The Story Slice: "The Loan"

by Brian Hughes

“I’m grateful God. I am blessed to be alive and be in your service,” Iris whispered to herself kneeling at a pew inside The St. Joseph’s Baptist Church. Iris liked to wear carnations in her hair like Billie Holiday. “Watch over my Devon. He wants to change; I know he does. Please give him this bank loan so that he may start ovr a-fresh.” She then clasped her freshly lotioned hands together, closed her eyes and said a Glory-Be and an Our Father.

Like a bunny rabbit, she sped toward the doors, only to be stopped by Reverend Johnston.

“Dear Iris – good morning. How are you?”
“I’m fine Reverend.”
Reverend Johnston had a manicured moustache and the honest eyes of a Golden Retriever.
“How is Devon? Is he okay?”
“Yes Reverend. We’re trying to straighten out his credit situation.”
“Ah, yes … credit cards are the devil’s workshop.”
“We’re trying to get a loan so that he may be able to pay off his debts.”
“I’ll say a prayer.”
“Thank you Reverend Johnston. I have to go; I’m running late for work.”
“God bless you.”
“See you on Sunday!” tossed out Iris as she threw open the metal bar of the church doors, the Reverend smiling after her.

Iris carried a shopping list in her left hand and pushed a red cart with her right - eyes darting in and out of the aisles of the supermarket – rushing, stopping and starting – grabbing a peanut butter on this shelf, snatching toilet paper from that shelf. She looked down at her watch and then over her shoulder to see if the lines were swelling at the registers; they weren’t. Good, she thought. Stopping in the soup aisle, she noticed that they were out of Macaroni and Bean. Iris thrust her long arm behind the varieties of soup cans in hopes that there was one more left in the darkness of the inner shelf; but there was none. “Oh, well,” she thought as she grabbed a few cans of lentil.

Iris was paying at the registers when Josie, the head cashier, walked over to her.

“You’re needed at the returns desk.”
“I know … I know … don’t you think I heard my name called. My lunch break is not over yet.” Iris looked down at her watch and shook her head in frustration.
“Well don’t be getting up in my grill,” Josie said as she walked away in a huff.

After having stowed her groceries away in the store locker room, Iris set out into the madness of the super market. She put on her poly-cotton managers vest and wrapped her register keys around her upper arm. A stout woman wearing a hairnet was waiting to damn Iris to hell.

“This is not acceptable, you here! Not acceptable!”
“Let me see the receipt.”
“This is just not acceptable.”
Iris gave the receipt a quick once over and handed it back to the irate woman. “Go ahead and make an even exchange.”
“This is not acceptable!”
“I said you can make the exchange!”
“Oh … all right. Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“Iris?” asked Josie.
“You hear this woman? They are trying to put me in the madhouse, but I’m not going without a fight. What do you need?”
“Karen needs you for a void.”
“Take care of this gentleman over here. He always returns canned goods to get money for his prescription. Just check the dates on the cans – if they are good, we’ll take them.”
Iris hurried over to Karen to take care of her void, meanwhile Mr. Burkson, the head store manager, opened up his office door and called out to Iris.
“Iris, could you come here for a moment.”
Her phone rang. It was her mom.
“What do you want mom, I’m busy.”
“Kayla is hungry – what am I supposed to feed her – dirt from the playground?”
“Mom please! There is plenty of oatmeal left. Feed her that till I come by.”
“Don’t forget the toilet paper.”
“I didn’t.”
“And the soup!”
“Goodbye mom.”

It was 4:03 in the afternoon. Iris could tell without looking down at her watch. Why? Because “Hella Good” by No Doubt was playing on the C-Town radio station. Everyday the same rotation of songs played at the same time. It bothered Iris that she noticed this. It almost drove her crazy.
Iris hurried into Mr. Burkson’s office. “I’m not looking forward to this,” Iris said to herself as she opened the door to find Darryl Walker leaning against the office wall, arms folded, eyes coldly staring back at her.

“You’re a liar and a bitch is what you are.”
“That’s enough of that Darryl,” yelled Mr. Burkson.
“I’m gonna get canned because of your lies. You never liked me Iris.”
“That’s not true Darryl. Your own actions put you in this position. I had no other choice.”
“You had no other choice … no other choice.” Darryl punched the wall with his fist. Iris didn’t budge. She held her ground.
“I’m calling the police Darryl,” said Mr. Burkson as he picked up his office phone.
“No need … no need. I’m outta here. It’s on the both of your head what happens to me and my little girl, who I won’t be able to feed, because I’m out a job.” Darryl looked her up and down. “I know where you live.”
“Don’t you dare fucking threaten me!”
Darryl smiled, looked at the both of them, and calmly walked out of the office. One side of Iris’ face had begun to twitch nervously. She collected herself and took in a deep breath but the twitch persisted.
Mr. Burkson just shook his head. “I’m sorry Iris.”
“Whatever …”

Iris was done with her shift. Before she collected her groceries, she pulled a few packs of cigarettes out of her work vest and placed them in her shopping bags – looking around to make sure no one was watching her. She then took out her cell phone and dialed a phone number.
“Hello, is Ray there? My name is Iris, I’m a friend. Okay … could you please tell him to meet me outside in ten minutes if you should see him? Thank you very much.” Iris closed up her phone and hurried to the front of the store. Once she was outside, she walked over to the freight door. Carl, the produce and bakery supervisor, was having a smoke.

“Any good left-over hard rolls tonight?”
“Have a bag right over here that Willie prepared for you.”
“Thanks Carl – and thank Willie for me. I have to run – I’m so late.”

Iris was glad to be outside in the fresh cool air. The cold air of the supermarket got into her bones after a while and made them ache. She was carrying three bags, but they weren’t all that heavy. Her phone had begun to vibrate. She just knew it was her mom, but had no intention of answering it.
The VFW hall was on Clark Street. Iris placed her groceries down and waiting for ten minutes in the cold for Ray to come out, but he never did. Refusing to wait any longer, Iris walked into the building, and in looking for Ray, found him sitting calmly in his AA meeting. Iris felt embarrassed as she gesticulated to him to step out into the hall. Ray was a gaunt figure with a beer belly. His hair was shoulder length and a bit on the greasy side. The work pants and flannel shirt seemed a size too big as he kept pulling up on his belt.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Ray – but I have your cigarettes and bread for you.”

“Not at all – I’m so grateful to you for bringing me this. How can I make it up to you?”
“Well, why don’t you come by the soup kitchen every now and then and help out. We can always use volunteers, and you’ll get some free food in the process.”
“Hmmm … yeah, I should do that, but I have lots of issues with kitchens and I’m allergic to soup.”
“Oh, okay.”
“But wait… I have a new poem I just wrote that I would like to give to you.”
Ray walked back into the meeting and discreetly removed a folded up yellow piece of paper from his coat pocket. He handed it to Iris who began to unfurl it.
“Wait – read it outside, please.”
“Oh – okay.”
“I should get back to the meeting. Thank you – this helps me out so much, I can’t even begin to tell you.”

Iris was glad to help Ray out. She thought of him as an intellectual and it hurt her to see him waste his talent in hard liquor and pain medication. He usually comes by the supermarket and picks up the bread himself, but she knew he had his meeting and wanted to reward him for attending by giving his some rolls and a couple of packs of smokes.
Iris made it to her bus stop with a few minutes to spare. Her phone vibrated. It was Devon:

“No word from the bank yet?”
“He’ll call either today or tomorrow, I’m sure of it. Stay positive,” said Iris.
“How’s Kayla?”
“I’m on my way over to my mom’s now.”
“Good.”
“How is work today?”
“Same shit – different day.”
“Why don’t you come by the soup kitchen tonight?”
“I don’t think I want to. It depresses me.”
“It’s Thanksgiving and we have a lot to be thankful for.”
“I know … I know … don’t give me the third degree.”
“Whatever … just remember – God gives to the giver and takes from the taker.”

The bus pulled to the curb and Iris got in. As soon as she sat down she read Ray’s poem. Something about his gentle words and hearing a couple of healthy, vibrant children playing in the seat behind her, made the tears just flow down her cheeks like rain from an umbrella.

“Where is my macaroni and bean soup?” Iris’ mother asked.
“We ran out – have the lentil.”
“I don’t want the lentil. I want the macaroni and bean! The least you can do, after all the work I do for Kayla, is get me the right soup.”
“I’m sorry if taking care of your only granddaughter is a chore, but she is not a well child.”
“Don’t give me no guilt trip. I just gave her the medicine.”
Iris’ mother wore a maroon wig and a flowery house dress. Her arthritic hand curled around the knob of her wooden cane as she hired the television set to a near ear busting volume.
Iris picked up Kayla and walked her around her mother’s apartment. The place was full of Christian iconography and paintings. “Devon will be by soon to pick Kayla up and you can watch your shows.”
“You’re ungrateful, you know that? It’s not easy at my age to take care of this child.”
“I’m going to bring you back a bunch of leftovers tonight – I’m sure that will make you happy and keep you from complaining.”
“I don’t like cranberry sauce. No cranberry sauce.”
“Yes mom.”

The line of homeless people started at the long table of volunteers plopping turkey, stuffing and other Thanksgiving foods onto their styrofoam plates, out to the long corridor, into the foyer and out onto the cold dark street. Few of the unfortunates spoke to one another – instead they just inched forward, staring down at the torn shoes of the person in front of them – waiting anxiously to get their cavity ridden teeth into some dark salty meat.
It was Iris’ job to supervise the other volunteers and to replace the empty canisters of food with fresh heaping and hot canisters of food brought from the kitchen.

“Hand me the sweet potatoes. Here George, take this back and refill. Keep it moving. You’re all doing a fantastic job!”
After several minutes of non-stop flow, Iris noticed Devon making his way through the crowd, a grin on his face – trying to make contact with her eyes as he made his approach. When he got closer, she could see a bouquet of red roses in his hand.
“Here,” Devon said, as he handed Iris the roses across the long table of food.
“What’s this for?”
“I got the loan.”
“Yay! I’m so happy for you. Now we can rebuild your credit. Give me a kiss and a hug.” Devon reached across the table and they embraced.
“That right there is about the sweetest thing I have seen all week. I mean I am just struck with a robust kind of sentimentality,” a homeless man said, as he patted Devon on the back and carried on down the food chain. Devon and Iris smiled.
“Where can I get me an apron,” Devon asked with a grin.
“You are too cute. Why you can find a few on the table over there.”
“Great.” Devon kissed Iris once more and walked over to the aprons.
“Do you have any more stuffing available behind there?” asked another homeless person wearing a large moth eaten winter cap.
“Sure I do, here is a fresh batch.” Iris placed down a new container and gave the man a nice scoopful. As the man turned to his left to check on the mashed potatoes, Iris smiled, removed Ray’s poem from her pocket and placed it neatly on the man’s tray.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Iris said aloud to the hungry throng before her.


For more on these and other characters please visit earlier "Slices" Tudor City and Revival.