He had come to this house as a
young man. The house was a faded grey back then, unassuming in a sea of dead
grass, but what caught his eye was the red “help wanted” sign in the front
window. He’d been the caretaker ever since, responsible for ten apartments in
the house, and another six in the place next door. Changing locks, fixing plumbing,
cleaning from top to bottom when a tenant moved out, you name it, he did it
all.
The place changed over the years,
from drab grey to avocado green, to faded avocado green, and most recently
bright white with an abstract of black swirls. It was an interesting paint job,
but the new owners were insistent on putting their own mark on the place.
Still, his tasks remained the same, he showed up every day, fixed what needed
to be fixed, and took pleasure in the simplicity of the life he had created. Everything
was the way it should be, that was until Mary moved in.
She was petite, with puppy dog
brown eyes and a cascade of brown hair to match. The first time he saw her she
was doing summersaults across the patchy grass of the backyard. It wasn’t unusual
for a young child to perform acrobatics while at play, but he could tell she wasn’t
just playing, she was practicing. He stood for a moment in the shadows of the
basement door and watched her as she sprung up from another tumble, but he was
not well hidden enough because as she regained her feet she caught sight of
him, and sprinted across the lawn.
“Hi mister,” she chirped, “can you
please tell me if I’m rolling in a straight line?”
He grunted at her and was just about
to turn and descend the basement steps when she spoke again.
“Please, I have my first gymnastics
meet tomorrow and I must be perfect.”
As he watched her summersault again,
he had to admit she had talent, and from what he knew about her family, well,
he vowed right there and then, he would help her any way he could.
Mary had been good enough to be in
the Olympics since she was ten, but of course there was an age limit, and when
she finally turned 16, she easily made the team. Not surprisingly she swept all her
events, and the media clamored to publish her story. Naturally she wanted to
give credit to her teacher, the kindly caretaker of her apartment building, who
taught her so much. She couldn’t have known what would happen, that they were
still looking for him, an old man, that had once been a young boy, the star of
the Russian gymnastics team, until he escaped Russia so long ago. No, she couldn’t
have known, and thankfully she never would know that in the end, it wasn’t a
heart attack that had killed him, because the truth would’ve been more than her
own heart could endure.
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