The Total Package

He was down in the basement, and he could hear her walking on the floor above. Even her footsteps sounded angry. It hadn't always been this way. He used to have his own appliance store, where he did quite well. He was a pillar of the community and people respected him. That was up until the super store moved in. Two years later his business was shuttered, and now they lived on social security. People hardly knew his name.

He had a little repair shop in his basement where he would tinker with the small appliances that the occasional customer would drop off. For hours, every day, he would disappear into his workshop, even if he had nothing to work on. It was peaceful down there. And truthfully, there really wasn't much of a call for repairs. When something breaks in today's world it's thrown away. Throw away electronics.... throw away lives.

Oh, he still loved his wife, and he hoped that she still loved him. But she was so unhappy. She complained when the bills were late and when she had to buy hamburger instead of steak and when the thermostat was set at 60 in the dead of winter. The drafty house was always cold.

As he sat in the damp cellar he was startled by the thumping of a broom handle striking the floor above him. THUMP... THUMP... That's how she called him now, when she wanted him. All pleasantries were gone.

He finished the message that he was writing, wrapped it around an item and placed it in a small brown package that he then slipped into his inner jacket pocket. He reluctantly and slowly began to climb the stairs. He moved a little slower now, because of age an arthritis.

She stood there glaring at him with a letter crumpled in her hand. Shaking the letter at him she seethed, "They're going to take our house! You haven't paid the mortgage in months. We're going to be out in the street!" She was crying now.

Crossing the kitchen, he barely looked at her as he said, "I'll take care of it. I'll take care of you. Don't worry. I've got a plan." He grabbed his hat and walked out the door.

He heard her screaming through her tears, "Plan, what plan could you have, Loser!"

He crossed the street and hopped the bus that sat at the curb. At least the bus was something he could count on. It was always on time. He liked this part of his day. He liked the sameness and the routine of his daily bus trip to the park. There was a comfort there.

Frank, the bus driver, was very conscientious and arrived at each stop precisely on time. He was all business and took pride in his timeliness. But that all changed when he got close to the park.

That is where the pretty blonde lived. When he saw her standing by her mailbox, he would rise from his seat, crane his neck sideways, and almost look backwards out of his window to see her. With his right hand still on the steering wheel he would wave vigorously with his flailing left hand. She would energetically wave back and smile broadly. Over the weeks, he noticed that the looks were getting longer and that their smiles were getting wider.

She reminded him of his wife when she was younger. She used to smile like that, when he came into a room, and wave for him to come over. Now she just banged the broom.

The bus came to a stop at the park's entrance, and he haltingly stepped down from the bus. Every day he would hobble to the same park bench and feed the pigeons. A little over a month ago, a dog came from out of nowhere and tried to attack the birds. His would-be-food source scattered and flew off. He was so hungry he began ravenously eating the pieces of bread that he had scattered on the ground. He gave the dog the sandwich he had in his pocket and the dog took it and ran off.

So, every day after that incident, he began feeding that discarded stray. He was always hungry. Someone had abandoned him and he had taken refuse in the park. He couldn't take him home. His wife would go crazy. The dog became his little secret.

Since his voice was weak, he began using a whistle to call him. He was amazed that the dog responded to it so quickly. The dog would come running when he heard the whistle. One whistle would bring the mangy stray cautiously running towards the sound, and as a reward he would feed it with a handful of dry dogfood that he kept in his jacket pocket.

He had trained the dog to understand that one tweet from the whistle meant dry dog food and when he tweeted the whistle three times it meant he had a scrap of meat for him. Three whistles and the straggly Labrador would tear across the open field and he would almost knock the old man and anything else in its path over to get to the treat. Today was a three whistle day and he braced himself as the dog neared.

He looked at his watch and realized that almost three hours had passed and it was time to walk back to the bus stop to catch his ride home. That was his usual routine, but today he would take a detour. He got up from his bench that sat at the very edge of the park. Beyond that bench and on the other side of the bushes, he could see the blonde's house. He sidestepped the bushes and gingerly crossed the road to her house. He pulled the small brown package from his jacket and carefully laid it at her doorstep. He briefly glanced at her door and sighed a mournful soul-draining sigh. He then walked a block to the bus stop and waited to be picked up.

The next morning after, after the THUMP... THUMP and after her unrelenting tirade, he again said, "I have a plan. You'll be taken care of. Believe me, you'll get what you have coming!" There was a tinge of anger in his voice.

As he left, he looked back at his angry wife and thought, "You don't know how much I love you. I'm sorry."

He boarded the bus. Frank was right on time, to the minute. The bus passed the usual daily landmarks along the way. Just like clockwork. You could set your watch by Frank's driving.

The bus entered the road in front of the park. Frank was already looking down the road to see if the blonde was out, as was the old man. The old man could see that she was out by her mailbox, as the bus approached her.

He got up as usual, as if to exit the bus. Frank craned his neck and waved. The blonde smiled and then unexpectedly put a whistle to her lips and blew three times. The piercing sound cut through the morning stillness and stunned Frank. He was still smiling, but his gaze remained on her a little longer as he tried to understand what was happening.

One of the passengers screamed and Frank slammed on the brakes as the big dog dashed across the road in front of the bus. The old man, who was standing in the aisle, was hurtled head first into the bus's windshield breaking his neck and killing him instantly.

Weeks after the funeral his widow received a check from their life insurance company. She had expected $25,000, but surprisingly she received $75,000 instead. Since he died while using public transportation their policy tripled the amount paid out.

Later that year, the bus company settled with her attorney and because of their negligence, she received $250,000 as her part of the settlement. She had received, in total, $325,000 for her husband's "untimely" death.

She could now turn the thermostat up for the rest of her life.

He had kept his promise.