Porch

One step at a time.

(Read by the author.)

Jeremy climbed out of his pickup and paused to look at the truck’s door. Having “Cahill Construction” painted on it had cost more than he could afford. But he was his own boss now. He said aloud to himself, “Gotta make some money, and fast.”

He approached the house, appraising the front porch. It was disintegrating. Dangerous.

A young man came around from the side of the house. Extending his hand, he said, “Hey. I’m Lorenzo. Thanks for coming.” Jeremy shook Lorenzo’s hand, gestured toward the porch, and said, “Looks like you called me just in time.”

“Yeah,” said Lorenzo. “This is my mom’s house. She’ll be out in a second.” On cue, an elderly woman appeared from around the side of the house. In Spanish, Lorenzo introduced them. About the only thing Jeremy picked up was the woman’s name, Esperanza.

With Lorenzo translating, they discussed the job. “Has to be simple,” said Lorenzo. “The holidays, you know? We’ve got only $75, so maybe just repair the worst step or two. I’m worried that when she tries to come down off the porch – well, you know.”

Jeremy stared at Lorenzo. “Okay,” he said.

Jeremy took off for the lumber yard. As he was returning, Lorenzo was helping his mother into his car. “Voy al doctor,” she said to Jeremy. “Muy lejos.” He picked up the word “doctor” and nodded.

Three hours later, Lorenzo and his mother returned and stood in stupefied silence as Jeremy was finishing their new porch: wide, sturdy, multiple steps, with railings on both sides. The wood alone had cost Jeremy $350. “But we told you we had only $75,” Lorenzo protested. “This will obviously cost more.”

“Well, here’s my bill,” Jeremy said. Then, remembering his high school Spanish, he looked straight at Esperanza and added, “La cuenta.” He handed her a folded piece of paper, and she launched a torrent of Spanish at him in return.

Jeremy turned around, walked toward his truck. and said over his shoulder, “Sorry. I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

As Jeremy drove away, Esperanza opened the folded paper and stared at it: No numbers, two words. “Feliz Navidad.”