TESS AND ALL KINDS 

© 2003 Elaine L. Orr

             Tess first came to live with Grandma Wilma just after school started almost a year ago.  She liked Grandma, but she was mad.  Tess hadn't wanted to change schools.  Her first-grade teacher at the old school was always good to Tess; she even got her some boots when it was cold and Tess was still wearing summer sneakers.

             Grandma said not to be mad at her.  Wasn't her fault Tess had to come live with her.  Not that she minded, she always said.

             Tess peered out of her favorite hiding place, the small space between the wall and the filing cabinet in Grandma's office.  Grandma was using her adding machine.  Click, click, whoosh.  Click, click, whoosh.  She was tallying the rent money that had come in that month and paying her bills.  If she had $22 extra, she would buy Tess the small desk in the window at the Salvation Army store.  Tess studied Grandma's face as she worked.  She wasn't frowning.  There was a chance.

             The bell above the door jingled.  Tess squeezed further into her hiding place.  Grandma knew she was there, but Tess didn't want just anyone to see her.  She inched forward to listen.  The man, stooped with age but still very tall, leaned on the counter. 

             "Wonder if you have any openings, ma'am," he said.

             Grandma looked hard at the man.  She had her ways of figuring out if someone would pay their storage locker rent.  Grandma said some storage space managers tried to rent to people who couldn't pay, so that when they didn't, the manager would have everything in the locker.  Grandma didn't do that.  She said she felt as if she was stealing a person's history when she had to sell off their things.  Plus, she almost never came out ahead. 

             "Depends on the size," Grandma said.

             "Don't need too big, maybe 8 by 10 feet, if you got it."

             "I need the rent money up front every month.  I can't give anyone credit.  Else I have to give everyone credit." 

             Tess smiled to herself.  Grandma always said it the same way.  She emphasized the word "everyone," as if she was in charge of storage lockers for the whole world.

             "Social Security check gets to the bank on the third of every month.  Is that good enough for you?"  The man, hands at his side, clenched and unclenched his fist as he spoke.  Funny, Tess thought.  He didn't look mad.

             Grandma nodded.  People on Social Security paid pretty regular.  Even Tess knew that by now.  "I have a 9 by 12.  Little bigger, but only $10 more a month.  $52.  And the last people who had it, they put some shelves up in the back.  You want them, you can use them.  You don't, I'll take them out."

             "It would be nice to have some shelves."  He stopped clenching and unclenching his fists.

             "I always say shelves are the best way to get organized."  Grandma took her master keys off their perch behind her desk, and walked through the swinging half-door that let her move between her small office space and the counter where customers stood.  "I'll show you the space.  You like it, you can come back and pay for the first month."

             Grandma opened the glass door and held it for the man to follow her to the empty locker.  As she turned to close it, she looked at Tess' hiding place and shook her finger, letting Tess know she remembered who else was in her office.  There was a sharp click as Grandma turned the deadbolt.  No one could get into the office when she was away, but Tess could get out by turning the small knob on the lock.

             Awkwardly, Tess crawled out of her hiding place, and stood.  She wanted Grandma to move the filing cabinet down a few inches.  The space fit perfectly when she was 6, but now that she was 7, it was very tight.

             Tess looked out the blinds that covered the glassed office walls.  There were two familiar cars.  Both belonged to people Tess called the "have-it-all" folks.  They rented only for a few months, at most.  Usually it was because they had moved out of one home, but their new one wasn't ready yet.  They talked all the time about how inconvenient it was to have to "live out of a storage locker" for a couple months.  But, they all had hotels or apartments to go to, usually in real nice parts of town.  And their children usually whined.

             Then there were the people who were down on their luck, just for a little while.  Or so they said.  They had to move because they couldn't afford their house or apartment anymore, and were staying with family or friends.  But, at least they could afford to rent the storage space.  They came there almost every week, sometimes bringing clothes as the seasons changed, sometimes taking out blankets or Christmas decorations.  Tess called them the "someday" people, in honor of Mrs. Woodard, who always said her family would get a house again, "someday."  Children of the "someday" people were much quieter.  They usually looked worried.

             The people Tess was at once fascinated with and afraid of were the ones who kept everything they owned in the lockers.  They wouldn't call themselves homeless, but Tess knew they were.  Anyone who pushed a shopping cart or wore two coats in the winter was almost always living on the street.  Usually they were men, but lately there were more women.  Never any children, but a couple of them talked about children.  Sometimes, they talked to themselves more than to other people.  Tess called them the "regulars."  They almost never closed out their storage lockers, and every now and then, Grandma would give one of them a free month.  Usually in the winter, when somebody got pneumonia.

            When she first came to live with Grandma Wilma, Tess would ask when her mother was coming back for her.  For a long time, Grandma said something like, "In a few weeks," or "Surely by the end of the month."  After awhile, Tess stopped asking.  She knew her mother wasn't coming back.  For a time, she sent postcards.  Never picture postcards of places she visited, just the kind you bought at the post office.  They never said much. 

             Tess didn't miss her mother.  She wasn't at all like the ones on television.  She didn't take Tess to get pizza and she didn't have a busy job that meant she was always on the go, like the women in the hair color commercials.  But, Maria McGinty could watch television with the best of them.  One of her boyfriends said if there was ever a game show with soap opera trivia questions, Maria would win.  Often, Tess had sat nearby, watching her mother as she watched the soaps.  Tess could tell that she was imagining herself in one of the roles--a glamorous one, of course.

             She did pick nice boyfriends, though, and they all liked Tess.  Tess' dream was that one of them would marry her mother, and then Maria McGinty would die.  Her now-stepfather would insist that Tess stay with him, and he would marry a nice woman.  She would know how to bake chocolate chip cookies and would visit Tess' classroom on parents' day.

             So engrossed was she with her daydream of a new mother that Tess didn't notice Grandma and the older man walking toward the office.  The jingle of the bell above the door startled her.  Tess found herself looking into the sad eyes of the newest tenant of "East Side Public Storage."

             "We'll just get you signed up, and you can bring your things anytime."  As Grandma followed the man into the office, she was more surprised than the man to see Tess sitting on the chair by the window.  "What, out in broad daylight?"

             Tess flushed.  "I was watching for you out the window." 

             Grandma threw her a sharp look.  She knew that wasn't too likely.  "Mr. Jasper, this is my granddaughter, Tess.  You'll see her around here.  Lives here, she does."

             Mr. Jasper nodded to Tess and turned back to Grandma.  "I'll be here early, ma'am."

             "Suit yourself."  Grandma eyed him as he filled out the short application, and counted out the money for the first month's rent.  "What kinds of things will you be putting in the locker?"  Tess was surprised.  Grandma never asked that. 

             The man didn't look up.  "Just some odds and ends.  Memories, mostly."

             Grandma looked away, and Tess sensed she was sorry she'd asked.  Memories, Tess thought.  Must have a lot for a 9 by 12.

             Tess looked for Mr. Jasper the next morning.  She had never heard anyone say they kept memories in their storage space.  She wasn't sure that she wanted to see.  He looked as if most of his memories could be sad ones.  Tess bent over her knapsack as she pretended to carefully pack her lunch in the side pocket.

             "Quit stalling now.  Bus'll be here shortly."  Grandma was very strict about school.  Tess had to be as hot as a polar bear in summer, according to Grandma, before she could stay home.  Dawdling to miss the bus was not permitted.

             Tess pushed the office door open and waved wordlessly as she walked toward the bus stop, less than half a block away.

             "There's my girl," came a raspy voice a few yards ahead of her.

             Mr. Youngtree was almost always the first one in when Grandma set the gate computer to let people in for the day.  Tess knew that if you slept in the shelter you had to be out of there by seven a.m.  He must leave a little early.  Most people seemed to stay as long as they could, especially when it was cold.

             "Hi, Mr. Youngtree."  Tess walked steadily toward the gate.

             "How about a little bit of apple today, miss?"  He pulled a wadded napkin from the over-flowing pocket of his worn coat.

             "Thanks, but I had breakfast.  Can't be late."

             "Maybe this afternoon, then.  Cut you a chunk with my knife, I will."

             "Maybe."  Tess knew she wouldn't.  He was easy to avoid in the afternoon.  All you had to do was walk behind the back row of storage lockers and he couldn't see you. 

             Tess pulled the chain link gate tight, listening for the loud click that meant the lock was in place.  She glanced at the bus stop, where four other children waited.  Gina, from the kindergarten class, was hopping first on one foot and then the other.  When one foot was on the ground, the other was tucked up under her skirt.  Thank goodness Grandma didn't buy Tess any skirts.  Pants were 50 cents at Salvation Army, and shirts were a quarter.  Dresses were one dollar.  Tess had one dress.  It was for school picture days.

             She looked down the street, away from the bus stop.  No Mr. Jasper.  Maybe he wouldn't come until after she got home from school.  She walked toward the bus stop.  If she sucked the cold air in short breaths, it didn't make her chest hurt.

             After school, Tess ran from the bus stop toward the strip of low buildings that housed the storage lockers.  It was windy now, and the breeze wandered behind her head and down the back of her neck.  Grandma looked at the Salvation Army every week to see if there were any coats with hoods.  Tess didn't really care, but Grandma always said a person had to keep their head warm, else their heart would freeze.  Tess thought she just said that so she would keep the old scarf on her head.

             She punched the code on the security pad, each number a quick jab.  Perhaps she could still see Mr. Jasper.  A quick look down the main row of storage lockers showed no sign of Mr. Youngtree, but he could be out of sight in his locker.  She darted behind the back row, impatient to be rid of her knapsack.

             The door to Grandma's office jingled as she opened it.  "Afternoon.  Mind the floor."

             Tess looked at the damp floor and the mop in the corner.  "What happened?"

             "New tenant brought me some wine he made."  Grandma looked up from the work she was doing.  "Dropped it, he did." 

             "He brought you wine?"  It was too early for Christmas.  All of the regulars gave her something then.  Usually it was what one of the charity people gave them for Christmas.  Grandma said it was the thought that counted.

            "Said he makes it every summer.  Had more left than usual."

             Tess eyed her grandmother.  "So, I guess," Tess tried to hide her disappointment, "he's gone, huh?"

             "I expect he's still there.  You can..."  Tess didn't wait for permission.

             Mr. Jasper was shoving a box toward the back of his 9 by 12.  Tess could see it was more space than he needed, especially because of the shelves.  Mostly it was the "have-it-all" types who built shelves.  The people who had the locker before Mr. Jasper had the white boxes you had to buy.  Every box had a label and was stacked neatly on top of another. 

             He straightened when he saw Tess standing in the doorway.  "Afternoon.  Tess, isn't it?"

            She nodded.  When she said nothing more, he resumed rearranging his boxes.

             "Are those your memories?"

             "My..?"  His puzzled look changed to a slow smile.  "I suppose you could say that."

             "Why did you bring them here?"

             His smile was gone.  "Needed a place to put 'em."  Mr. Jasper returned to his work, and Tess looked around the storage bin.  Most of the boxes were the kind you get at the supermarket.  A few were from liquor stores. 

             "Where's your kin?" she asked

             "Where's yours?" he replied. 

             "Don't know.  Except for Grandma."

             Mr. Jasper looked at her hard, and Tess thought his eyes got a little more friendly.  "Mine are all here.  Mostly, anyway."  He paused as he lifted a box from the floor and put it on one of the lower shelves.  "Sold my house.  Moved in with my daughter."

             Tess thought about this for a moment.  Most people who sold houses seemed to use the money to buy another one.  She said so.

             "Got some other uses for it."  He regarded her again.  "Does your Grandma know where you are?" 

            When people asked that, they usually wanted her to leave.  Tess looked at him for a moment and walked slowly back to Grandma's office.   

            The shoe box was where she always left it, in the bottom drawer of the oldest file cabinet.  The drawer squeaked when you opened it.  She squeezed between the file cabinet and the wall and sat the worn box on her lap.

             Her favorite treasure was the sea shell.  Her mother's best boyfriend had given it to her.  Her mother hated it when her boyfriends gave Tess presents.  They were supposed to give all their gifts to her.  Tess kept the shell rolled in a paper towel.  She unwrapped it gently, looking at how the folds of the shell turned around on each other.  She loved its sleek lines and soft colors.  The boyfriend--what was his name?  Bill, maybe--had said if she held it to her ear she could hear the ocean.  She hadn't, but she still liked it.

             The tiny pink barrette was her other best thing.  Tess had it when she was 3 or 4.  When she wore it, she felt sort of like the other little girls she saw.  They wore a lot of pink and yellow clothes, and their hair ribbons or barrettes always matched their shirts or dresses.  Tess' clothes never matched, but when she wore the pink barrette she could pretend they did.

             "Tess."  Grandma's voice interrupted her thoughts.  "Come out and start on your homework."

             "Yes ma'am."  She put the barrette back, and carefully rolled up the shell.  She had to practice her cursive.  When she wrote a "G" it reminded her of the shell.