Fergus Blecher Retires, A New Man

Fergus Blecher woke up on the morning of June 28, feeling like a new man. Instead of hunching over his oatmeal and gulping it down, like he did only yesterday, he took his coffee to the deck, shook the rain off one of the chairs, and sat down. He stayed there for a few minutes, peering through the layer of mist over the Finlayson Valley, and waited for reality to sink in.

It didn’t. It didn’t feel real. He felt anxious—like he should be somewhere else. Fergus started thinking about where he should really be this morning. By now, he would be rounding the corner of Cook Street, taking McKenzie Avenue to the Pat Bay Highway, sailing through the construction area of the interchange. After all, it was Wednesday. His turn to take morning playground supervision. Next period, gym. In June, he usually did a relay set-up, had the kids go over what they did in the track meet. Before he knew it, Fergus was rummaging in the hall closet, looking for his whistle.

He stopped himself, his hand waving through the closet in mid-air. He took a deep breath, and went back outside, sitting down with a sigh. He picked up his coffee. It was still hot.

Fergus sat there for a long time, watching the sun creep up the valley, edging its way through the mist, touching every house along the slopes, the gardens, the sheds. He heard the slap of screen doors, dogs being let out. He didn’t even turn around when he heard the door open behind him. He who knew it was.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Clare said, “Planning your retirement?” Uh oh, she thought, retirement withdrawal, they said this might happen. She bent and looked into his face—his eyes, she could see, looked a little wild. “My, my,” she said, “Are you okay?”

“Actually, I’m not.” his voice was almost a whisper, “I think I’ve made a mistake. I’m not ready to retire.”

Clare stepped back. This was not good news. After all of that preparation, the BCTF seminars, the books, the workshops, the buddy system, the retirement banquet last week—how could this happen?

Claire was a nurse in a government department downtown, in an all female office. Things sometimes went off the rails there. She was used to hysteria. She ran through all of the crisis she had attended over the years—the time when Gayle’s husband ran off with the copy girl, the time when Janet and Debbie began to playfully toss hard candy at Christmas, and it turned into a physical fight, the time when Sally brought in her dog and it smelled up the place…nope, none of these applied.

“I have a meeting at nine o’clock,” she said, “I have to go. I’ll be back at 4:30. Try to sort this out, Fergus. Go for a walk, go over the stuff we brought home from the BCTF sessions, Talk to your brother. Call your daughter.”

She took a deep breath. “Look,” she said, “It will be alright. You just need time to adjust. I love you. See you tonight. We’ll work it out. You’ll see.”

When Fergus finished his coffee and went back into the kitchen, he looked around for something to do. The counters were clean and polished, the floor was shiny, even the dishwasher was emptied. He looked at the bowl of fruit salad Clare had left for him on the table and put it back in the fridge.

He went upstairs to the bedroom, with the vague notion that he could go back to sleep, but the bed was made, the pillow shams fluffed up and the comforter spread out evenly over the bed. It looked like a bedroom out of a Gardner and White advertisement.

Suddenly, a loud, tinny noise erupted outside, just below the house, up the street a bit. It was 8:30 by now, and he could hear voices in the yard, so he went out to investigate.

Two beefy men in orange vests were circling up and down the streets, manhandling the garbage cans, tossing their contents into a huge maw on the back of a city truck. One guy took one side of the street, the other one took the opposite side. When they approached his house, Fergus was right there, a friendly smile on his face. As the man reached for his garbage can, Fergus stuck out his hand for a handshake. The guy didn’t even look at him—just grabbed the can and took off for the truck.

That stung. It occurred to Fergus that there was a whole other life going on, a life he wasn’t even aware of—stuff that went on all the while he was working. Why, if he had been around more, he would know these guys by name. He imagined them calling out, “Hi Fergus! Beautiful morning, eh? Mind just handing me that can, so I can get it on the truck, big guy?” It made him a little sad, to think of all he had missed.

He resolved then and there that he would change all this. From now on, he would become part of the neighborhood. Neighbors who were working could call on him to do little errands. He could take shut-ins out for a drive, or maybe just drop in to cheer them up. He could do some dog sitting from time to time, even bring people their groceries, if they didn’t have time to shop. He imagined himself popular, and in demand, like the King of Kensington.

After breakfast, Fergus set out to make this happen. He wandered down the street to see who was up and about, who would welcome a cheerful chat. Not too much was going on, but he noticed Jake Samuels from across the street in his garden, so he strolled over.

“Hi!,” Fergus said, as Jake was bending over to weed a row of carrots.
“Mornin.” Jake answered as he yanked up another weed.
“Great morning, isn’t it?” Fergus said to Jake’s back.
Jake didn’t answer, so Fergus moved on to the next yard.

The Brown’s huge doberman was out there, barking furiously. Fergus put his hand on the latch. This precipitated an even louder round of barking, as the dog started to run around in circles. Fergus dropped his hand and moved on.

Before he knew it, he was in the Fairmart shopping center. Through the windows, he could see several people. My neighbors, he thought fondly. Fergus stepped in, looking around for someone he knew. He saw Jeff Brown picking up some oranges. This would be a good time to tell him about his dog’s attitude. So he did. Jeff didn’t seem to mind too much. “Yeah,” he said,”He’s a good guard dog. Can be nasty, though. Don’t open the gate.”

Further down the aisle, he came across Mary Severs. She was sorting through a pile of green beans, picking each one up, examining it, then putting it in a plastic bag. She brightened when she saw him. “How nice to see you,” she said, smiling up at him. “I heard some good news about you, You’re retired now, aren’t you?”

That went so well, that Fergus decided to try something different. Putting some apples in a bag, he moved to the front door, and positioned himself where the shoppers could see him as they came in. “Hey, neighbor,” he said to a man he vaguely recognized, “Lovely day, Welcome to Fairmart!” The guy smiled back, touching his hat. Two more shoppers came in, a couple this time, who he had never seen before. He took a step toward them, just as they were heading to the meat department. “Welcome!” he said, “Good bargains in there today. I’m heading over to pick up some steaks myself.”

Just then a man came rushing down the aisle, waving his arms, and walking so fast he almost ran him over.

“What the Hell do you think you are doing?” he shouted.

to be continued