It wasn’t a special occasion but just another routine
morning and I was looking forward to the day ahead. I was in my usual place
waiting for Tom to come in for his usual morning coffee, toasted bagel and me,
the “Metro News Morning Edition”.
As always, at that time of the morning, the coffee shop was
bustling with customers and servers and would probably appear to be a real
helter skelter scene for someone not used to such activity. Although I must
admit that there were plenty of moments when I thought there was no one there
who knew what they were doing and only got the orders straight by chance. I can
say this because I had been a regular there for five years, that’s when Tom
first started coming into the coffee shop and placed an order for the paper to
be there each morning with his coffee. I was the lucky one who was assigned to
bring him the daily news.
Tom and I had a great relationship. He always sat inside
the shop drinking his coffee, eating his bagel and perusing my pages. I made a
concerted effort to always be neat, in order and clearly printed so that he
would have an easy time enjoying the read. When he finished with his meal, he
would always make certain my pages were in place and then neatly folded me up
and carried me under his arm to his office. In those five years, I never felt
unsecure being carried to the office because he always made it a point to
protect me from the wind, rain or snow. I never thought for a moment that it
could be better than that and that my existence had real meaning; that is,
until that very morning when everything changed.
But just a little note before I go on because I can see
some of the puzzled looks on your faces, wondering how a newspaper can be the
same one day after day. It’s like this, even though the news changes from day
to day, the character of that particular paper is permanently embedded in the
press so that each day when the paper is printed, that character gets stamped
onto the paper and carries out its duty. It’s the character or personality of
the paper that people get attached to and enjoy when they pick the paper up to
read it everyday. Now I know that seems a bit far-fetched and a stretch of the
imagination but trust me, it’s exactly how it is. Now that you have learned
another lesson of life, let me continue the story.
On the particular morning I mentioned at the beginning of
the story, Tom seemed to be in an extra hurry and somewhat out of sorts about
things because he really didn’t spend much time reading me. My suspicions were also
confirmed by the way he just quickly folded me up without so much as taking a
few seconds to straighten out my pages. Then, on the way to the office, he
discarded me into one of those wire mesh trash baskets. I watched him walk away
and wondered if I would ever see him again.
Not long after he had thrown me away, someone plopped a
Styrofoam coffee cup on top of me and I felt the warm liquid spilling out onto
the bottom of my pages. Normally, I would have been disgusted by the stains the
coffee was making but the weather was turning colder and to be quite honest, I
rather enjoyed being warmed by the coffee. The rest of the day went by without
further incidence and I knew that come midnight, I would be history, which kind
of saddened me because I felt my day had been wasted and that I had been of
little use to anyone. Yes, I know, I know, my character would be reborn the
following morning but it was still a somber thought to know I had served no
fulfilling purpose on that day.
Resigning myself to the cold and loneliness, I made peace
with myself knowing that I had done all I could to be meaningful in Tom’s life
and that my present predicament was not one of choice. My situation was solely
caused by Tom’s decision to discard me in that manner. Oddly enough, that is
something I had heard from other papers about their owners and never in a
million editions had I ever thought it would happen to me.
I’m not sure what time of night it was only that it had to
have been before midnight; I felt a trembling hand pick me up and carry me
away. There were no streetlamps on so I had no idea who had chosen to snatch me
from the wire basket. We traveled a bit of a distance and then the scenery
changed from the openness of the street to the closeness of buildings on both sides.
It finally came to me that we were in an alley. I knew that from the number of
stories that had been printed in my pages about such places.
I didn’t know whether to be frightened or happy because
most of the stories were never good ones. From what I could remember, the
alleys contained many mean, dirty, and despicable characters. Lots of murders
took place in the alleys and I didn’t want to find myself ending up on a
corpse. The thought of it made my pages flutter.
The person carrying me came to a stop and slowly laid out
some of my pages on the ground. It was then that I recognized it was a woman
who had brought me here. She undid her coat and removed two of my pages, placed
them inside her clothing and wrapped them around her body. Once that was finished,
she took two more sheets, wrapped them around her clothing and pulled her coat
over them. She carefully folded the rest of my pages up and placed them in her
coat pocket.
The temperature dropped even more and I could feel the
woman shivering a bit in spite of the protection she had taken to warm herself.
No sooner had I finished these thoughts that she got up on her elbows, pulled a
couple pages from her pocket and struck a lighter to them. The fire glowed in
the darkness and I could see her face and was immensely saddened by the way she
appeared and the suffering I knew she had to have endured each day.
It was strange to think that I could feel the sadness for
her yet not feel any pain from my burning pages. I noticed she had placed some
small sticks on the flames and before I knew it, she had a small fire burning
where she proceeded to warm her hands and fingers. During the night, she
repeated pulling a couple pages at a time from her pocket, crumpling them up
and putting them on the fire along with some sticks, each time laying her head
on her arms and warming her hands before stuffing them inside her coat.
Morning came and the sun was shining. It was still bitterly
cold but warming just a tad as the sun drew higher in the sky. Because the
woman had placed those four sheets of mine inside her clothes and coat, I had
survived the night as she had. Even with missing pages, I was jubilant because I
had served a most meaningful purpose. I had saved a life! I never saw Tom again
and often wondered what might have happened to him. I still haven’t been
assigned another regular. More often than not, I get scattered here there and
everywhere and quite abused, but I don’t mind because I’m always hopeful I’ll
find someone who will need me in a more meaningful way. And you thought
newspapers had no life.
Chelle Munroe©
July 6, 2014