Fiction

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DOIN' THE RIGHT THING



2 Thes 3: 13 (NIV) And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right.

Brentwood clenched his shuddering fists in the pockets of his parka. A chill deeper than the frigid night air cut through him as he realized it wasn’t just about the cold. Ransacking his pockets in a frantic futile search, his concern deteriorated to panic. The bitter wind-driven snow tore at his face as he turned back toward the lights of the nearest house. He shook his head angrily as his vision blurred and dizziness ensnared him. “Help.. me!” the wind ripped the words from his lips. Stumbling, he tried to catch his balance but his legs were lead. He slammed face first onto the icy sidewalk. Blackness deeper than the brutal Wisconsin night swept over him.
#
“ Ah, nuts!” The wadded tissue ball ricocheted off the mound of trash in the wastebasket and hid behind the toilet. It was more than the missed shot that irritated Scott. The overflowing basket reminded him that tomorrow was trash day and all their garbage was still in the house.
Muttering, he snared his jeans and dragged them back on over his sweats. Gingerly hoisting the overfilled bag from the basket, he headed down the hall. Stopping to grab his hooded Carhartt and Wolverines from the closet, he shouldered the door closed.
“What cha’ doin’ Babe?” Katie called from upstairs.
“Forgot the trash!”
“Leave it for morning, Honey. Comon to bed.”
“Ah, it’s OK. Gotta do the right thing.” The last thing he needed on a sub-zero predawn morning was to hassle with garbage.
Pulling on the boots he stomped around the house, like Santa-in-reverse, gathering “goodies”. The stench from the kitchen container made him gag. He made a mental note that he ought to wash it out then remembered he’d made the same note last week.
Hesitant to lay the bags down he struggled with the latch. Sniggers leapt up on him trying to figure out what the delightful smell was.
“Down, girl!” The door flung open. Tripping over his trailing laces, he stumbled onto the dark icy stoop nearly losing his footing. The rush of bitter air chased the Goldie back across the kitchen to her basket.
“Coward!” Scott kicked the door shut.
Thankfully, there were empty cans. Booting the lids off and dumping everything in, he dragged them through the drifting snow, out to the curb.
#
The snow had stopped but the wind was redistributing it everywhere, especially into the drive he had shoveled earlier. He shook his head at the futility.
Something down the sidewalk caught his eye. It looked like a black garbage bag.
Probably blew down from Meltons'. Zipping his jacket, he marched over to add it to the pile.
Then he realized it wasn’t a bag. It was too big. It's a body! Quickening his pace he nearly lost his footing on the sheer ice hidden beneath the coating of snow.
“Hey, buddy, you OK?”
Getting no response he turned the man over. He was 60ish, his face blue and unresponsive.
“Oh, Lord Jesus.”
His heart thundered, remembering the account of the kid who had broken his leg climbing over the fence. His folks had sued and won!
Trying to revive the man, with no success, he began to frantically wonder if he was dead.
He stood and looked around. The road was only a pace away. If he'd fallen there…
In desperation he began to envision a plan. The wind-driven snow would cover any tracks.
Who’s to say the guy hadn’t been in the street when he fell. With all the sidewalks iced over that was the safest place to walk. I could just drag him around, leave him by the side of the road and no one would be the wiser. Yeah, that’d work. I'd just go back in and…
With a grinding roar, a blast of halogen light and a blinding cloud of flying snow the County plow rocketed through.
“… you get chewed to pieces by the Highway Department.”
He sighed casting his eyes skyward, “Sorry, Lord.”
Hauling out his cell, he punched 911 and went and grabbed a blanket from the car.
#
The squad was there inside of ten minutes lambasting the night with it's lights and siren. Scott began to recount, to the EMT taking vitals, how he’d found the man when he interrupted him calling out to his partner. “It’s Brentwood!”
Oh great, probably a friend of theirs.
The EMT looked up.
“We got a frantic call from his wife. We get several a month from his house. He’s an extremely brittle diabetic. They’d a fight. He’d gone out without his sugar tabs. Probably had a seizure. If you hadn’t found him he could’ve frozen to death.”
“Then he’s not dead?”
“No, not yet anyway.”
The other EMT, bringing the stretcher down the sidewalk, nearly fell in the same place Scott had. Scott stepped into the snow to let him by.
“Thanks, treacherous out here.”
“Sure is”
They loaded the man unto the stretcher, then into the ambulance. One climbed into the back and his partner slammed the door.
Suddenly there was an arm around Scott’s waist. Katie’s jacket was wide open, her hair was wild and her eyes were frantic.
“I thought something had happened to you!”
“Sorry, kid, got kind of involved here.”
“You know, lotta folks hate to get involved now a-days.” The EMT handed him back his blanket. “Law suits and all. Some probably would’ve walked away and never said a thing.”
“Huh!” Scott tried to sound incredulous.
The EMT extended his hand. Scott took it. It was firm and cold as all get out.
“Thanks.” He turned to Katie. “You've got yourself a real hero here, lady.” She squeezed his arm.
“Yeah,” Scott felt a thrill at the way she looked up at him.
Then he shook his head and in his best ‘ah, shucks‘ tone noted, “Hey, it’s just a matter of doin’ the right thing.”

The End

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