A House Beyond Expectations

Lean-looking, jean-jacketed Jack Hilton sauntered reluctantly up the slight slope toward his unknown destination.  An intersection street sign, angling up on its protruding, vehicle-struck base, declared his arrival at the corner of Hilltop Avenue and the unoriginal Main Street.

His fingers scratched in his back pocket, extracted a snatch of “want ad” newsprint, which he had raggedly snipped from the Mitten Lake Messenger.  Checking it again, yes, it read: “Wanted: live-in handyman, separate quarters, room and one meal daily in return for maintenance and repair work. See Mrs. Van Gelderen at 117 N. Hilltop Avenue.  References requested.”

That “references” bit could be a stickler, he thought.  He had certainly strung together a rather colorful array of work experiences, none would brighten his chances for this situation.  Oh, Jake Bauma undoubtedly would put in a good word for him - since he had expressed satisfaction with Jack’s work, willingness  and availability throughout this past summer.  And Jake wanted him back next summer at the marina - enough to have offered him part-time work through the off-season.  Possibly Jake’s word would counterbalance the no-references..

Besides, in the  last eleven years, Jack had had to sell himself to survive in the work-world across a big chunk of the USA.  He could muster energy for one more verbal effort.  Since no other situation had evolved, understandable in a small town, this handyman thing would give him digs, cut living overhead and give him another delaying stop-over along his zigzagging path of life.

Urges to simply “move on” had nudged, even nagged, at times, but a strong “stay” countercurrent had prevailed lately.  Jake Bauma’s kindly encouragement to “plant your feet” and “hang up your hat” had penetrated.  That black suede western hat, which had gathered dust from many places, no longer rimmed his head as it had all summer.  His feet had kicked onward over every conceivable kind of ground; no rooting had ever grabbed the earth anywhere he had been..

That quiet ripple of desire to remain in Mitten Lake had surged up into conscious consideration.  No definite reasons had formed but a yen to “grow up” lay somewhere inside.  However, that “grow up!” phrase always brought a sardonic smile into place; his parents had flung those clothed-in-disgust words at him too often.  Well, he had shut them down quite effectively these past eleven years; they knew almost nothing about where  he had lived, much less any who or what about him.  However, those powerful old reactive feelings, pumped up throughout childhood, had consistently propelled him to leap in opposite directions from his parents’ constant barrages of demands and expectations.  He had recognized this more keenly of late, thus his leap-ability seemed to have lost steam.

Jack heard himself sigh deeply.  Found himself standing at another juncture.  A near-laugh erupted; how many times on how many street corners had he stood conjecturing about his next steps into the unknown!  He thumped his consciousness into gear.  Reality, he needed a place to stay.  This street held a possibility.  Go do it.