He handed over his purchase and said
excitedly, "Hi. Great. My name's Paul. I can't believe you guys had one of
these. I've been looking for one for over a year."
Janet smiled and said, "Hi, Paul,
pleased to meet you. My name's Janet and welcome. First time at Harvey's Hobby
I take it?"
Paul glanced around almost reverently,
like he was in church, "Yeah. You guys have some amazing stuff here."
Janet grinned to herself. She got
that a lot; guys fired up about whatever hobby they were involved in. Like this
guy. It was kind of cute, really, even if Paul looked to be in his forties,
like her.
"What have you got here?"
she asked, sincerely interested, taking the box from him. From the picture on
the cover she could tell it was some sort of single engine airplane. She liked
these hobby guys. They were usually on the shy side, like her, but always eager
to talk about whatever their interest was. All you had to do was ask and they
told you. Paul was no exception.
"It's a nineteen sixty-nine
Piper Cub. It's ultra light, yet incredibly durable and strong. It's cool
because it was first manufactured the same year as the moon landing. You just
don't find them for sale too often, mostly on eBay or something...usually used.
I called yesterday and talked to Randy, and he told me you guys had this, so he
held it for me in back and I drove down this morning. He just got it for me."
"Cool," Janet said,
setting the box on the counter, "Where do you live?"
"Up north by International
Falls."
Janet blanched and looked at the
clock over the entrance. It was just after nine in the morning. International
Falls was on the Canadian border, about as far from Minneapolis as you could
get and still be in Minnesota. "That's what? A six hour drive?"
Paul grinned, "Yeah, about
that. I had to get up and leave at three to get here when you opened. I didn't
want you guys to sell this baby out from under me." He pointed at the
plane and laughed, making a little joke. He knew he was babbling on and on but
he couldn't help it. It didn't happen too often, well, never, really, but right
off the bat he'd felt had felt comfortable talking with the clerk. With Janet.
Paul was a little on the heavy side,
wore a clean, light blue dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the long drive,
blue jeans and comfortable looking shoes. He was clean shaven and had short
cropped brown hair, carefully parted to one side.
Janet smiled, smoothed her short
hair and then ran her hands over the oversized tan mu-mu she was wearing. She
was big boned and liked to feel comfortable in her clothes, so everything she
wore was one or two sizes larger than necessary. Then she ran her hands over
the long, narrow box as if trying to feel some of the power or magic or
whatever it was that Paul was clearly feeling. She thought that maybe she could.
"It looks like a neat
plane," she said, finally, meaning it. She looked closely at the picture
of the white airplane trimmed with red, green and black markings. She was
enjoying talking to Paul, especially hearing about him flying his remote
controlled airplanes, something she knew absolutely nothing about. In a way, he
was kind of like her, singularly passionate about his hobby. In fact, it was
amazing how so many of these hobby guys or women, or hobbyists as she referred
to them, were like her. But it only made sense since she was a hobbyist
herself, spending hours at home in her workshop in the basement of the house
she shared with her mother, working on her stained glass creations.
She was drawn back to Paul's soliloquy
on flying airplanes, "This one has a special controller. It's pretty easy
to use. All you have to do is..."
Janet smiled some more. Sometimes
guys would mistake her interest in their hobby for an interest in them. Sorry,
but no. Nice as Paul seemed, there was one thing Janet wasn't: She wasn't
interested in dating him or any of the other hobby guys that came into the
store. Not after what her step-father had done to her for all those years, back
when she was growing up on the farm in north central Iowa. Nope, after seven
years of unrelenting hell with that deviant, she vowed never to have anything
to do with men again. Never, ever. It was a vow she'd kept for nearly thirty
years. But that didn't mean she couldn't still talk to someone like Paul. He
seemed nice. Harmless enough.
"Where do you usually fly your
planes?" she asked, happy to keep the conversation going. The store was
quiet right now, having just opened. Only a few people were inside, browsing
around, looking through the aisles stocked nearly to the ceiling with trains
sets and remote controlled airplanes, art supplies, science kits, model
battleships, magic tricks, kites, plastic dinosaurs, stuffed animals and
scrapbook crafting materials. And everything in between. It was the best hobby
store in the upper Midwest, as far as Janet was concerned. By noon the place
would be packed, Saturdays always were.
She had worked at Harvey's Hobby for
twenty-seven years, having been hired when she was sixteen. Back then, she and
her mom were on their own and new to Minneapolis. Thank god. Her mother had
finally gotten the nerve to leave (escape was probably a more accurate word) that
jerk she'd made the mistake of marrying so soon after her husband, Janet's Dad,
had died in a tragic farm accident involving a neighbor's hay bailer. Janet had
been nine at the time. Her mom had married that jerk and the next seven years had
been pure hell, what with his filthy hands and foul breath and disgusting other
things. He was abusive to her, and he was abusive to Janet's mom, so when she
finally mustered up the courage to leave, Janet was right beside her. With the poor
excuse for a human being passed out drunk on the couch, they each packed a
suitcase and left in the dead of night and headed north. It was only when they'd
crossed the Iowa border on their way into Minnesota that Janet felt like her
life could begin in earnest. They made it to Minneapolis and lived in their car
for a week until they found a cheap apartment to rent. They never heard from
the bastard again. The last they knew, the bank had taken over the farm. Good riddance
to bad rubbish was putting it mildly.
Janet's mom found work as a cashier at
the local HyVee and Janet attended Richfield High School. She also applied for
and was hired at Harvey's Hobby and their course was set. Within five years
they had enough money saved to buy the home they were currently living in. Janet
knew she'd live with her mother for the rest of her life and her mother seemed
to accept that she would too, and that was all right with both of them. They
shared a past that was their bond: they were survivors and were making the most
of their lives. They both liked their jobs. After work, Janet's mom volunteered
at the local battered woman's shelter, and Janet had her stained glass projects.
She was in control of her life. She was able to meet new people. More
importantly, she felt safe at Harvey's Hobby. It was like a second home to her;
a safe place.
Paul had stopped talking about the
Piper Cub and was now beginning to tell her about a favorite plane that he
owned, a remote controlled World War II RAF Spitfire. In the middle of his
conversation, a man with his son and daughter stepped up behind him. Janet recognized
them, the guy was hard to miss. He was big, like a motorcycle biker. He had
hair to his shoulders, a long beard and tattoos up and down his arms.
Appearance notwithstanding, his manner was quiet and kind, and he was gentle
with his kids. Time to move things along with Paul, thought Janet.
"Is there anything else, Paul?"
she asked, indicating with her eyes the people behind him.
"What? Oh, sure, yeah, sorry
about that," he said, noticing the new customers for the first time.
"But, you know what? There're some more things I was looking at." He pointed
with his thumb behind him. "You've got such a great store here. I've never
seen anything like it," he laughed, self-consciously. "I just need
you to please hold this Piper for me. I'm going to look around some more."
He stepped away to make room at the counter, "It's all yours," he
said to the long hair dad. Then he looked at Janet and smiled, "I'll be
back in a while."
"Good. I'll look forward to
seeing you," Janet said, and she meant it. There was something about him
she liked, "I'll be right here," she added, softly, almost to herself.
Then she turned her attention to her
next customers, "Hi," she said, "How's it going? What can I help
you with today?"
"Hello. We'd like to get this,"
The man said, a grin widening over his face. He was obviously in good mood as he set a box on the
counter.
Janet glanced at it. It looked like some sort
of a machine. "Well, what have we got here?" she asked, looking at
the guy and then making eye contact with his children, a boy of about ten and a
girl about six.
The boy answered enthusiastically,
"It's a rock polisher, ma'am. We're going to make some agates."
"How fun," Janet said,
smiling warmly, "I don't know the first thing about polishing rocks."
"It's pretty cool," the
boy said, and proceeded to tell her about the rather lengthy polishing process,
with his sister chiming in every now and then.
And all the while the kids were
talking, Janet was thinking, "When I was trapped on the farm, I thought I
was going to die. In fact, I wanted to die. I didn't think life was worth living.
Thank god Mom and I got out and made lives for ourselves. I may not have much,
but I've got a place to live and I've got this job. I get to meet interesting
people. I wouldn't trade working here for anything in the world. I can't
believe how lucky I am."
Just then, Paul came back in line
carrying a long, narrow box. It looked like he'd found some other treasure; another
remote controlled airplane, perhaps. She grinned at him and went back to
listening to the young boy explain about the different kinds of grit you used
in the polishing process. Paul seemed intent on listening, too.
Janet learned something new every
day. It was one of the things she loved about her job. "Yeah," the
boy was saying, "You use two different kinds of grit and two different
kinds of polishing compound. It takes about twenty-four days, but when you're
done, man, you've got some beautiful rocks, that's for sure. They're really
shinny."
Paul had been listening intently.
"You know, I've always wanted to polish rocks. Maybe I should get one of
those for myself. They sound pretty cool."
"Oh, they are, sir. They're
really cool," the boy said excitedly. He looked at his father, "Dad,
can we show him where they are when we're done here?"
"Sure thing," the dad
said, grinning, seeming to get a kick out of the way his son was acting around
the other adults.
"That'd be great," Paul
said. Then he looked at Janet and grinned, "It looks like I might be here a
while."
It was shaping up to be a memorable
day. Hobbyists, she thought to herself, you had to love them.
She smiled and made eye contact with
him, "That'd be fine with me," she said.
And she meant it.
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