Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

to his mother. That positive expression—had been a bit of a shocker! He’d not thought that anyone had—ever—admired him! Ever! For anything! At all! At any time! In his entire life! Couldn’t happen!

Outside of “Aunt Debbie”—and only, from time to time, from her—no one had ever complimented him! On anything! For anything! Even Grandpa Piepczyk—who was always great fun to be around—had never really lauded him, for any particular accomplishment. That had been, merely, a minor disappointment—compared to just about anything/everything else, with which he’d been coping, in his futility-filled existence. But, it was a distinct disappointment—nonetheless!

Maybe that’s because . . . you’ve never actually accomplished anything, Jason! Gee . . . do ya think?

His mother certainly had never had anything constructive to say to him. At any time. Ever!

Well, he’d not expect Eric—who seldom spoke, when they were in the car by themselves—or even the sainted Susan, to compliment him, for either of the, just-completed, day’s work. It was, after all, what he was being, quite-generously, paid to do. But, he did feel exceptionally proud—of this day’s production, especially. Very proud!

Thursday night had gone almost exactly the same, as Wednesday night. Susan had had that same, hardy, robe ready for him—when he’d come in. This—despite the fact that he’d wound up not nearly as muddy, as had been the case the previous evening. He didn’t know why. He’d, once again, descended, into the basement, and changed. Again, he’d left his mud-infested clothing, lying beside the old wringer-type, Maytag agitator washer. Then, he’d hauled himself—up those two challenging flights of stairs—and had taken a shower.

Once cleansed, he’d joined his two hosts—for dinner! Yes—another, on-the-house, meal! A glorious repast! Roast chicken! It was, of course, simply delicious. What else?

He’d decided against going to bed—quite so early. Stayed up—and sat with Susan and Eric, as they listened, on their huge, floor-model, Philco radio. Listened, intently, to Bing Crosby’s Kraft Music Hall program, from nine to ten o’clock. Following the humorous Jell-O show—which had starred the talented Ezra Stone, as Henry Aldrich, at eight-thirty. Soon—very soon—Mister Stone would find himself, in the Army!

When Rudy Vallee’s “Sealtest Village Store” program came on, however, Jason decided that discretion truly was the better part of valor—and hit the sack. He did not feel the sack hit back. He was asleep—in a matter of seconds. And—huzzah!—on this celebrated night, he did not awaken. Not until that “obscene” alarm clock belted forth—with its overwhelming, totally-shattering, call to arms!

Friday morning had found delectable pancakes for breakfast! There was also—a full-up lunchbox: Tuna sandwiches—along with the obligatory Krun-Chee chips! And a delicious cupcake! One from the friendly, neighborhood, bakery (vanilla bottom—with chocolate frosting).

Plus a silent ride to work. That was not nearly as scary—on the third morning!

Surprisingly, Our Boy’s muscles even seemed to be cooperating! So far, anyway! What an upset that was. He’d never been so envious in his life—as when Eric came through the site, at about four o’clock. The boss was passing out paychecks. OH! How the newest employee longed—for one of those! One with a whole lot of “crooked” figures, on its face! One of those “documents”—made out “to the order of” Jason Rutkowski! Next Friday could not come quickly enough! There was never a more, carved-in-stone, truth—in the history, of mankind!

But, between here and there—he’d realized anew—was the dreaded big, empty, weekend! And, of course, the quandary—of how to deal, with the second week’s room payment. Always something! Always, there’s got to be some damn fly—in the damn ointment! Always something!

As Eric had passed out those glorious green sheets of paper, he had spoken to each and every worker. About what? Jason didn’t know. But, an additional emotion had now entered into the, already-muddled, mix: The new employee was envious—of those fortunate other workers! Flat-out jealous—of how monumental those paychecks must be.

But, even more importantly, Our Boy was also green-eyed envious—over the fact, that Eric had taken time to talk. To converse—with each and every one of them. On the other hand, his superior had totally ignored him. Now what?

The “snub” certainly didn’t make that Friday a really bad day, for Jason. Nothing could make that Friday, a bad day, for Jason. But, still, the shift sure could have been (would have been) just a little bit better—a teensy-weensy bit better—if his boss/landlord had at least spoken to him! The fact that Eric had “ignored” him—gave Our Hero a brand new cause, for concern: Wondering if this “protocol” (or lack of it) would reflect, on his, so-far-satisfying, “home life”!

Was the man jealous? Apprehensive—about Jason’s obvious “admiration”, of the wondrous Susan? Maybe he should never have kissed her goodnight—a couple of nights before! Talk about “protocol”! (Or lack of it.)

Actually, on the way home, Eric did speak to him. That was an upset.

“Jason? Jason, you’ll be working tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Saturday? We’ll be working… on a Saturday?”

“Yep. Happens from time to time. Probably more often than you’d expect. The government guys… the ones, from the commission, or board, or whatever the hell it is… they came around today. They’re the guys… who issue that big, red-white-and-blue, ‘Army/Navy E’ flag. Every-one wants that Army/Navy flag! Helluva prize!”

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

“But, y’know, we’re behind! Behind… on our schedule. Could affect whether we keep the flag… or not. So, I’ve decided . . . that we’ll all have to come in, tomorrow. Like it or not . . . we have to get ourselves back, right on their schedule! Back on top of things, you know. Now, you’ll be paid… paid time-and-a-half . . . y’know! For Saturday… and you’ll get that money, in your check, next Friday. That’s what I was telling the guys… when I was passing out the checks. What say?”

Jason’s relief, as to what had been discussed—during paycheck time—was palpable!

“I say it’s great!”

By Friday night, Susan had “recycled” those generously-provided outfits for Jason. She’d laid out her initial issue, in his room. She’d washed the “ensemble”—along with Thursday’s outfit—in the ol’ Maytag. And had hung them to dry, on the three lengths, of line—that