Theme Week # 7
Mayberry had Barney Fife, Blue Hill, Maine had Allen Mello. He was as much a fixture at Merrill and Hinkley, the local market, as the uneven wooden floors and the jingle bell hanging from the door. Like a back alley in New York, you smelled him long before you saw him only close up it was much worse. He wore a World War II hat cocked slightly to the side. When he wasn't having the best day, which he never failed to share, he wore the hat high on his forehead revealing the few greasy strands of hair he still had left. Based on the smell, and stain patterns, it was obvious he only had one outfit; a blue dickie shirt and pair of pants. Another may have existed but neither ever came in contact with the inside of a washing machine.
The clerks always found something else to do when Allen walked towards the counter, suddenly shelves needed to be stocked. It was an unspoken game of who could get away the fastest. Call it dumb luck or a subconscious pity but I was usually the one left behind.
"Mornin sweet cheeks!" "Hello, Allen." "Give me a couple of those scratch tickets." His hands were beyond filthy. Layer upon layer of dirt. Just watching him scratch his head made my skin crawl. Needless to say, exchanging money caused its own anxiety. Not only had he held the money in his hands, it lived in his pocket for a period of time. "My kitties need their food." If he ate, he didn't buy the food from that market. The rumor was he had no cats.
Regardless of his appearance, he seemed genuinely kind. He kept stuffed teddy bears in his truck and never failed to offer one to a little kid passing by. They either took the bear with great hesitation, or ran in fear clinging to their parents legs. Though some felt his Teddy bears were a perverse lure for kids to gain his trust, I saw it to be a sincere joy it gave him to make a kid smile.
I can't lie, I dreaded seeing Allen walk through the door. His unkept appearance and offensive smell were unwelcome to the senses but somehow, the day didn't feel right when he didn't.
The clerks always found something else to do when Allen walked towards the counter, suddenly shelves needed to be stocked. It was an unspoken game of who could get away the fastest. Call it dumb luck or a subconscious pity but I was usually the one left behind.
"Mornin sweet cheeks!" "Hello, Allen." "Give me a couple of those scratch tickets." His hands were beyond filthy. Layer upon layer of dirt. Just watching him scratch his head made my skin crawl. Needless to say, exchanging money caused its own anxiety. Not only had he held the money in his hands, it lived in his pocket for a period of time. "My kitties need their food." If he ate, he didn't buy the food from that market. The rumor was he had no cats.
Regardless of his appearance, he seemed genuinely kind. He kept stuffed teddy bears in his truck and never failed to offer one to a little kid passing by. They either took the bear with great hesitation, or ran in fear clinging to their parents legs. Though some felt his Teddy bears were a perverse lure for kids to gain his trust, I saw it to be a sincere joy it gave him to make a kid smile.
I can't lie, I dreaded seeing Allen walk through the door. His unkept appearance and offensive smell were unwelcome to the senses but somehow, the day didn't feel right when he didn't.
posted by Mainer at 8:01 AM
2 Comments:
He was part of the old Maine, as you make clear--before eccentricity got a medical diagnosis and weirdos were drugged into conformity or invisibility, back when people would shrug off such people and say, 'None of my business....' Nowadays, of course, we're all shrinks and social workers.
Anyhow, you've got your details and effects nicely deployed and disciplined here.
Well! That's my rant for today!
A valid one.
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