Life is What You Make of It

Note: If you are looking for erotica, stop here and change directions. This short story is only as I envision how I would like the rest of my life go. Of course, it is all fiction, with a little bit of truth thrown in. Yes, I am an old man having lived a decent life. I read an adage early on which I have lived by and it has served me well: "I am an old man who has worried about many problems, most of which have never happened." Kudus to DTIverson, my favorite author on Literotica.

Life is What You Make of It.

It was September 5, 1950, at 8:30 AM, my first day of school, first grade. I was sitting at my desk, when this little girl with blonde pigtails and blue eyes sat down beside me. I was six years old.

The girl's name was Suzie Browning. She lived across the street from me. We have been friends since we can remember.

She looked at me, asking "Bobby, how old do we have to be to get married.?"

That was me, Robert Joseph Jennings, Bobby, of course.

Remember back then, little boys were made of "snips and snails and puppy dog tails" while little girls were made of "sugar and spice and everything nice."

She and I were the only boy and girl to sit together; the other boys and girls were like cats and dogs. All activities found girls with girls and boys with boys.

"Bobby has a girlfriend; Bobby has a girlfriend" was a common taunt. Suzie got it just as bad. We were immune to it.

I raised my hand and asked: "Mrs. Smith, how old do Suzie and I have to be to get married?" Pandemonium broke out.

She responded with a smile and "a few more years."

Well, that being said, I just looked at Suzie and nodded. She looked back at me and flashed the crooked little smile I adored.

Six weeks later there was a PTA meeting. Out parents attended. Mom asked me why I had asked that question of Mrs. Smith.

I said because Suzie asked me.

"OK, why did she asked you?" she responded.

"Because she asked me to marry her" I said.

Mom asked me how I answered her.

So, I told her I said "yes, that was why she asked how long we had to wait."

Mom said we would have to wait many years to marry, finish 12 years of public school then at least four years of college.

I told Suzie what Mom said and she was heartbroken, but no more than me... we knew we were to be together.

Time passed and we continued in our committed relationship. She was 17 when it happened. The drunk driver, Suzie and her parents did not survive. It took several years of counseling before I reached some modicum peace.

Upon finishing high school I enlisted in the Marine Corps, serving four years, and mustering out as an E5 sergeant. My MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) was in mechanics. It is well known that every Marine is first a rifleman and must "qualify" at the rifle range each year. Nevertheless, I served, proud as all Marines are as that is what was instilled in us.

I left the Marines and found my way to Clemson where I earned an MBA. I had become quite astute in investing so was able to use my extra money to build a respectable portfolio. I was always generous, helping others as needed.

I dated, but there just seemed to be something amiss. I enjoyed the company but the women seemed to sense something was wrong. Nothing ever developed.

I had found this little property on the Wando River, just north of Charleston, South Carolina when I was in my forties. A small cabin was built along with the pier and sheds. The weekends often found me there enjoying the peace and quiet. Fishing was a passion for me as I cut my teeth on a fishing rod, favoring trout fishing in the mountain streams.

I was reasonably happy.

My cabin was, as said, small. One bedroom and bath, a kitchen and great-room which served as dining room, living room and office. A 42" flat screen TV hung on one wall, I had my recliner, a sofa, two side easy chairs and two end tables with lamps. It was easy to keep clean and I was blessed that two of the wives who I shared my catches with often came by to "check on me," but somehow found them doing dishes, laundry, dusting, etc. Both were black women in their 50's with kids at home. Genteel by southern standards to say the least. Their husbands had no problem with them checking in on me. Both had keys to my home.

It was not unusual to hear my lawn mower start up with my looking outside to see one of the teenagers mowing my lawn. It was normal to look out back and see one or several people, teens to adults, weeding my extensive garden. There was a small shed which held my garden tools, no lock, so they had full access.

Springtime found one of the men running my rotary tiller to get the half acre garden ready. When I showed up with potted plants, tomatoes, green peppers, broccoli, cabbage, collards, etc., the women and teens seemed to appear out of nowhere to help plant. Seed planting was similarly assisted. I had my high wheel cultivator to make the rows being followed by somebody with the seeds of green beans, lettuce, corn, squash, sugar snap peas, carrots, etc. Potatoes, white and sweet, along with onions were earlier.

And then the harvest. The five families, black, white and Hispanic had it down pat. The women never had to buy fresh vegetables in season. Each had their baskets and knew how to remove vegetables from the plants without hurting the plants. No need to call or knock, just come and help yourself. The only criteria were to only pick enough for a day or two and just for themselves. More than once I returned from fishing to smell something wonderful staying warm in my oven. This was my family. Little did they know that when my time came, they would get a financial blessing; property set up in a trust into perpetuity.

There was a small church only a few miles away. It was very basic, but well attended. The pastor had sermons easy to grasp; his wife had the voice of an angel leading us in our hymns.

I learned a lot from him. I came to realize the Scriptures were given for the common man not needing some biblical scholar to explain them. I came to know the Golden Rule as a way of life for me not by being taught, but by example of the church and the people.

Many, Many Years Later

The years passed, my eyes grew dim, hearing faded. My neighbors took over more and more, I never asked. They took me to doctors, shopping, church. It is said that blood is thicker than water, when referring to family vs. non-family relationships. There are exceptions to every rule.

Despite my advanced age, the garden continued to prosper, well attended by the neighbors.

It was going to be balmy day, humid and temperatures in the mid 80's. It was Tuesday, September 14, 2012. I was sitting in my lawn chair on my pier which extended out into the Wando River. It was just turning 8:00 AM. So, here I am, 73 years old, minding two fishing rods with spinning reels, left hand retrieve. The drags were set lightly as I was fishing for skillet fish, namely sea trout, flounder or spot tails (channel bass or redfish). I was using live bait which I caught that morning with my cast net.

This was a normal day for me. I timed my fishing with the flow of the tide, using the inbound as the fish would follow it in to feed on little critters along the shore or in the grass. My fishing was down to a science as I have been doing this a number of years. I caught my share of fish, relegating them to the cooler. The cooler had wheels and a tow handle. My pier had a small, secure shed attached just large enough for my chair, a sun umbrella, the wagon, cooler and gear. Life was good.

Did I eat all the fish I caught? Heavens no. The families within walking distance of my little one-bedroom cabin who gladly accepted the surplus. I always gutted them and removed the scales, placing the fish in zip lock bags. The pier had a cleaning table and was plumbed with fresh water. I am certain the crabs enjoyed the innards which were flushed into the Wando, all of the named fish were quality eating fare and I was happy to share and the folks were delighted to receive.

So the incoming tide found me on my lawn chair. I felt unusually tired. The two rods were baited and secured in their rod holders. The sun was rising. I thought I heard a voice, but was it the wind or the waves? It sounded like "Bobbie, Bobbie, Bobbie." It was a voice I knew from so well from so many decades ago.

One rod was bouncing; I just looked at it, nodded my head, realizing what was happening and mumbled, "Good-bye my dear family. I am coming Suzie."