J. Timothy King Stories that Expand Your Life™

She was just another job to Jeffrey Tanner, just another account someone defaulted on, just another automobile someone couldn’t afford to pay for, until that day she limped into his office.

She was not someone you would expect to make a difference in anyone’s life. She was neither rich nor powerful. She was not vivacious, not young, not beautiful. She was neither a mover nor a shaker. She hobbled along, a quad cane in one hand, dragging her withered frame behind her, arthritis-infested joints creaking with each lumbering step. She reeked of old perfume; a small, black toque sat atop her thinning, black hair, probably dyed; and when she opened her mouth, from her shriveled face screeched a voice like that of the Wicked Witch of the West.

“I’m Mrs. Mildred Kramer.”

Jeffrey knew the name. He had handled the account personally. For a fleeting moment, he thought of offering her a seat. But then he thought the better of it. She was going to ask for an extension on her loan, and he didn’t want to start by being too friendly, because he needed to get himself into a hard-ass mood.

Instead, he said, “What can I do for you, Mrs. Kramer?”

“I’m here to talk about my car.”

“Well, what sort of car were you interested in?” Play dumb. Make her do all the work.

Instead of answering, she staggered to his guest chair and collapsed into it.

“My son and I bought a car here,” she said, “and you handled the loan.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jeffrey answered. “Let me look it up.” He punched some keys on his computer keyboard. “Awful nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he asked, trying to defuse the situation with small talk.

She eyed him carefully. “I believe we had weather like this in 1982.” Her voice filled with an air of authority mixed with sarcasm, a haughty tone that clashed with its reedy quality.  Click to continue »

Kids and toilets don’t mix. They’re always going wrong at the most inconvenient times, like when I need to go.

I pushed open the bathroom door and almost stepped in it, a puddle the size of Lake Erie. Carefully lifting the lid confirmed my suspicions. The bowl was filled to the brim. Inside was a tiny log of poo and a half-roll of toilet paper.

“Shit,” I said. Then, “Gerald Ferris Robinson, Junior!”

“What?” I heard his voice echo from somewhere on the first floor. You know, whenever the Beaver’s mother used his full name, he came running.

“Come here!”

Feet bounded up the stairs, making a noise disproportionate to their size.

“What is it, Ma?”

I motioned to the toilet and surrounding flood.

He said nothing.

“I have to use the toilet, and now I can’t. I work really hard around here cleaning up after you. And I really wish you wouldn’t make my life more difficult.”

He seemed to stand a little shorter.

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

He quietly slunk downstairs, turned on the television, and turned up the volume.

I hated working in the toilet. When I was growing up, whenever my mother asked me to clean the bathroom, I would wear heavy latex gloves to protect me from the germs. I would used a disinfecting cleanser, and when I was done, I would carefully remove the gloves and throw them in the trash. Then I’d wash for 15 minutes, all the way up to my elbows, like a surgeon.

Now, plunger in hand, I needed to unclog the drain. I always got Jerry to take care of this kind of thing. But Jerry wasn’t home from work yet, and I had a pain in my butt that called out disaster, and I don’t mean the kid. As I worked, I splashed even more water onto the floor. I felt wet floor sliding under my shoes.

Then I felt long, wet hair sticking to my neck and water dribbling down my blouse. I shook my head to clear the feeling. I hadn’t had long hair since early in ninth grade.  Click to continue »

If anyone could see her, he wouldn’t know what she was looking for. She walked along this rock-studded beach, time after time eying the sea.

Her toe banged one of the large rocks, causing her to hobble as she continued her weary search.

She stopped, yes, her eyes wide, gazing out toward the water. Smile on face, she met the object as it approached her.

It was he. And she did embrace him. But her smile turned to tears.

“Damn plan,” she muttered under her breath. “Damn, stupid plan! We were happy. Why did you do this to me?”

The next day, she heard about it on the radio, “From footprints on the scene, authorities are looking for a woman, about five-feet-five-inches, a hundred thirty pounds, with a limp.”

Each morning Jace walked by her house on his way to school. Each afternoon he passed it on his way home. Sometimes, he would also pass at other times. Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of the bright-faced girl with wavy blonde locks. She sat under the two conifers that towered overhead. But as far as he knew, she never noticed him.  Click to continue »