Chapter 9 - "Thank You"
Submitted January 13, 2008 Updated April 6, 2010 Status Incomplete | Okay, so, the other day I was thinking (scary, huh?). I have no way to share my short stories other than creating a story thing for each. why not just have one whole 'story' for short stories? so, here we are. Just Because.
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Miscellaneous » Writing |
Chapter 9 - "Thank You"
Chapter 9 - "Thank You"
“Thank You”
“Excuse me?”
I glance over my shoulder. On the sidewalk, behind me, stands a woman in her mid-thirties or so, clutching the leash of a dog.
“Can I help you?” I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…” the woman approaches me, hugs me, and says, “Thank you.” In that moment, my mind blanks. What have I done to be thanked for?
Before I can ask her, she’s gone, walking up the street with her dog. I want to call to her, to ask her why she thanked me. But I don’t. There are people around. I don’t want to call attention to myself.
So I turn and walk away. I walk home to my girlfriend. I tell her about the woman, about the ‘thank you’ I received.
“What did I do to earn that?” I ask her, truly bewildered.
“It’s what you do, scatterbrain,” she laughs, “use that noggin of yours and think.”
“But…I don’t really do anything,” I admit, “I’m a desk jockey. I sit behind a desk and work on the computer. How do I do anything that deserves a ‘thank you’?”
She tilts her head. “You really don’t know?”
I shake mine.
“Every little bit helps, Mike.”
“But…what do I do?”
She smiles, as if in pity. “You’re rather slow tonight.”
“Rache, stop beating around the bush and tell me already!”
“Alright, if you really can’t connect the dots.” She stands and goes to the wall, gazing at one of the photographs, then turns to me. “Do you know what normal people are doing tonight? They’re at the movies, or at home, eating dinner with their families, hanging out with friends, being what they are: humans. What did you do last night? You stayed at work to finish a project; you came home at 9. Other wives would complain; I don’t, because I know what you’re doing is helping people. You’re one of the few brave souls I know that will stick his life on the line for a country. Not even that, but for another in danger. You may not be on the front lines, but like I said: every bit helps. Even desk jockeys like you, Mike. Even the cook in the kitchen. People thank you for what you do, for what you stand for. They don’t thank a grocery store clerk for their job; it’s expected of them to do everything quickly. It’s normal; their life isn’t in danger. But what you do? You could be shipped out to a combat zone without being able to say good-bye. You could be here one day, and gone the next. You do more for this country than you think, Mike. You’re the backbone, the grunt. That’s why people say ‘thank you’, Mike. That’s why that woman gave you a hug.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. “Do I really do all that?”
“Of course you do, Captain.” She grins at me. “And good captains get rewards.”
I smile at her. “Rewards, hm? I think I like that.”
“Yeah,” she walks over and kisses me on the forehead, “So, ‘thank you’, Captain."
“Excuse me?”
I glance over my shoulder. On the sidewalk, behind me, stands a woman in her mid-thirties or so, clutching the leash of a dog.
“Can I help you?” I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…” the woman approaches me, hugs me, and says, “Thank you.” In that moment, my mind blanks. What have I done to be thanked for?
Before I can ask her, she’s gone, walking up the street with her dog. I want to call to her, to ask her why she thanked me. But I don’t. There are people around. I don’t want to call attention to myself.
So I turn and walk away. I walk home to my girlfriend. I tell her about the woman, about the ‘thank you’ I received.
“What did I do to earn that?” I ask her, truly bewildered.
“It’s what you do, scatterbrain,” she laughs, “use that noggin of yours and think.”
“But…I don’t really do anything,” I admit, “I’m a desk jockey. I sit behind a desk and work on the computer. How do I do anything that deserves a ‘thank you’?”
She tilts her head. “You really don’t know?”
I shake mine.
“Every little bit helps, Mike.”
“But…what do I do?”
She smiles, as if in pity. “You’re rather slow tonight.”
“Rache, stop beating around the bush and tell me already!”
“Alright, if you really can’t connect the dots.” She stands and goes to the wall, gazing at one of the photographs, then turns to me. “Do you know what normal people are doing tonight? They’re at the movies, or at home, eating dinner with their families, hanging out with friends, being what they are: humans. What did you do last night? You stayed at work to finish a project; you came home at 9. Other wives would complain; I don’t, because I know what you’re doing is helping people. You’re one of the few brave souls I know that will stick his life on the line for a country. Not even that, but for another in danger. You may not be on the front lines, but like I said: every bit helps. Even desk jockeys like you, Mike. Even the cook in the kitchen. People thank you for what you do, for what you stand for. They don’t thank a grocery store clerk for their job; it’s expected of them to do everything quickly. It’s normal; their life isn’t in danger. But what you do? You could be shipped out to a combat zone without being able to say good-bye. You could be here one day, and gone the next. You do more for this country than you think, Mike. You’re the backbone, the grunt. That’s why people say ‘thank you’, Mike. That’s why that woman gave you a hug.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. “Do I really do all that?”
“Of course you do, Captain.” She grins at me. “And good captains get rewards.”
I smile at her. “Rewards, hm? I think I like that.”
“Yeah,” she walks over and kisses me on the forehead, “So, ‘thank you’, Captain."
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