Shirley Goodness loved books. Every day she was surrounded by them. But the Christian bookshop didn’t pay worth
beans and standing all the time made her back hurt. On occasion, red-faced
fundamentalists would try to convince her of the exclusive veracity of the 1611
translation of the King James Version, but mostly the customers were OK. She’d wanted to work in a bookstore since she
was a little girl, imagining rapturous conversations with fellow bibliophiles,
snuggled deep into sofa cushions sipping strong coffee. Reality was 16-hour days on her feet, tidying
end-caps with loss-leaders like The
Parent’s Guide to Preventing Homosexuality or Secrets of the Vine 30-day Diet Program for Kids. There were entire sections devoted to one
author (“How can one person sell so many books that say the same thing?” she
puzzled) next to endless reams of tepid fiction mixed with the ravenously
popular End-Times genre. There were a
few gems on the shelves: Donald Miller’s Blue
Like Jazz, Dave Ramsey’s Total Money
Makeover, the biographies of Keith Green and Rich Mullins. But, until she won the lottery (“fat chance”), this job paid the bills.
So Shirley Goodness sold some books.
-
Of the two highlights on her average
day, the best was sharing her lunch with James.
He was the homeless man who’d parked himself on the bench in front of
the store. His coat was filthy, his thick,
dark hair matted, his beard bushy (but thankfully crumb-free), his boots had no
laces and his hands were lined with grime but his smile was easy, huge and
genuine. He greeted her cheerfully each
morning, calling her ‘beautiful’ and not in a creepy way but like he truly enjoyed
the way she looked. She never really felt
beautiful, but when James’ deep voice boomed she felt the tiniest bit
pretty. He got a kick out of her name,
starting sentences with “Surely, Shirley” when he was making a point, or sighing
“Oh my Goodness” while pretending she was a dense child. For her part she was always bringing him
food, or socks or gloves. Once, with her
Christmas bonus, she bought him a nice new tent and a water-proof hat over
which he beamed and exclaimed until she was embarrassed. A week later she took the trash out and noted
that he hadn’t put up the new tent - the same, neat, olive-green poncho was pegged
out in the pine grove behind the store as always. He proudly wore his new hat every day until
it was as dirty as his coat but she never asked him about the tent; a gift was
a gift. And Shirley Goodness valued gifts.
-
James had shown up on his bench not
long after she started at the store. At
first she was uneasy with his constant presence and cheery greetings. The store owner was rarely there but when he
was, he would imperiously order James to leave the premises or face the police. James would nod, smile a little and stride off. The owner would strut back in looking smug,
muttering about the “undesirable element” driving away business. It was because her boss was such a jerk that
Shirley first took pity on James and shared her lunch with him. It wasn’t much and the sandwich was stale,
but he was so grateful and such a good listener that she began to eat with him
regularly. They stood under the dripping
eaves on rainy days and basked on the bench when the sun shone. They talked of life and love and money and
books and God and people and fun and evil, or rather, she did. After her initial shyness she opened like a
flower, prattling on while he listened intently, smiling his benevolent smile,
radiating warmth and understanding, his crinkled grey-green eyes never leaving
her face. She didn’t know much about him
- he was reticent to discuss his personal life and after a few futile attempts she’d
quit asking. Every day at noon they
could be found sharing food and conversation, interrupted only by his joyful
greeting to the coiffed, yoga-toned suburbanite women. Their stilettos, in turn, would click hastily
while their eyes slid sideways, lips compressed into thin red lines, knuckles
white on Coach bags. Shirley quietly
smoldered at their haughty dismissal of him for his appearance, and her by
association. She felt like throwing
rocks at their imported sedans but she settled for glaring at them until they
looked away with a sniff. James just
chuckled. And Shirley Goodness grew fond
of chuckling.
-
Shirley’s second-best part of the
day was stopping at the gas station to buy a microwavable burrito and a lottery
ticket. She knew playing the lottery was
a ridiculous waste of money – Dave Ramsey had done the math for her – but for
the next few hours the tiniest spark of hope glowed in her chest, although she
conceded that might be the burrito. If she won, she could quit her paltry job, move
from her dingy apartment and put her loneliness behind her. She would dream for hours about trips and
homes and clothes and cars – but lately her dreams had been centering more and
more on James: she realized, as improbable as it was, that she really had
feelings for him - a lot of them. Well, if she won the lottery she’d see to it
that no self-starved, hypocritical housewife would ever sneer at him again! And Shirley Goodness discovered she was fiercely
in love.
-
One Friday, Shirley made up her mind
to ask James home for supper. She got paid on Fridays, so she planned an
elaborate spread, including a whole baked chicken with potatoes and home-made
cookies. She’d drive him back to his
tent after, let him keep the leftovers.
She asked him as she unlocked the store that morning and he agreed
instantly, looking pleased. Of course,
he always looked pleased. She was so
excited about sharing a normal evening with him that time seemed to drag. As closing time approached she was hurriedly
packing her things when she was interrupted by an imperious woman decked in
gold and leather looking for the newest T.D. Jakes. Coming impatiently around the counter she led
her to the self-help section but the woman also ordered her to find just the
right New King James for Women, then just the right Joyce Meyers commentary,
then just the right accompanying book on Apostolic miracles. Finally, 30 minutes past closing time,
Shirley frantically counted out the register, grabbed her bag, hit the alarm,
scooted outside and locked up. She turned
to find James. He was gone. She called for him. There was silence. She ran around behind the
strip mall to the grove of pines. She
stood panting, her breath coming in clouds under the orange sulfur street lamp,
staring in heartbroken disbelief at the empty spot between the trees. “James?” Her small voice trembled in the
stillness. “JAMES!” No answer. And Shirley Goodness started to cry.
-
Six
months later, Shirley Goodness, wan and thin, was disinterestedly showing a
genuine leather-bound The Book to a
bearded hipster seminary student who was waxing rhapsodic about the future of
“seeker churches” when she heard the ‘beep-beep-beep” of the door chime. The blustering owner was there that day so
she’d spent the morning skulking in the children’s section, re-arranging Veggie
Tales videos, trying hard to stay out of his way. She heard him greet the customer with unusually
effusive false bonhomie. “Must look
rich”, she muttered to herself. “What’s
that?” said the hipster, breaking off in mid-sentence. “Nothing - sorry. You were saying…?” The hipster found his
groove again; “Yeah, the business model Rob Bell created, I mean, buying a mall
- are you kidding me? What a step of
faith! Talk about rich, he’s making more money than he knows what to do
with! Oh, he’s bringing the lost sheep into
the fold by the truckload!” Shirley
tuned him out. She was going to give her
notice today. Not that she had anything
else lined up. She just couldn’t stand
to peddle one more pious pastor’s grab for glory. Maybe she’d get a job at the
gas station. Would that increase her
chances of winning the lottery? Her
train of thought was interrupted by the approaching voice of her boss. “Ah, here she is. Shirley, someone to see you!” he said,
motioning with his eyes toward the expensive Bibles, reminding her to upsell the good stuff. He dodged a few feet away, fingering price
tags on some resin crucifixes, pretending not to listen. The man behind him stopped. He was silent. Mildly curious, Shirley’s eyes travelled up
from the buffed leather shoes to the razor creased pants, the gleaming silver
buckle to the crisp white shirt, the fitted suit coat, the open collar framing
a strong, tan neck, the chiseled jaw leading to the wide grin (I’ve seen that smile before) to the…. her
heart flipped hard… crinkles fanning from
grey-green eyes. “Hello, beautiful”,
James said. And Shirley Goodness melted
right into the floor.
-
She
woke up with her head in James’ lap, looking into his dancing eyes and
brilliant smile. The owner hovered close
by, shuffling from foot to foot, torn between reprimanding Shirley for causing
a scene and fawning over his obviously wealthy customer. It was plain he made no connection between
the vagrant he’d repeatedly chased off and the Arrow model sitting on his
floor. “Ahem, sir, may I help you in
assisting my flighty employee to her feet?
Shirley,” he glanced briefly at her, “if you’ve recovered from the vapors
perhaps you could collect your constitution and get on the register? There’s a line forming.” Shirley saw James’ smile tighten, but his
eyes on hers never wavered. “I think
your employee needs an extended
recuperation”, James said easily, but his tone was crisp. His thighs bunched as he sat Shirley up and
stood to his feet. His eyes turned bleak as they slowly swiveled to the
obsequious owner, fixing him with a glare. His strong hand grabbed hers and smoothly
lifted her upright. “Say goodbye,
Goodness.” The owner swallowed and his
face turned red. “Fine, fine, but be back
early tomorrow, Shirley – we need to get inventory done before Easter, you
know.” James approached the owner,
loomed over him. “She won’t be back
tomorrow,” he said firmly. “She’s sold
her last book for you. If you don’t like
it maybe you could call the police.” He leaned forward, right in the owner’s
face, and pointed toward the bench in front of the store - “You must have them
on speed dial after rousting me that public
bench so often.” The owner swayed
back against a shelf. His eyes squinted,
then widened in recognition and shock. He put a fat pink hand to his chest. “I…
I meant nothing personal, of course,” he stuttered, “it was just bad for
business, is all – I think the customers felt uncomfortable with your … good
cheer…”, he trailed off, recognizing how ridiculous he sounded. James put his hand low on Shirley’s back and
walked her toward the door. “I’ll be
praying for you!” called the owner, from behind a stack of Bible dictionaries. And Shirley Goodness laughed out loud.
-
That night, over
baked chicken, potatoes and cookies, James told her he’d been in love with her
from the moment they met. “The best part
of my day was our lunch dates – you’re so full of life and laughter – I couldn’t
get enough your happy voice! I’d listen to you chirp about how you loved winter
citrus and spring dresses, how you’d worry over the stray cat behind the store,
how excited you’d be when you discovered a really outstanding author, your
crazy dreams about winning the lottery.
When you asked me to dinner, I was so thrilled I thought I’d throw
up. But then, I realized I wasn’t fit
company to be in your home. Nor was I
convinced your invitation wasn’t pity, and I couldn’t stand for you to see me
that way. I had to go. I had to start
over. I had to become a man you’d be proud to be with.” “James!” she exclaimed, “I was always proud
to be with you! I would have…” – he held
up his hand, cutting her off. “Surely,
Shirley, you can see why a scruffy, homeless, destitute man would feel
unworthy? I mean, look at you! You’re a
princess, straight from a fairy tale!”
Shirley looked. Hmmm? She looked
back at him. Reflected in his ocean-colored,
smiling eyes, she saw. And Shirley Goodness was a princess.
-
. “When
you left, James, where did you go?” They
sat on her couch, sipping strong coffee, James’ strong, warm hand enfolding hers. “I sold the tent you gave me, bought a bus
ticket to Asheville and got a job building houses all winter. I lived with the crew boss and saved what I
could, hoping someday I could come back to you with something more than a dirty
beard.” She smiled and stroked his
smooth-shaven cheek; “Your beard was never dirty! Trust me, I was looking.” He grinned at her and continued, “In the
evenings, I missed you so much I started writing a story about us, how we met, what
life would be like if things had been different. I finished it in February. I let the crew boss read it and he liked it
so much he insisted I send it off to a high school friend of his who made it
big in publishing. It went on sale last
week. It’s number one in the New York Times.” He said it so
matter-of-factly that it took a moment to sink in. “WHAT!” she yelled, jumping
up. Her coffee spiraled across the
carpet. He lounged on the couch,
grinning from ear to ear. She stared at
him, hand to her mouth. “A Merciful Crust is YOURS!” she shouted,
the beginnings of a smile fighting with her incredulity. “EVERYONE is talking about that book!” she
exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting for it to go on sale!” “Don’t bother”, he said insouciantly, “I’ve
got oodles.” She burst out laughing,
spinning around the small living room. He watched her, eyes filled with
joy. She caught herself mid-whirl, flung
herself at him, grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him up into a hug so tight
it made his coat pocket rustle. “What’s
that?” she asked, backing away an inch. “Oh,
my Goodness, I almost forgot”, he chuckled, producing a sheaf of lottery tickets. “I got you a present. The Powerball’s up to three hundred-ten million. I thought it would help you forgive me for
leaving if you had that spark of hope you always talk about.” Later that night, snuggled on the couch, they
watched the lottery drawing together.
And Shirley Goodness hit the Jackpot.
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