Frankie Pt. 01

Part one of this tale is basically character building and setting the destination. It heats up toward the end, but the juicy stuff is in part two.

Frankie part one

It was 4:45 and no Ezra. He was normally back to the shop by 4 or shortly thereafter, I was hoping he ran into a small difficulty somewhere along the way instead of kids picking on him. Individually the kids generally left him alone, but as a group they could be ruthless little shits. For you see, Ezra, commonly known around town as crazy Z isn't like you and me. He lives in a 37-year-old body with the mind of a ten-year-old. He's always polite and cordial, I have never seen him be mean or lash out, Ezra only goes deeper into his own little world when others denigrate and make fun of him.

Physically he could be taken for any other dark-skinned man walking around this sleepy southern town. He's at least six feet tall and slender, bordering on skinny with strong arms and legs proportionate to his body. His most prominent feature is that even as a man in his mid-thirties his facial features are that of a boy. He has a bright smile when he chooses to let you see it, which isn't often. He's been picked on and ridiculed his entire life and it shows in how he interacts with others. Sadly Ezra doesn't speak well, his sentences are choppy and his vocabulary is horrific.

The reason most folks refer to him as crazy Z is that he wears a beanie with a propeller on top and a pair of yellow tinted swim goggles all the time. Around his neck are generally two strands of what you and I may classify as Marti-Gras beads, to him they're treasures he'd found along the way. He wears bib overalls and a long-sleeved cotton shirt buttoned to his chin every day regardless of temperature or where he may be going.

Ezra keeps a folded piece of tin foil in the left upper pocket of his bibs, he told me in confidence that he has secret friends, and he can hear them better with his antenna. Thus, the folded tin foil. I often wished I had a magic wand to wave over him and loose him from whatever it was that never allowed him to grow and age as all the rest. Ezra showed up every morning ready to do what he did every day, mow lawns, rake leaves, help widow ladies move stuff, or whatever someone needed done. Within reason. He was always in clean clothes, bathed, shaven and ready to work. His younger sister took over his care when their dad died, she is a teacher at our local high school. The only female industrial arts teacher I had ever heard of, and like me, she had thrown herself into a career. That and taking care of Ezra.

Though I'm a few years younger than Ezra he treats me as he would an older person. It's always yes sir or no sir. As many times as I told him to call me Trom (pronounced Troom, my parents were first generation Norwegians) he insists on addressing me as mister Knudson, mister K, or boss. When I got out of the military I was fortunate enough to buy into Mr. Neals farm implement business. He didn't sell implements any longer, but he kept the name his father had given the business fifty plus years before. What he did sell was lawnmowers, snowblowers, leaf blowers, chain saws and all the other toys men with new homes thought they needed. Those and gardening supplies including a portable greenhouse in the spring.

With the closest box store, (think orange, green, or blue) over sixty miles away local folks tended to rely on Neals Implement for their lawn needs. He'd been a Toro dealer for over thirty years when I bought in. Everywhere you looked around town you saw red yard equipment and orange Husqvarna chain saws. Lawn equipment was on the cusp of a paradigm shift when I entered the business, people were enthralled by and going to the new zero turn mowers, something we didn't sell at the time. Just before Mr. Neals sold out to me and retired, we began carrying the zero turn units, they were an instant success.

If Harry down the road had one, all his neighbors felt they needed to do the same. However, there were still the people with smaller yards, many of them elderly, many of them incapable of mowing it themselves. Enter Ezra, he had been hanging around the business since his early twenties. Mr. Neals had little things for him to do helping people in town but never enough to last all day, every day, which left Ezra sitting around more than working. Mr. Neals would give him twenty dollars every week regardless, Ezra viewed himself as a man with a job, something most men need in their lives.

Being asked nearly every week by customers with elderly parents or friends if I knew anyone who mowed smaller lawns, I decided to offer Ezra as a solution. He was already familiar with town, adding lawns to his daily agenda would give him steady work year round. Most folks in town knew him, everyone trusted him, it was a win, win for all. I kept a schedule of who needed what and would give Ezra a list of where to go each day. He would be paid five to ten dollars per yard depending on the size. I kept ten dollars a week for gas and made sure the equipment he used was fueled and ready every morning.

He pulled a small flatbed cart with short sides behind an old riding mower, you've seen the carts at garden centers, the ones with the inflatable wheels. The old cub cadet was without a mowing attachment, used only for crazy Z to haul his gear. On the cart was a trimmer, extra gas, his push mower, a rake, shovel, water jug and lunch.

People in town were used to seeing Ezra coming down the street atop the faded yellow cub cadet, bibs, a long sleeve shirt, multi-colored beanie, swim goggles, beads, and a two-inch-wide piece of silver tin foil in his bib pocket. He had seen some kids with a flag on a fiberglass pole attached to their bikes, he wanted one for his tractor. It seemed like silliness at first, but when I would drive around town and see that bright orange flag on the other side of tall shrubbery, I would smile.

**********

Back to where the story began.

It was the slower dormant time of year so there wasn't a lot of mowing and Mrs. Carlson's garden wouldn't have taken him too long to till. I had expected Z to be back much earlier. It was now five minutes from closing time at five and no Ezra, I would need to go find him as soon as the doors were locked. Then in the distance I could hear the faint rumbling of the old cub cadet making its way around the corner. Pulling into the space reserved for him in the shed he jumped off and came to me right away.

"Sorry boss. I runned outa gas and had ta stop at da gas station. Miss Carlson neighbor wanted me mow his lawn. I used five dollars. Dat be okay?"

As I mentioned earlier, Ezra's vocabulary is horrible and he never speaks in long sentences, they're always short and factual. Listening to him talk reminded me of the old police sitcom where Sgt Joe Friday would inevitably say, "just the facts ma'am".

I smiled as I put my hand on his shoulder, "That's good Ezra, it's supposed to be sunny again tomorrow and now Mrs. Tompkins wants you to till her garden, it will be planting season soon. It will be a busy day so I'll see you here at seven. Is your sister coming to pick you up?"

"Nah, she be busy, gonna walk boss. Here be da money."

With that he grabbed his lunch pail and was gone. I would put his money away each day, at the end of the week I would pay him for the work he'd done and the yards he'd mowed. He would give the envelope with his pay to his sister, she would give him an allowance and bank the rest for him. She never came into the business on Saturday mornings, she would sit in the car and wait for Z. His sister Francine, known around town as Frankie, was three years younger than me and though I vaguely remembered her in school, I have to say with all honesty I never paid attention to her. She was just another of many cute girls in the lower classes.

I learned from my mom that she and Ezra's blood line was interesting, it was anything but cookie cutter typical. Their great grandfather was a black man who married an Inuit woman, something completely unheard of in those days. No, not him marrying an Inuit woman, a black man moving to Alaska. One of their three children (Francine and Ezra's grandfather) then married a white woman who was half French, half Dutch. Their son married a lady from Columbia and had two children, Francine and Ezra.

When my late mother told me that story my mouth hung open in amazement. The result of all that breeding left Frankie and Ezra with light brown skin color, features of several different cultures, and soft wavy dark hair. I remember Frankie's hair had always been long and wavy, she kept Ezra's short. When I left for the military she was a junior in high school, when I returned six years later she was the new industrial arts teacher.

I recall her being good friends with my younger sister, she was at our house often and always extremely friendly. As I tell this story I realize now that she had been flirting with me. Being the clod I was in high school and as a younger man I never put two and two together. Their mom had died when she was only five, raising two kids on his own became her father's focus in life. He was a mechanic at the local Chevrolet dealer which tended to drift over into his private life as well. He was forever working on someone's vehicle in the driveway, alongside him you would find Frankie and Ezra. Though Ezra wasn't able to grasp the entire concept, he knew which wrench or tool daddy would ask for.

Frankie on the other hand would be elbow deep in whatever her dad was working on. In high school she took wood shop, metal shop and drafting, unheard of for a girl. As a teacher she teaches woodshop in the morning classes and metal shop in the afternoon classes. She suffers no fools and has quickly gained the reputation of someone not to mess with. She's tall like her brother, and whereas Ezra is downright skinny, Frankie has a nice figure with all the right bumps and curves in all the right places. I doubted she was around a size four. Having sisters helps you learn that stuff.

I didn't normally see her other than at school functions or the grocery store. From a distance I would notice the narrow waist and hips that flared just enough to enhance her slender bottom. I'm certainly no expert, but I reckoned she was a solid B cup, whatever it was her breasts were a perfect fit for the body. Then there were those long legs and wavy coal black hair delicately framing her face. When she smiled it was as if another light in the room had been turned on.

With Z back and taken care of I was locking up when my phone buzzed, looking at the screen it stated "Frankie" across the top.

"Hi Frankie, how can I help you?"

She sounded flustered, "Is Ez with you? He's usually home by now."

"He ran out of gas and had to stop at the BP. He left for home five minutes ago."

Her voice raised, "Wait, what. You let him go to the BP on his own, are you nuts? Those people are mean to him."

I needed to diffuse the situation quickly, "They used to be, but since he started working with me I had a talk with Bob, the owner. He watches out for Ez when he has to stop in. I know Ez is simple-minded, but he gets along well for a grown man with a boy's brain. I watch over him, I'm not gonna let someone purposely hurt him. Oh, and by the way, every swingin you know what in town knows if they mess with Ezra, they're messin me."

She sighed and was then silent a few moments, "I know you're right Trom, but it's so hard to let go. When daddy died my junior year of college I worried about him every day, thankfully the group home took him in until I graduated. I should be thanking you instead of yelling at you."

"You lost me there. Why would you need to thank me?"

I could hear the frustration in her voice, "Because most people in this one-horse town wouldn't give him the time of day, much less a job that makes him feel so proud. Yes, I know he dresses odd and wears that goofy hat along with the goggles, but inside he's all fluff and gentle as a lamb. You let him keep his money and don't cheat him, so, in my mind I should be saying thank you."

She was right on that count. Another person could easily cheat him on pay, but that just isn't me. How would I sleep at night knowing I took advantage of someone who knew no better and trusted me? The truth is, I wouldn't. No, that was Ezra's money, he earned it. I heard her yell, "I'm in the kitchen Ez", then she continued.

"I'm not looking forward to this weekend. Shirley from the English department has set me up with what she calls a "hunk" for a double date Friday. I hate those and she knows it. He'll think he's somebody special and act like he's doing me a favor by taking the thin black shop teacher to dinner. He'll also expect to get into my britches which just isn't going to happen. That will ruin his night and hopefully I'll never hear from him again."

I was laughing until she cut me off. "It isn't funny Trom. Why do guys think that just because they take a girl to dinner she's supposed to put out? I'm not a prude, but neither am I easy. I don't give myself to just any guy who pays me a little attention. Hey, I gotta go. Ez is rooting around in the cupboards and that means he's starved. Bye."

Frankie was interesting to talk with, I found myself wondering why I never paid attention to her in high school. I'm no Brad Pitt but then I'm not the hulk either. At six foot I'm tall, but not that tall, and she was what some would say is tall for a girl, maybe an inch shorter than me. I keep myself in halfway decent shape and I'd like to think that as a successful businessman I'm on the smart end of the scale. Don't ask what my heritage is, it's too complicated to determine. Though my parents immigrated from Norway there's been enough cross culture breeding through the generations to say I'm simply a mutt. There's nothing pure bred about me in any sense of the word, that about covers it.

At the tender age of 33 I sensed it was time to get serious about life. The business was well established, I had money in the bank, it was time to start thinking about finding a mate. Frankie seldom if ever came into the store so I was quite surprised when she walked through the door with Ez on Saturday morning. Ezra was there to get paid, I really had no idea why Frankie had come in. Being nervous and at the same time wanting to start a conversation I asked without giving my sentence much thought.

"How was the date?" I asked with a smile.

She frowned, "Exactly as I told you it would be, crummy. He was a tall well-built guy who thought he was god's gift to women acting like I was lucky to be in his presence. From the moment we met he p'd me off, the clincher came when he suggested we go to his place and get naked. I think his jaw hit the floor when I told him I wasn't interested in his meager offering and walked away. He was coming out of the building looking for me as an Uber, with me in the back seat, pulled away. Shirley called and was upset. Couldn't understand why I ditched him. No thanks. I wonder about that girl sometimes."

Taking a deep breath and exhaling she grinned at me, "And what did you do last night? Find some little honey at the Buffalo Club to go home with? I hear you're quite the player."

Damn, how does shit like that stick to the wall every time someone repeats it whether it's true or not? That had been me for a short while after getting home from the military, although my conquest ratings were low. There were lots of cute girls and many of them ready to jump in the hay with me. Then I'd find myself wondering that if they were that eager to screw, how many other guys had they slept with. I'd experienced enough of that in the military, I sure as hell didn't need a reputation like that as a business owner in a small town.

I had a smirk on my face as I shook my head, "Nope, not interested. Too many diseases going around these days. I'm looking for the right one, it's time to settle down and find a wifey."

She chuckled, "Wow, that's a surprise. Trom Knudson wants to settle down. Who'd a thunk it?"

I was confused, "Why does that seem foreign to you?" I asked.

"Because Alice Schutz told me you were a player. That's why."

I was laughing, "Alice only wishes I was, it was her chasing me all through high school, not the other way around. Even when I went into the service she hounded me with a bombardment of letters. Though I never answered it took her months to figure out I wasn't interested. We never so much as went on a date much less anything else. Besides, didn't she marry the Highland boy? Now he was a player, if it had a skirt on, he was after it."

Looking directly at me she raised her eyebrows and asked in a hesitating way.

"Trom, would you be willing to teach a small engine class as one of the segments to my last quarter? Several kids have asked but I never knew who I could get to teach it. I should have thought of you right away."

I gave her my best "I'm thinking about it" look and then leaned forward over my desk.

"I like the idea. What are the details?"

A smile immediately broke across her face, that smile, that lovely smile.

"Okay. Here's what I had in mind. I'll offer it in two segments. Two hours on Tuesday morning and two hours on Thursday afternoon with different kids. It would run the last six weeks of school before graduation week begins."

She didn't know it yet but in my mind I was all in. It was time to sink or swim, Hmmm, maybe I could get a pseudo date out of this conversation.

"I'll consider it if you'll consider something."

"Which is?" She asked

"Will you have dinner with me? We could talk more about it then."

The few seconds she stared at me felt like hours before she spoke, "Me? You must be desperate for a date to ask out the dark skinned industrial arts teacher. But you know what Trom, a meal might be nice. Now a question for you to consider. What about Ez? I won't leave him alone at night, he's afraid of the dark and it's too late to arrange respite care. The ball is in your court."

Finally, a chance to sit and talk with her outside a school event. "So, we'll take him along." I said.

"He doesn't like crowds, they laugh at and make fun of him? Thanks, but no thanks."

I needed to put my thinking cap on quickly before the moment slipped away.

"We can go to Rhino's, he could care less what you look like as long as your money is green, and the food isn't bad. He just started serving salads a few weeks ago, they're actually quite good."

She scoffed, "You? A salad? I don't think so."

I stood and looked her in the eye, "Then it's a date. We'll go to Rhino's tonight where you can watch me eat a salad. I especially love the strawberry/pecan with grilled chicken breast. No bleu cheese though, yuk."

Being old school she spit in her hand and extended it, I spit in mine and grasped hers. We shook to seal the deal.

She smiled, "Bet you never had a girl do that before. Dad always did that. Is seven too late"

I handed her Kleenex to dry her hand and the envelope with Ezra's money, "Seven is fine, I'll pick you guys up about six forty-five."

Watching her walk away I suddenly had a new appreciation for the lovely Francine Mallery. The girl I paid no attention to a little over a decade ago. The rest of the morning was spent talking with customers, I was fortunate enough to sell a lawn mower and a chain saw. Chuck, my part timer was busy with those, which would occupy him the rest of his day. I normally left at noon on Saturdays, I would deliver the mower and saw Monday morning. When I turned onto her street that evening Ez was on the front porch waiting. As soon as I pulled in the drive he ran inside, emerging three minutes later dragging Frankie behind. I was walking up the porch steps when she put the brakes on.