This Charming Man

At first, when I saw it there, piled up all along the shelves and spilling out onto the floor, I thought it must have been some kind of joke. I checked the date and made sure it wasn’t April, then walked up to the first package I saw. These things could happen I guess, even the post office could make a mistake. I read the label on the first box, and then the next. Miles Regis, 21 Hillside Ln. 08329, Miles Regis, 21 Hillside Ln. 08329… About halfway through I realized I was wasting my time. 

After fifteen minutes of loading and stacking and turning and then turning again, I still had five boxes that wouldn’t fit in the truck. I’d never in my life had to make two trips to the depot. Forty years of this crap and you think you’ve seen it all. As I crawled up to the seat of the mail truck I could feel the ache already starting in my lower back. I didn’t know who this Miles Regis guy was, but I knew I already hated him. 

Driving out from the winding back roads into our little downtown I was on the hunt for the face I didn’t know. In the square I saw Greg Beadle sitting alone in front of his game of chess. On Main Street Ms. May came wobbling out of the drug store, a handful of prescription baggies by her side. I made the usual rounds to City Hall, then to Libby’s and onto Mitch’s. The sky up above seemed to pour lifeless light over the grey, dirtied clouds. Sun, at least today, was out of the question. 

At Mitch’s I handed him his weekly circular and then hung around to ask the question. He was finishing up with Don Lavallee, a straight razor danced across the back of his neck. 

“Miles Regis,” I said. “You know him?”

Mitch paused and looked up. “Regis?” he said. “Can’t say I do. One of your brother’s buddies from down in the city? 

“No,” I said. “He lives here. Apparently.” I reached my hands around to my back and pressed my thumbs into my waist. “Let’s just say Mr. Regis gave me quite the workout this morning with all his packages. I’ve got another load back at the depot for him, too.”

“No shit?” Mitch said. “Can’t imagine why I haven’t seen him. Lord knows I’m the only barber in town.”

I laughed. “Well if you do, tell him we’ve got stores just as good as the ones on the internet. Cheaper, too.” 

Mitch nodded and went back to studying the hairs on Don’s neck. I took my bag and walked out to Main, where puddles had already started to gather at my feet. Despite the rain I walked along, weaving in and out of our tiny shops, dropping mail and the name that had somehow seemed to captivate my mind. Though the story of my morning discovery had already spawned a handful of theories,  no one in our town had heard of him. Mary at the drug store assured me he must be a consultant. Some big shot from the city charged with finally getting rid of the bearing factory and moving it to Mexico. Ronald, legs poking out the underside of an old Ford told me he’d heard rumors they wanted to open a brewery here. I myself wasn’t too sure what to believe.

It was Janice, standing behind the counter at her bookstore who seemed most concerned.

“This is the end,” she said, shaking her head. “Of you, of me, of everybody.” 

“Come on,” I said. “Overreacting a little? It might turn out to be a good thing.”

“Yeah,.” Janice frowned. “For the property values. No matter who this guy is, he moved here. And he’ll eventually be bringing his yuppy-doody friends here, too. This store,” she motioned to the racks of books along the wall. “They don’t come here. They don’t use the mail. They don’t go to old-timey barber shops either. All of this goes, and us with it.”

I pursed my lips and tried to think of something to say, but all I could think about was where I would go. “Well I hope you’re wrong,” I finally said and I walked toward the door with my bag. 

“Me too,” Janice said. “Me too.”

In the truck I moved slowly, ferrying my fingers in and out of the window to dodge the rain, sliding stacks of letters into roadside mailboxes up along the north side of town. My back felt like it’d been pried open with a pick, my mind etched with thought of Janice’s words. She was the smartest person in town. But the prospect of me having to leave seemed too much to bear. “Where would I go?” I asked myself. And I knew that the answer was nowhere. In a ditch, in the lake, six-feet underground. I could never really leave. 

As I took the switchback up to Hillside I saw the old white victorian pop up along the hill. Number twenty-one had sat empty for years, and from my truck I could see the water gushing over the leaf-filled gutter, splayed out across the driveway on its way down to the ravine. Whether it was my back or the day's events, something told me that I shouldn’t deliver the packages. Like somehow I was the last line of defense for our town and by giving them up I’d be all but sealing our fate. I thought about my job, the boxes down at the depot waiting for me and my wet and achy self. I had no choice. If it wasn’t today it’d be tomorrow, and if it wasn't me it’d be somebody else.

I pulled in and up the driveway, and began to pass the packages under the porch. I worked quickly, nervously, half of me hoping to get a peek at this man, the other half hoping to be spared another day. As I shuffled back and forth from the truck I could see a light glowing from the window, the shades having been drawn closed. When I reached the final package, the largest one of the bunch, I braced myself and waddled towards the house. Ahead of me I heard a voice come from the doorway. As the package slid below my eyes and to the ground, I saw the outline of an older woman, seated in a wheelchair. She was watching me intently. 

“I wish I could help,” said the woman. Her hands were to her sides as she smiled and motioned towards her legs. “I can’t believe how much he ordered.”

I stood for a second, the rain coming down around me. I wasn’t sure quite what to do. “Are you Mrs. Regis?” I asked. 

“No,” she said, laughing. “It was my son who ordered all this junk. He insisted on getting all my furniture by mail. I told him he was crazy, but look at this,” She shook her head in satisfaction . “A whole darn home in a pile of boxes.” 

“I can bring them inside if you want,” I said. I started to bend down towards the box in front of me, feeling proud I’d just moved someone in unknowingly. 

“Oh no,” she said. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll get my son to do it. He’s in charge of setting everything up now that my husband’s gone. He was the one that ordered this all.” 

“Well,” I said. “I still got a few more boxes down at the depot. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that, either,” she said. “You can bring them tomorrow. My son will be here by then to help.” She fiddled with the wheels of her chair and then rolled closer to the doorway.“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem,” I said and though I knew I should have left, I let my curiosity get the best of me. “Say,” I said shyly. “I gotta ask, what brings you all the way up here? Awfully weird place to move-to, if I don’t say so myself.”

The woman looked at me and then out at the rain on the driveway. “Well,” she said.“My husband passed and I guess I didn’t know where else to go. It's been awhile, but I’ll always consider this place home.”

“You’ve lived here before?” I said, shocked at this revelation.

“Born and raised,” she said grinning. “Born and raised.”