Free Days Like Today by Rachel Ingalls Page A

later. It’s later than you think. Who used to say that? Someone he knew once – maybe somebody in his family.
    He hung around the bars. One day he drank himself into such a state that the next day the only thing in his head was: Why am I here? Why do I have to go on with this, year after year? It’s going to take so long to get to the end. If somebody could show me where the exit door is, I’d go through it right now.
    Later in the day he recalled the reason why he was there: because some guy had saved his life – Frank somebody. What was his name? And what was he doing now? Where did he live?
    He began to ask around. It took him a long time until he got all the information assembled, knew where to go and bought himself a bus ticket. Before buying the ticket, he took a coin out of his pocket and flipped it into the air for a decision, catching it and slapping it down against the back of his left hand.
    When he got off the bus, there was no way to go on to where Franklin lived unless you hired a car. He took out the coin again and spun it high into the air.
    He walked. After a couple of hours a farmer stopped to offer him a ride.
    They drove up into high land, over a mountain and down,into rich bottom land, across a couple of hills and down again.
    The farmer let him off by a big oak tree where the road forked.
    He felt good as he walked the rest of the way. He kept thinking: This is fine-looking country . I wouldn’t mind living here.
    He arrived in the late afternoon, not long after Franklin had come home from work.
    He went around to the back and pushed the button next to the screen door.
    Franklin was standing inside, only a few feet away and looking out through the screen. He didn’t recognize the man on the other side, although he knew that it must be a stranger standing there, otherwise the man would have called out: it was easy to see that the family was at home.
    Franklin stepped up to the screen and said, ‘Hi.’
    ‘Hi,’ Sherman answered.
    ‘Are you looking for me?’
    ‘If your name’s Franklin Page. I recognize you, too. I’m Sherman Oliver.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘The man you rescued. You know. In Korea.’
    ‘Jesus,’ Franklin said. He opened the door.
    ‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to see somebody from the past.’
    ‘Come on in.’
    ‘So I tossed a coin.’
    ‘Come on. You’ll let the flies in.’
    Sherman stepped through the doorway and into a space where coats hung from hooks and rubber boots stood inpairs on the linoleum floor. Straight ahead was the kitchen. ‘So,’ he mumbled, ‘just thought I’d look you up.’
    When two of the children raced into the kitchen, followed by Irene, Sherman stood completely rigid. He’d pictured Franklin living alone, not having moved on to another life or other people. He’d thought of him as being a kind of mirror-image of himself. The first sight of him, through the meshes of the screen and standing in the same attitude as himself, had seemed to correspond to that idea. Now everything was changed.
    Franklin made the introductions. He showed Sherman to a bathroom where he told him he could freshen up if he wanted to, and then took him back to the kitchen and sat him down at the table. All the time Franklin was talking, the children kept running everywhere.
    ‘Can we offer you a beer, Mr Oliver?’ Irene asked.
    ‘Oh, sure. Maybe just one.’
    ‘Make it Sherman, honey,’ Franklin said. ‘Sherman and Irene.’
    One of the children started to wail and grabbed at Irene’s legs. She put a beer down on the table and said, ‘There you are, Sherman.’
    He thanked her, without looking up. He still couldn’t believe that she was there. This wasn’t Franklin’s house and Franklin’s life: it was hers. And here she had all these children and she looked just like a girl – like a high-school sweetheart.
    She poured out another glass and handed it to Franklin. ‘Aren’t you having one?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ll wait till later. Sukie’s coming over