Saturday, June 11, 2011

Jake

Jake is a quiet man. He was a quiet boy who grew into a quiet man. His life is small but he doesn't see it that way. Imagination does not enter into it; it is what it is, it is what it should be. Hard work, paying the bills, putting a roof over his head and food on the table, these were the lessons he was taught, the words he heard over and over again at the dinner table from his father.
Jake's father was a strong man, a hard man, an iron worker who's belt was in his hand almost as often as it was around his waist. The belt taught more lessons than any teacher ever could, and in a way that defied forgetting. Lessons were learned, they were burned into his memory and they shaped young Jake's personality and his view of the world.
He graduated high school at the age of eighteen and got a good job at the paper mill. College was out of the question. There was no money and frankly Jake could see no reason for it. Rich kids went to college and then sat behind desks wearing ties and white shirts. They got fat and they got an attitude of phony superiority. Some of these weaklings were managers at the mill, but most of the managers were guys who earned promotions through a combination of hard work, knowledge, and  the greasy political skills it takes to move up from worker to administrator.
In 1960 there was no way for Jake to know that he would work in the same place for fifty years. He was eighteen years old, had a steady job and a steady girl, good pay and the right attitude. His focus was on going to work every day and doing the best job he could do. Never calling in sick, never showing up late, collecting a paycheck every Friday, enjoying gratefully the two week vacation every year when the plant shut down.
Bale press, chip feeder, pulper, rewinder, roll kicker. He worked them all over the years. It was good to go from one machine to another because it broke the boredom and exposed Jake to another aspect of the business. Even though it never paid off in promotions. Some machines were loud, others were hot, some were messy and all of them were boring. But you had to pay attention because they could kill you or maim you in a moment of wistful daydreaming. He had seen it happen and it was a horrible thing to see.
By nineteen Jake was married. Bought a small house in a rural town and he took great pains to make sure that house was well maintained. The house was painted, stained, repaired, mended and improved as needed. The grass was mowed and the garden was tended to. Nobody could accuse Jake of being lazy,nobody called his property an eyesore.
Friday nights were for pizza. He would get to the bank before it closed to cash his check and take just enough money to pay for dinner and maybe a six pack of beer. The rest of the money stayed in the checking account to satisfy the bills. Never a late payment, never a visit from the bill collector. An honest, hard working man does not allow that to happen.
Jake and his wife would go out for pizza, sometimes they would talk, sometimes not, but it always felt good to go out, to break the routine and enjoy some of the money that was so hard earned. They lived this way for forty years. Until Jake's wife died with cancer. He was lost for a while but eventually adjusted because that's what you do. And because there was no great passion to fade away. Their love was quiet, it was dutiful, it was respectful.
He never had much of a sense of humor. This made Jake a target for the jokers and often the butt of their pranks. It hurt and was confusing but he dealt with it in quiet anger, as he did with anything that upset him. Once in a while he would lash out but  it wasn't in his nature to fight; the stress that it caused wasn't worth it.
Everybody was amazed when he retired, they all figured he would work until the day he died. He actually worked a couple of years longer than necessary because it was so much a part of him and he didn't know what to do with himself.
Jake retired with a great pension and a lot of money in the bank. His life was lived frugally and the savings account was swollen but rarely used. He's seventy years old now and spends a little time at the local bar. For company, because Jake is not much of a drinker. He doesn't have many friends, maybe nobody that you would actually call a friend. Travels to Florida once in a while to visit a woman he calls his girlfriend. She doesn't see it that way. Jake doesn't really see himself as lonely. His life makes sense to him.
Jake is a quiet man.

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