drank up.
Jean stood and replied, “I believe the correct word is “Heroine…””
Everyone laughed as I replied, “Whatever…!”
The end.
Author’s note: Jean’s incredible story is true. She is my real sister and my real hero. Beatrice and Dean are fictional characters and their roles in the story are completely fictional as well.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave comments below. Or email me directly: rucksackgrunt @ gmail dot com.
I look forward to hearing from you with your critiques, thoughts, and opinions about the book. They will be helpful to me as I decide whether to publish it or not.
May God’s grace be with you.
Robert “Bob” Kuhn
RUCKSACK GRUNT - A Vietnam Veteran's Memoir 