A Voice for His Heart

The past two weeks were a blur. There was too much to do as Jenna struggled to figure it out. She paid another month’s rent so there was time to clean out the apartment her older, reclusive, and abrasive brother inhabited for nearly a decade. Finding him slumped in his chair, the television still blasting, his tv tray waiting patiently for her to arrive with his lunch, a lunch he would not get to enjoy. It had been Jenna’s routine since she could remember to bring a hot lunch to her brother every Sunday. She did his grocery shopping every Saturday. She cleaned his kitchen when it simply became unbearable to her, all the while listening docilely as he ranted and raved about the world going to Hell.

Roger never married, had no other family, and lived a meager existence. Jenna often subsidized his groceries, never letting him know she had spent more than the $50 he gave her each week for the task. He returned from Vietnam unable or unwilling to cultivate relationships. The overstuffed studio apartment, bulging with collectibles he scavenged from the dumpsters and off the street, things no one else desired, reflected his own cluttered mind and untidy disposition.

Jenna learned early in life that allowing Roger his opinion rather than attempting reason was the only pathway to peace. His anger could be unmanageable leaving her with the choice to sit quietly and wait it out or leave. Often, she let him bluster while she quietly cleaned his kitchen or unpacked his groceries. But she stood by him because he was her brother and because he needed her. He never showed her affection or that he appreciated all she did. He was oblivious to the time she took away from her own family to care for him or the special effort she took to find him gifts and meals he would enjoy.

The memorial service was small attended by Jenna, her husband George, her daughter Mariah, and the old soldiers from the local American Legion Post of which Roger was a member. They may not have found his company pleasurable in life, but a sense of duty required they send him off after death.

Planning the funeral had been difficult for Jenna. She had no experience with such things and worried how she would pay for a funeral. Going through the small desk drawer where Roger kept his “important” documents, she discovered a small life insurance policy, only $5,000 but enough for all his last bills. With help from the American Legion Post, she navigated a military funeral. As a veteran the government would provide a military service and Roger would be interred at the local veteran’s cemetery relieving her of any financial burden.

Jenna was just starting to collect her wits after discovering the process of dying was a complicated one. The death certificate to file with Social Security, one to file for the life insurance, and one for her own records. Flowers for the memorial, the obituary, paying final bills, and now cleaning out the apartment. Once again Roger had left it all for her to do without even a thank you.

She was overwhelmed by the massive amount of stuff crammed into the apartment. She sorted through it daily, opening envelopes, boxes, and bags. Much of it was trash and went back into the dumpster Roger had pulled it from. She was conflicted going through old photos of Roger and his platoon. Memories that he either cherished or that haunted him, she wasn’t sure which, but he held on to them all these years. She donated his clothes to the Salvation Army, folding each item with care. They were coming for his furniture at the end of the week, everything but the mattress which was stained. She would have to pay to have that hauled away. She packed boxes from the pantry, the stuff that wasn’t too far out of date, to donate to the local food pantry. The many cans of Spam and chili that Roger considered staples. She packed his pots and pans, dishes, and flatware. At last, the kitchen was cleaned out, and the living room mostly packed up.

That still left the bedroom. She needed to move faster if she were going to get the place cleaned out before the end of the month. As she contemplated the narrow linen closet, she noticed a metal box underneath the towels at the very back. It was a lock box. Pulling it from the shelf she wondered what it could possibly contain that motivated Roger to hide it in the closet. Most of his “treasures” were displayed openly throughout the apartment attesting to the fact that no one else would want them.

She pushed the latch, but it was locked. Then she remembered seeing several keys in a glass pedestal bowl sitting on the coffee table. She was keeping the bowl. It was a beautiful glossy black glass in a diamond point pattern with a matching lid, one of the rare objects she did find appealing. She would keep it for sentiment if nothing else. It would serve as a memorial to Roger.

Jenna poured the keys onto the table, sorting through them. She selected one that looked as if it might fit the box. It did. Placing the key in the lock and turning the latch, the box popped open.

A little black book, exactly right for keeping notes lay on top of several envelopes. Each envelope had her name written in Roger’s shaky hand. She opened the little book and began to read. It was a record book. Each page containing the date and the deed that Jenna had performed for Roger.

August 1, 1995 – Lunch, fried chicken with potatoes and gravy, corn, a roll, and a piece of apple pie. $15 My little sister is a really good cook. George is so lucky to have her. She is rare in this world.

August 7, 1995 – Grocery shopping – 4 bags – Jenna lied, she said it was $35 but there is at least $50 in food. $50 She is too nice. I don’t know why. I never say anything nice to her. But she is a good sister.

August 8, 1995 – Lunch, Hamburger with French fries, a soda, and Cherry pie from fast food restaurant. It’s special when she gets me something. I know she didn’t have time to cook but she still thought of me. $20

And so, it went, a record of all the times she had brought him food, done his shopping, or cleaned. The special days like Christmas and his birthday when she brought gifts or special dinners. All the things she had done because she felt it was the right thing to do. All the things she thought he didn’t appreciate, that he took for granted. Here they were written down, a decade long record of what and how much he appreciated her and what it was worth. A monetary accounting but more, a pouring out of a heart that never learned to speak. It was his own strange way of showing he did appreciate her, and he did love her. He was never able to say it, but he could write it in the little black book.

Opening the first envelope, Jenna gasped. Her hand shook as she began counting the bills it contained. There was $5,000 in the first envelope, $20, $50, and even some $100 bills. Jenna stuffed the bills back into the envelope, placing it all back in the box. She looked around at the apartment. Roger had money, he didn’t need to scrounge in the dumpsters or depend on her to subsidize his life. It was too much to process. Suddenly tears welled up. She had lived most of her life believing her brother didn’t care for anyone. That all she did was taken for granted. Now she realized they had lived their lives without knowing one another at all.

Taking the box and the glass pedestal bowl, she locked the apartment and returned home. At dinner she told George what she had found. He was dumbfounded. Roger had never wanted to be with the family, had always pushed them away. He often wondered why Jenna went out of her way to do anything for Roger, especially Christmases when she would leave her own family to take him dinner and a gift and return with nothing, not even a thank you. Yet, she continued to do it every year.

George and Jenna finished opening the envelopes and counting the contents. There was over $20,000 in the box. That night Jenna read through the little black book. It was more mesmerizing than any novel she had read. The little side notes brought tears to her eyes.

September 2, 1995 – Jenna brought me Black Forest Cake, my favorite. I wonder how she knew. I never tell her. And she made me a scarf for this winter. Hand knitted. Dinner was fried catfish, fried potatoes, hush puppies, and coleslaw. I don’t know why my sister is so nice. There is just something about her. This was the best birthday ever. Someday I will tell her. $200

And he did, tell her. The little black book told her everything. It told her Roger loved her. That he hid from the world, hid from the violence and evil. He carried scars from his time in the war. The worst was the scar on his heart which kept him from showing love. It kept him locked away from the world, surrounding himself with everyone’s garbage. But the little black book kept secrets. The little black book gave his heart a voice. The little black book understood. And now Jenna did too.