His wife had dropped him off in front of the train
station. He waved good-bye until the dusty
pickup truck disappeared from sight, and then marched into the train station with his old
suitcase in hand and a big pillow under his arm. He
walked directly to the empty bench next to me, dropped his suitcase on the bench, opened
it wide and began to unpack. Soon neatly
pressed plaid flannel shirts and clean folded underwear covered the bench. He glanced over at me, smiled and in explanation
said, “My wife always packs my bag, but I have to make sure that she packed
everything I need”. He held up two large
zip lock bags filled with trail mix. “Sticks
& twigs,” he said with a bit of disgust in his voice, “I hate this
stuff”. Harry turned to David, “My
wife is trying to make me healthy,” he said, looking for understanding from another
man. He asked me, “Do you like sticks
& twigs, you want some?” I declined
and he placed the trail mix on top of the pile of underwear.
Then he carefully repacked the suitcase, latched it and set it on the floor next to
me. “You two look like good people,”
he said. “Will you watch this bag for me?
I have to do some shopping.” Harry turned
before I could answer and marched out the door.
“Where could he shop on Thanksgiving Day,” I thought, as I moved to the window
and watched him cross the street and enter the bar on the corner. My opinion of Harry began to fall.
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