Commitment

Oscar is in his fishing boat on his favorite lake, watching his bobber bob up and down in the sun’s glare. Light dapples across his face as a soft breeze tosses the few strands of his balding head. Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his side. He is snapped awake.

 Dolores’s bony elbow has hit him hard in the ribs. She hisses, “Oscar, wake up! You’re in church!”

Oscar grumbles back, “I’m not sleeping. I’m listening.”

“Yeah? Well, your eyes were closed!” 

Oscar lifts his chin defiantly, “It was a long blink.”

Dolores fumes, “Sit up straight and pay attention!”

Throughout the rest of the sermon, Oscar squirms, fidgets, scratches, and blinks his eyes rapidly to stay awake.

Upon leaving, Oscar pumps the pastor’s hand. “Great sermon, Pastor Bob! I enjoyed it very much!” Pastor Bob returns Oscar’s handshake and smiles at him dubiously.

“Thank you, Oscar. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again next Sunday. Oh, by the way, have you thought further about coming to our men’s retreat? Dolores said you might be interested.”

Oscar slowly turns to face Dolores and sees her smiling sadistically at him. He sticks a finger into his collar and pulls it away a bit. “I can’t say that…. umm, you know if I will or if I won’t. Not right now, anyway. But we’ll see!”

The ride home to 1 Lovebirds Lane was quiet.  As they turn into the driveway, Oscar turns and glares at Dolores.  Dolores merely gazes out her window before turning to smile innocently at Oscar.

“What’s the idea of telling Pastor Bob I might go on the men’s retreat? You know damn well I won’t be going!” Dolores raises her eyebrows. “And why won’t you be going, Oscar?  God knows you can use it.” Oscar arches one side of his lip like Elvis. “Because I don’t want to sit around with a bunch of hypocrites, that’s why.”

“Hypocrites? You don’t even know these people. How can you call them hypocrites?”

Oscar huffs. “I do so know them! Quite a few of them worked at the mill with me. They were always swearing, "God damn this" and "What the hell" or "Oh shit!” But when they are in church, it’s a different story. It’s "OH gosh" and "What the heck" or "Fudge!” If that ain’t being hypocritical, I don’t know what is.”  

 Dolores opens her car door and storms for the house.  Oscar spies the Sunday newspaper on the front lawn and growls. “If I’ve told that kid once, I’ve told him a thousand times to put the paper on the porch! But no! He’s too damn lazy to get off his bike, so he throws it at the house instead.” Oscar stomps over to fetch the paper lying under a bush. As he bends to retrieve it, he scrapes the top of his head on an old, dry branch. Oscar grabs his head exclaims, “Son of a...! That’s it! I’m canceling the paper! There’s nothing in there but bad news anyway, and who wants to read bad news on a Sunday morning?”

He continues to grumble as he enters the house and walks into the kitchen. Dolores is making coffee. Oscar slams the paper down on the kitchen table and declares, “I’m canceling the Sunday paper!”

Dolores turns to face Oscar, and cooly replies,  “No, you’re not. I get a lot of good grocery coupons from the paper and coupons for other things we need as well. So, no, you are not going to cancel the paper. And what happened to your head?”

Oscar’s face turns red. “That damned paperboy did this to me!”

“What? He hit you on the head?”

“Nooo! He threw the paper under the bush, and I scraped it on a branch.” Dolores beckons Oscar over. She wets a paper towel and dabs Oscar’s head. “It’s not so bad.” She then kisses the welt and, mockingly, coos, “There. Mommy kissed it and made it al-l-l-l better.” Oscar growls deeply, “Very funny. You care more about your coupons than my wound!”

“I’ve already kissed it, so sit down and drink your coffee. On a more serious note, you really should attend the retreat. They’ll have great speakers and discussions. You’ll get to meet other men from the church and get to know them better. Plus, you may even learn what God wants from you.”

 Oscar blinks slowly as he raises his eyebrows. “I already know what God wants and why he created me this way.” Dolores leans on the table, resting her chin between her fingers and thumb. “This should be good. Shoot!”

“When we were kids, a man lived on the corner of Main and School Street, remember?”

Dolores closes her eyes to think. Then they snap open as she recalls. “Yeah, a Mr. Fergerson. He was a cranky old coot!” Oscar nods his head. “That’s right. He had the nicest house on the block. Every other year, he painted his picket fence. If any of us kids even looked like we might be leaning on it, he’d call the cops. Once, his brother arrived during a rain storm and, when parking his car, he accidentally splashed mud on the white fence. The two got into a big argument and never spoke to one another again. Old man Fergerson was eighty-seven and, every time someone wished he would die, God added another year to his life. And do you know why? To teach people tolerance. God has given me the same attitude, and I aim to keep my end of the bargain. Fergerson died at one hundred and six!”

 Dolores shakes her head and moans. “Oscar, do you even know God?”

Oscar straightens up, feeling most indignant. “Why, of course I do! When we first joined this church, the pastor said, “Oscar, do you know God?” I looked him straight in the eye and declared “Yes!” And then he asked, “Oscar. Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God?” And I affirmed wholeheartedly that I did. Finally, he asked if I would like to be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And I gave him a resounding, “Maybe.”

Dolores shakes her fist at Oscar. “See! That’s exactly your problem. You’re afraid of commitment.”

Oscar refutes her. “No I’m not.”

Dolores frowns. “Oh, come on, Oscar. Name one commitment you’ve ever made and kept.”

“I married you. The minister asked me if I’d take you for my wife, and I said, “I do.” And ever since that day, I’ve made your coffee every morning, poured your juice, and set the table for your breakfast with the morning newspaper folded to your favorite section, the obituaries.”

“Oh, come on, Oscar, you read them too!”

“No I don’t. I only scan them looking for a certain name.”

“Who’s?”

“Your mother’s.”

Dolores bows her head so that Oscar won’t see the small smirk on her face because she knows he is joking. Then, in a sincere gental voice she says, “I think you act the way you do because you’re afraid of people. You’re afraid they’ll hate you if they find out what you’re really like. Am I right, Oscar?”

Oscar sits quietly, tearing small pieces off his paper napkin. He looks up at Dolores and confesses in a voice that's just above a whisper. “That’s right, Dolores, you’ve told the truth. I am afraid that if people get to know the person I am, they won’t like me. So, I make it so that they can’t like me. That way, I don’t get hurt.” Oscar reaches across the table and takes Dolores’s hand. “Thank you for being so understanding. Now you know why I won’t be attending the men’s retreat." 

Dolores squeezes Oscar’s hand and smiles sympathetically at him, a tear caught in the corner of her eye. 

Oscar clears his throat.  “If you’ll excuse me now, I think I'll watch a little Matlock.”

Dolores dabs away the tear as she watches Oscar shuffle off to the parlor. She hears the springs of his old recliner squeak as he sits, followed by the theme song to Matlock. The warm feeling of sympathy in her chest suddenly disappears in a poof as her mouth drops open because Dolores suddenly realizes she’s just been played.

“OSCAR!!”