THE STRANGER

(Photo by Rick Fifer)

THE STRANGER

“Hello, stranger. Is there something I can help you with?” Martin “Grubby” Holmes was walking up the sidewalk to his home and there was a stranger sitting on his front porch, gently swinging in the old porch swing.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but my legs were tired and I needed to sit a spell. Your swing looked so inviting,” the stranger stood up, “I just thought I’d sit down. I’m sorry to be trespassing.” He stooped over and picked up his backpack.

“No need to run off so quick. Sit back down.” Grubby pointed at the swing and then he took a seat in the old iron chair near the front door.

“What brings you around these parts?” Grubby asked the man.

“Well, I lost my job about six months ago, so I’ve been struggling to live off my unemployment. But when that ran out, the bank took my home. I’ve been walking from town to town trying to find work.” The stranger ducked his head in an embarrassed way and Grubby could tell the man was having a hard time.

“My name’s Martin Holmes; my friends all call my Grubby. Have you had anything to eat today?” Grubby looked at his watch; it was after 2:30 in the afternoon.

“I had a large breakfast at the homeless shelter back in Carter City, but my tank is empty again. I was really hoping to find some work in your town, maybe a hot meal and a place to sleep the night. My name’s Chester, Chester Waterfill. I’m originally from Louisville.” He started turning his ball cap over and over again in his hands.

“Well, Chester Waterfill from Louisville, it’s nice to meet ya.” Grubby stood up and offered his hand to the man. “Come on inside and let’s see if we can rustle up something to eat. My tank’s a little empty, too.”