Red Hot Valentine

Bess sat at her desk and sighed. “Cynthia, do you know what I miss about elementary school?” She pushed her large glasses up a little on the bridge of her nose.

“I can’t imagine,” Cynthia answered. “I am so glad to be graduating this year and getting out of here I can barely stand it.”

“There is that,” Bess said. “It’s Valentine’s day in a couple days. In elementary school everyone got a card, several actually. It was forced, but so what? No one was left out. Once you get to the upper grades nothing. Not one.”

Cynthia started laughing. “Do you want me to give you one?” 

“Asks the girl who gets one from nearly every guy in the class. No, I do not want a pity Valentine from my best friend. I want a genuine Valentine from a guy who is interested in me. But since I am not a knock out beauty, or a cheerleader, or any of that other popular girl stuff, it isn’t going to happen.”

“Bess, you are not ugly. We have an unusual ratio of girls to boys here. When a new one shows up, girls act like sharks to blood. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance,” Cynthia pointed out with a chuckle. 

“I noticed. That’s why I stand back out of the way. I don’t stand a chance.”

“Stop being so negative! You’re actually quite pretty under those glasses. I know you can’t wear contacts, but you might try a little makeup once in a while. They won’t even notice those giant frames,” Cynthia told her.

“You can hardly miss them. Anyway, maybe college will be different.” She tried to look hopeful and smiled.

“You just wait. I’ll bet someone will see you for who you are. Prom is coming up in a couple months,” Cynthia reminded her. 

“Tell me about it. I’ll probably just sit it out like last year. I will not go stag!”

The bell rang and the girls gathered their books and moved out into the throng of students making their way to their next classes, stopping at their lockers to exchange books and greeting friends along the hallway. 

One boy watched from behind his locker door at Bess and Cynthia as they disappeared behind a classroom door. He slammed his door shut and leaned his head against the cold metal. “Just a couple days left,” he muttered and jumped as one of his friends cupped his shoulder on the way by. He looked up at the other boy who had turned and grinned at him motioning him to get to class. He did that a lot. 

“So, did you ask her yet?” Jerry asked Sam as he pulled his text book out of his backpack.

“She is way out of my league,” Sam said. 

“Why don’t you let her be the judge of that?” Jerry said, giving him a slug in the arm. “The prom is coming up. If you don’t ask her someone else might beat you to it.”

Sam grinned a lopsided grin. “Maybe I’ll give her one of those goofy valentines. I think my mom kept some of my leftovers.”

Jerry snorted. “Dude, no!” He lowered his voice when his classmates turned to stare at him. “No Ninja Turtles. We are way too old for that.”

Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess we are. I’ll come up with something.”

Valentine’s Day arrived and girls were finding cards stuffed in their lockers and placed on their desks. A few had flowers and some had red velvet heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Bess and Cynthia walked into their history class chatting about all the cards Cynthia had accumulated.

“Oh, look, someone put it on the wrong desk,” Bess said, lifting a handcrafted envelope off her desk and handing it to Bess.

“Thanks,” Cynthia said taking the envelope. She read the front and handed it back. “Actually, this one is for you.”

“What?” Bess grabbed it, a shocked look on her face. She read the front and stared at it with her eyes wide.

“Don’t just stare it. Open it! It’s kind of heavy for a card,” she added.

Bess nodded. She turned it over and carefully lifted the edge. “I think it’s edible,” she said. She pulled it out slowly. It was made of heavy white paper with a red paper lace doily in the shape of a heart. The center had cinnamon heart-shaped red hots attached with a small amount of icing. She opened it up.

Cynthia read it out loud over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “To a girl who is as hot as the candy! Be my Valentine. Sincerely, Sam Johnston.” 

Bess turned red and then she smiled. “He’s in trig with us. He sits two seats down. I like him.”

Bess hugged her friend. “Prom date!” she exclaimed.

BOLO

Ken sat behind the wheel of his old Sportage tapping his fingers intermittently with wiping sweat off his forehead. He stared at his watch willing it to change. As the minutes dragged on, he finally ran a hand over his sparse hair and then lit a cheap generic cigarette. The smoke drifted from his mouth, nose, and the end of the lit tobacco. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound from his wrist watch grew louder in his ears until it was replaced by an intense ringing of the alarm bell as his friends ran from the bank. Each dove into the back seat floorboard, pulling the doors shut and removing their masks. 

“Get the hell out of here!” one shouted. “You waiting for an engraved invitation?”

Ken sped away and drove fast for two blocks. He turned a corner and slowed down to the posted speed limit.

“What are you doing knuckle head?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Clarence. If I speed past a traffic cam it will take our picture. We don’t that,” Ken added slowly.

“Yeah, Clarence,” Ralph, the other man said. “We need to be all nice and normal; just three guys out for a spin.” 

Ken closed the garage door behind the vehicle. He looked out a window on the door and scanned the neighborhood. The street was quiet.

“Ken, get in here!” Clarence yelled from inside the house.

“What?” Ken said irritated. He yanked the refrigerator open and pulled out a can of beer.

“They’ve got a BOLO on you man. How’d they get a look at you?”

“They have a drawing that sort of looks like me; no name,” Ken replied, pointing at the television as they re-ran the story on the bank robbery. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there with a mask on my head? Nothing says ‘call the cops’ like a man in a mask sitting outside a bank behind the wheel with the engine running.”

“Just lay low. We’ll dump the car,” Clarence said. “You remember where the money will be?”

“Yes. It’s going to be in locker forty at the bus station,” Ken replied.

“Your share,” Clarence corrected. “Me and Ralph will take ours and split up.”

“What?”

“It was your plan,” Ralph said. “You’re the one who is behind on your mortgage.”

“I’m also the one they have the drawing of,” Ken said. 

“Just lay low. I’ll remove the VIN tags so they won’t ID you as the owner if they find it. Wipe it down too; the whole works,” Clarence said. He tapped Ralph on the shoulder and motioned to the door with his head. 

Ken sat starring at the television as the other two left with his vehicle and the money, which had added up to only twenty grand; divided up three ways was not enough to save his home. They had used funs so it would land him fifteen years if he was caught. 

The next morning Ken carefully opened his door, barely stepping outside long enough to grab his newspaper from the porch. He closed the door and locked it. 

Unfolding the morning edition, he scanned the front page for the story on the robbery. In a paragraph subtitled Update he found that a source close to the police had told the reported a vehicle matching the description of the one involved in the robbery was found with a body murdered inside. No further information was available.

“Which one?” Ken screamed, and knocked over his coffee. He hung his head as the hot beverage ran off the table onto the floor. “The money is gone,” he wailed. He shook his head as a thought came to him: Two men went into the bank wearing masks. Someone saw him speeding away and one man was dead in the get-away car. Somebody is getting away with the money and murder.

He looked up when he heard the sirens. He nodded his head as he spoke to no one. “He left the VIN plates intact too. Had to be Clarence; he’s the only one mean enough to make sure he got pinned with the whole thing.”

Ken opened the door and sat on the porch with his hands behind his head. 

Officers, guns drawn, approached Ken, identified him and read him his rights.

“You are under arrest for felony bank robbery and the murder of Clarence Menlow,” one said.

Ken looked up wide eyed. “It was Clarence; not Ralph?’

“What do you mean? You sound surprised,” the arresting officer said.

 “I didn’t think he had it in him. Ralph didn’t even take a loaded gun into the bank,” Ken said.

“You understand you have just incriminated yourself in the bank robbery?” the officer asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve lost everything anyway,” Ken replied.

…In a bar in Mexico, Ralph laughed with a beautiful, black-haired young woman as he ordered two more bottles of beer. 

Hungry

“Mama, wake up!” three year-old Cindy cried as she shook her mother’s shoulder. She was asleep on the couch again. “I’m hungry.”

“What?” her mother mumbled. “There isn’t anything to eat. Go play in your room. Mama’s tired.”

Cindy wiped a tear away and went into the kitchen again and searched the empty refrigerator. She pulled a chair up to the counter and pulled open a cabinet door. The cereal box was empty. She pulled a box of what she thought might be mac and cheese going by the picture off the shelf but thought she shouldn't try to cook that. The last time she had almost started a fire and her mother yelled at her. There was nothing else; even the peanut butter jar was empty. She left it on the counter and opened another cabinet. She pulled out a plastic bowl and grabbed a spoon out of the dish rack and climbed down.

“Mama, are you getting up today?” Cindy asked her mother, trying to wake her once more. Her mother just rolled over and snored.

Cindy sighed and walked to the door. She set her bowl and spoon down on the floor so she could use both hands to open the door, retrieved the items and went outside and next door to her neighbors’ house.

Cindy knocked on the back door. When Mrs. Donnelly opened it she smiled sadly down at Cindy. “Mom asleep again, honey?” Cindy just nodded and held up her bowl. “Come on in,” she said, taking Cindy’s small hand and leading her inside.

“Thank you,” Cindy said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper.

Mrs. Donnelly set a plate of eggs and toast and glass of milk in front of Cindy. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a peanut butter sandwich yesterday sometime,” Cindy said matter-of-factly.

Mrs. Donnelly patted the child on the head. “Alice!” she called to her eldest daughter as she peeled a banana and placed it on the place next to the eggs. “Eat this too if you can hold it.”

“Wow! So much at once,” Cindy said in amazement, although she was used to Mrs. Donnelly feeding her at least three times a week.

“What is it Mom?” her daughter asked walking in to the kitchen.

“I need you stay with Cindy while I go over and talk to her mom,” she said. As her daughter nodded and sat down with Cindy, she walked out the door.

Mrs. Donnelly didn’t even bother to knock, she just went on in. She looked around and was surprised at how clean the small house actually was. She thought there would be trash and alcohol empties strewn all over, but she had to admit that Cindy was always clean when she came over. She found Cindy’s mother on the couch asleep and shook her hard to wake her up.

“What?” Tara, Cindy’s mother said drowsily. She sat up. “Cindy, stop waking me up,” she said before she realized it wasn’t Cindy standing in front of her. “Sandra? What’s up?”

“You!” She said angrily. “I don’t mind feeding a starving child; in fact, I’d rather Cindy come over to my house to eat than stay hungry, but you have got to get some food for that child or Social Services will be notified.”

Tara threw the blanket off she had pulled over herself when she crashed on the couch. She was rail thin herself and her eyes were gaunt. She stood up. “I will go get her. I didn’t know she was going over to your house to eat.”

“There’s no need. I told you, I don’t mind feeding her, but a few mornings a week is barely enough to keep her alive. It looks like you haven’t been eating much either,” she added, more calmly, now more concerned than angry. She sat down on the couch and pulled Tara with her.

“Tell me what’s going on Tara. Why is there is nothing to eat?” she asked.

Her face reddened and it spread down her neck and to her pale, rough hands. “I barely make enough to pay rent on this place and believe me, I’ve tried to find something less expensive. Short of drug-filled housing project, there isn’t anything. I clean office buildings at night and they cut my hours, so there isn't enough for a lot of food, okay! I’m lucky we have lights on still and water. That’s why they are usually off.”

“Tara, have you gone to the food pantries?” Sandra Donnelly asked her.

“Yes, I did, but they can’t give out a whole lot either. They don’t have enough to go around and it’s just the two of us. Her father hasn’t paid a cent in child support.” She pointed in a corner where an old television sat. “That thing isn’t plugged in so it doesn’t run up the electric bill and that’s the only entertainment we have. This place is so clean because the pantry has plenty of cleaning supplies, laundry soap and even bath soap. I wash her clothes in the bathtub. Maybe you’ve noticed the clothes draped over the clothesline out back.

“Yes, but I just figured you like air-dried laundry. A lot of people do.” Sandra stared out the window. “Tara, where’s your car?”

“I sold it,” she said. “I couldn’t afford gas or upkeep, much less insurance. I take the bus or walk to work.”

“Tara, get dressed. I’m taking you to Social Services. You need to sign up for some assistance. Don’t let pride stop you either. You need help before they take notice from someone other myself calling them and then they take Cindy. They’ll help you pay for childcare too, although you could have just asked if we would watch her.”

Tara looked up her a moment then slowly nodded agreement.

***

Many people think that hungry children only belong to the addicted or mentally ill who are unable to care for themselves, but the truth is that employed Americans are also unable to feed their families. Many children only receive nutritious food at school and when school is out, they either do not get adequately nutritious food or little to no food for long stretches of time.

According to the website www.nokidhungry.org 48.8 million Americans, including 16.2 million children are in what is termed ‘food insecure’ households; the largest number being in the inner city, but by no means only there. Rural areas and suburban areas – outlying areas- also suffer from hunger.

 

You can help by donating to food pantries, buying products labeled as donating proceeds of the purchase to food banks (and actually following the instructions on the package), participating in food drives such as by the Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, United States Postal Service, Salvation Army, churches, Future Farmers of America and holiday food drives at participating grocery stores. There are also many organizations that supply food banks around the country.

In a country as great as ours its citizens, and especially its children should not have to go hungry.

Some organizations:

www.feedthechildren.org

www.bread.org

www.feedingamerica.org

www.nokidhungry.org

www.fmpfoodbank.org (West Central Wisconsin, where I live)

The Mole

Donna walked into the building, one of three such facilities in the company, confident that she would carry out the assignment given to her. Her hopes sank as she looked around at the disorganized mess. The work stations were in sensible order but parts to every department were scattered throughout the building and people spent hours looking for items they should have readily at hand. Baskets of half completed projects sat in the way everywhere as people were pulled off of one product mid-stream and put on to another. Parts were just plain not there because the previous shift wouldn't make them. Frustration was high and tempers with it. 

"This is where we are going to put you," Tina, the line lead told Donna. "The other guy is seriously not fast enough and it's creating a bottle neck for us further down the line."

"Looks like no one is fast enough," Donna blurted out. "No wonder Jason Cooke is so anxious about this place."

Tina looked at Donna. "Yes, I have heard several times about that now. We do what we're assigned and if that means they call us mid-morning and change what we are putting out; then we do that." She motioned over to the man who was on the machine and told him to train Donna, and that she was from one of the other buildings and they had nothing to do there so they thought she might do this job for a while. He wasn't happy about it, but he trained her and went to the next process; something he was a little faster at.

Weeks went by and Donna kept talking to people and telling them she was only supposed to be there for a few weeks. 

"Oh, what are they changing now?" Sandy asked her. "I swear they change something every day. It is just making things more congested, and now I can't even get out of my area for the materials building up."

"Well, I talked to Jason Cooke and he said that won't last too much longer," Donna assured her. "You aren't doing that right," she pointed out to Sandy.

"Have you done this at your regular plant?" Sandy asked her, annoyed.

"No, I just know you should be doing that differently. You can do it faster."

Sandy eyed her warily. This wasn't the first time Donna had made such a comment to someone, including her, she observed, and the district boss Jason Cooke was spending an awful lot of time lately at their building when previously he had only shown up about once a week.

Donna smiled one day as she clocked in. "They had better watch out now," she said. "They are bringing in a bunch of the managers from corporate this week. They'll straighten out this mess. Tina got moved last thing yesterday to another area while someone else takes over her duties to see if they get this line moving better."

"It isn't Tina's fault if they call her and tell her to change the product two or three times a day. The plant that supplies us is knocking us all over the place by sending the wrong stuff all the time. Why don't they do something about that?"

"Well, I talked to Jason Cooke and he isn't happy about how this line is being run. Besides, he can move anyone he wants," Donna said.

"Whether it's right or not," Sandy replied. She turned away when Donna glared at her. "I'm busy," she said over her shoulder. "I wouldn't want Jason Cooke to think I was loafing off."

The management team converged onto the plant spreading like ants on the march. They made their ways through all the area getting under foot of the workers while asking them how it could go better and telling them it would get better. 'You can yell at us if the changes don't work," was said over and over again. 

Sandy was moved within an hour to another work station. That wasn't what they told her was going to happen. They told her the prep station would be manned and then she would do her job better. She was livid. Listening was not what they were doing at all.

"Don't take it so personally," Donna said. "I talked to Jason Cooke and he said you didn't tell them what they wanted to hear and you were just not going to go fast enough."

Sandy glared at Donna. "You need to seriously get away from me now." Her hands shaking with anger, she went to the new work station. 

At break Sandy talked to a few of the other employees whom she had noticed Donna talking to over the prior weeks. They all had said pretty much the same thing; Donna constantly talked about how much she had spoken with the district manager and seemed to know too much. They wouldn't even look at Donna for days afterward, or talk to her.

Donna sat in her car chewing her nails one at a time from her left hand. She typed furiously with her right hand on her tablet’s keyboard. I think they know. What do you want me to do? Send.

A few minutes later her tablet let out a tone alerting her to an incoming message. Go back in. They don’t know anything.

Donna showed up at her work station the next morning. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully to her coworker Sandy.

Sandy looked over at her and cleared her throat. She smiled back. “Good morning. You missed the morning meeting. They upped our production requirement again. How can they keep doing that?”

“Well, when I worked at the other plant they did that a lot. They just want as much product as they can get. I talked to Jason Cooke and he says they’ll replace anyone who can’t keep up.”

Sandy looked at Donna and her eyes narrowed. “They already moved me. The other person is going faster because I am working the process before her and putting things in order. It just can't go any faster until it is in order to begin with. I told them that.”

“I assure you it can. They’ll just send someone over from another plant to do it if you two can’t go any faster. They expect a lot of their employees. Don’t take it personally.”

Sandy turned and walked away in a huff. “Don’t take it personally,” she muttered. “How can I not? That is as much saying we're lazy as anything. I hate spies," she said under her breath. She turned back to Donna.

“What?” Donna asked.

“You know when they converged on this place the other day and got in everybody’s way they asked me what it would take to get me to put out more product and then told me after I answered them that they would fix the problems. They asked everyone the same question and when they told them they said the same thing. Three people have been moved from their work stations and I know I’m next, again.”

“Yes, you are, actually,” Donna replied. “I talked to Jason Cooke and you aren’t keeping up there either quite frankly.” 

“I am, actually. And why is it you talk to Jason Cooke so much, and why is it he tells you anything about a fellow employee? You aren’t a boss and you aren’t HR, so why are you privy to anyone’s information?”

Donna looked uncomfortable and cleared her throat.

“You are so busted. Why don’t you report back to Jason Cooke that your cover is blown go back to the other plant. And while you’re at it, you can tell him he just caused a walk out.”

Donna looked at Sandy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Every sentence out of your mouth starts with ‘I talked to Jason Cooke and he said’ – or something similar. They really should send someone who can keep their mouth shut next time.”

Donna’s mouth hung open and she backed up. "We aren't union! You can't walk out!"

"That's right; we're not. They can have fun hiring new people at the last minute and training them to do what has taken us months to learn and years of practice. They can't have everyone come from the other plants; they won't have anyone to run them." Sandy smiled and turned away.

"But you can't!" Donna looked horrified.

Sandy put her fingers to her mouth and let out a loud whistle. The entire line turned towards her and she motioned with her head toward the door. Everyone picked up their personal belongings and walked out.