Authors: Daniel Syverson
SUMMATION
∑
SUMMATION
By
Daniel
Syverson
© Copyright 2012
Oscar
August 23rd, 4:15 p.m.
"I saw a sky just like this about, oh, thirty or so
years ago. Just like this," mused Oscar. "I think it was in '75, no,
no, must have been '76 because it was just after we'd moved from the farm, back
up there in Edgerton." He pulled his ever present handkerchief from his
back pocket, and wiped the sweat from his brow, folding it and tucking it back
away before continuing. "It was summer, a hot one, just like this, and, I
swear to God I'm not exaggerating, but it stormed and blew up something awful,
and by God it snowed. Not just a little hail, but honest-to-God snow, and I don't
mean a couple of flurries. I mean a foot of snow. Honest-to-God snow, a foot
deep, almost two in the drifts!"
One of the grandkids sitting with them looked at Oscar in
amazement, but the other men, familiar with Oscar's embellishments, just
nodded. No one really believed there had been a foot of snow or any
Honest-to-God two foot snowdrifts, but, on the other hand, some of the long
term residents had talked about the strange day back some few dozen years ago
when yes, there did seem to actually have been snow, and yes, in the middle of
summer, but no, they hadn't actually
been
there.
"You old farts just nod your heads, go on, doesn't
matter to me, I know what I know, and I know I'm gettin' home before the shit
hits the fan. You kids pardon my French.
"Jim, you best get these grandkids of yours on home,
too. You'll catch it if you keep 'em out in the rain." He pushed himself
up using the armrests on the old wooden bench in front of the barber shop. One
of the few barber shops left around - the rest having gone to unisex 'salons',
or family 'stylists'. The traditional shop fit right into the old two story facade,
which also housed the town vet and was directly across from the service
station. No, not a gas station, but a service station - fix your flats, tune up
the car - plain old actual service. Both were located at the main downtown
intersection of the town - overseen by a hanging flashing stop sign. The only
stoplight in town.
It was still like this in Roscoe, tucked away just off
I-90. North of Rockford, and close enough to Chicago for all the advantages of
the big city, but small enough and out of the way enough that it was ignored by
everyone else. People got up early and drove into Chicago or Rockford, or the
suburbs, to work at the normal hectic pace, but others, like Oscar, lived in
what he called "Central Sleeping Time", or, in the summer, "Daylight
Sleeping Time".
Looking both ways, he crossed at an angle towards the
police station, and headed home.
It had come up quickly. The sky was still blue further
north, towards the state line, but a tight little cluster of clouds had quickly
arisen, seemingly out of nowhere. The others waved and watched him head down
the street. Living nearby, they weren't too concerned. Just the same, glances
kept going to the sky where clouds kept rolling in, building up, becoming
darker, having a tug-of-war in the air, first billowing up, then dropping down,
like kids playing under a blanket, or lovers in a sleeping bag.
No one was seriously worried about the weather, but,
well,
sometimes you do get some pretty good storms, and tornadoes hit the county
several times every year, and well, I suppose maybe I should be getting home,
the wife'll be looking for me.
A few other excuses were mumbled as the
others looked up again at the sky, at each other, and again at the sky.
They all stood up. Maybe he was right - probably best to
go.
Oscar
had already crossed the street, and was walking north along the front of the
police station. Several squad cars, as well as the personal cars of some of the
cops, were parked diagonally in the lot, facing the street.
The
window of one of the squads rolled down as he approached.
"Hey
Gramps, wanna ride?" The question came from a woman behind the steering
wheel. The cap and sunglasses hid the top of her face, and the window was too
high to see her name tag or badge. As if he needed to.
"Thanks,
hon, but the walk'll do me good. Keeps me regular, if you know what I mean. Give
me something to talk about with those guys tomorrow."
"Gramps!
You're disgusting." She laughed, shaking her head. He'd never change.
She
wouldn't want him to. "Are you sure? Getting kind of windy-
A
"Naw,
I'm fine. You go catch some bad guys. Say hi to your mama for me. I'll see you
guys Sunday."
"Okay,
if you're sure. Be careful," but he was already walking past, with that
goofy limp. She rolled her window up. She had to call into the county dispatch,
Control 4, to let them know she was coming on duty, or going 10-41 in cop
speak, and keyed her mike.
"Control
4, six-baker-3, 10-41"
"Six-baker-3,
go ahead for 10-41"
She
saw her grandfather, just turning the corner ahead of her, then continued
signing in over the radio. She'd check on him later. She again keyed her mike,
giving Control 4 her going on duty information; her squad car number and
odometer reading, her badge number, assignment, and so on.
He
glanced back at her as he turned the corner. He could see her through the side
window of the squad, talking on the radio. He'd never been wild about his
granddaughter becoming a cop. Who'd have thought? But she did well at the
academy, loved her job, and was able to work right here at home in Roscoe. He'd
never admit it, of course, but he was proud of her. His first grandkid. He
always teased her about a woman's place, but she knew how proud of her he was. He
couldn't hide that, try as he may. It was just his way. The two were actually
quite close, as she'd grown up with him babysitting her many a night.
His
daughter, way too young to have been having a baby in the first place, was
working two and three jobs just to keep up. Pregnant at nineteen, then married
and pregnant again a year later. Not that he hadn't warned her. No, he'd had
plenty to say about him. And he'd been right! Pissed him off royally - he'd
seen it coming since she started seeing that guy at school. Guy was just no
good. You could tell.
At least
he
could.
Couldn't understand what anyone ever saw in him in the
first place. Attraction to the 'bad boy'? Who knew. He'd tried to tell her, but
the more he said, the tighter she clung to him.
Maybe
some of it was his fault for pushing it so much.
Still,
he'd been right. No question about that one. Two months after his second
granddaughter was born, he was gone. Out the door. Left for work one morning,
and never came back. Left a note in the
mailbox
for God's sake. It had
been rough on her. But in the end, he had to admit she'd done pretty well. Kind
of surprised him, actually. Took on all the responsibilities for those two girls.
Did pretty damn good. Still was.
Proof was in the pudding
,
as he always said. Kind of a trite, worn out phrase, but he still liked using
it.
Fit good. No sense changing a perfectly good phrase that still worked,
right
?
And
there she was, his granddaughter, sitting in a squad car, carrying a gun.
Widowed
these past six, no, seven years now, not long after he'd retired, the roles had
now shifted. Now it was her, his granddaughter, looking after him. Who'd have
thought?
Oscar wasn't old - not by his count, anyway. He'd taken an
early retirement, closing up shop after he turned 62, some ten years ago.
Figured he would get a little less each month, but, what the heck, he didn't
need that much anyway, and wasn't it worth a little less to be able to start
fishin' on a regular basis? Besides, he was in pretty good shape, better than
those other guys on the bench, at least, and there was no point in waiting
until you were too old to enjoy being retired.
He
turned east, walking along the edge of the asphalt road. There were no
sidewalks here. Or almost anywhere else, here. After another block, he was
aware that he was limping pretty badly. Not that this was anything new. And not
just a normal limp. He had some goofy hitch that made him pop up just when he
was putting his right foot down. Damn fool doctors couldn't quite explain it,
and it had certainly been the root of many a joke among his friends, but it
wasn't going away. Something to do with that damn surgery. He knew it, even if
nobody else did.
Sometimes,
it wasn't too bad. Or so he thought. Others might argue the point, but they all
agreed that at other times it got worse. He was glad he had his cane. Hated
having to rely on it, but damn, that hip just kept on getting worse. Walking
too far triggered it. That, and the weather. That
always
triggered it. He
could always tell. Better than any barometer. No doubt about that.
He
was almost home, and the wind had really picked up, again, seemingly out of
nowhere. The clouds, which had been billowing up, then opening to patches of
blue, had slammed shut into an oily, black, boiling mass. The temperature
dropped rapidly, suddenly. An arctic blast came through, not so much as a blast
from the north, but more as a turbulent, enveloping wind, seeming to come from
everywhere, but nowhere. (Later, Macktown Bank, on the corner just behind where
they'd been sitting, reported a drop from seventy six degrees down to twenty
seven on their automatic sign out front, a drop of forty nine degrees. The
mortgage rates, also flashing on the same sign, didn't drop nearly as much.)
Unbelievably,
it began to snow. At first, he thought it must be leaves, or petals from some
flowers, but it became heavier. He stopped, holding out his hand. He caught
some of the flakes, which melted immediately on contact. No doubt about it. And
not just a few flurries. It was really coming down now, heavily, swirling in
the haphazard patterns of the turbulent winds winding through and around the
trees and homes.
Rather than being frightened or amazed at
seeing the snow, Oscar became more and more angry as he struggled home. "Damn
know-it-alls. Didn't believe me, did you, what'cha think now? What'cha think of
this
? Still think I was exaggerating?"