Short Stories of Richard C. Hayner

Two Ways In

A short story by Richard C. Hayner

This is my younger brother, Bob. He’s the one running the tape deck. That’s his wife standing behind him. I don’t know who the other man is. Bob retired a few years ago from a successful career as a businessman. He was a salesman in his younger years and a darn good one at that.

He’s a good egg, though, always sending me tapes he makes of big band music. He plays disc jockey between songs, giving the title and artist and usually some of his own recollections of the year the song was a hit. He’d better stay retired! He might have had a way with words for selling, but as a disc jockey, he’s got something missing.

That one? Oh, that’s Willard. You know, my older brother. We’re one day shy of being one year apart. You've met him haven’t you? No, maybe not. He lives down in Texas now. Willard’s quite different from Bob. I love them both, but they don’t speak to each other and haven’t for a good many years. I wish they’d let bygones be bygones, but I don’t think they ever will. Willard’s a good man, a hard worker and a hard head. That’s the best way to describe him.

He worked hard all his life, worked for everything he ever had. I think all that hard work has taken its toll on Willard, though. You can see it in this picture. Just look at the way he stands. A bad back and a problem shoulder from falling off ladders keep him in constant pain. I don’t see how he continues to play golf. You know, that’s the only form of recreation he’s ever enjoyed, at least, as an adult. Most of the time he just worked. Even now that he’s seventy-four, he’s always working on some kind of project for a friend. If he’s not building a carport, he’s wiring a ceiling fan. He was a master electrician, but he could do just about anything.

Bob, on the other hand, let his brain do most of the work...and his mouth. Don’t get me wrong, I just mean he was quite a talker. He was a salesman’s salesman, a charmer from the word go.

You know, there’s a story that I think best illustrates the difference between Bob and Willard. It happened when Bob was about twelve and Willard was maybe fifteen. Willard was always pretty stout for his age and Bob was a scrawny kind of kid.

Hand me the fingernail file there, would you please, dear?

Now, it seems there was a circus in town one summer, and the boys heard it was going to set up about ten miles from our house. Back then, a good, strong, healthy boy could get a job when the circus came to town helping set up the tents and all. They’d do all that work for not much more than admission to the show. Well, if ever there was a good, strong, healthy boy, it was Willard. Bob, however, was younger and, as I said, a bit scrawny even for his age. So the next morning, Willard walked that ten miles and got himself a job. He worked hard, too, for three long days. He came home so tired at night he could hardly stand. I think his legs had to find their own way home in the dark. It wasn’t cooling off much at night that summer, and that old dirt road must have covered him in dust and grit.

In the meanwhile, on the second day of setting up, Bob had caught a ride to town with Dad and went to see about a circus job himself. The foreman said he was too frail. He laughed at Bob and said he looked as tough as ice cream and just might melt in the sun. But Bob got to talking to one of the performers, a trapeze artist I think, and was telling him what a good crop of tomatoes we had that year. We did, too. Everyone else was having trouble with grasshoppers. It was in the middle of a drought and nobody was getting tomatoes like ours. I’ll tell you, I think it was the birds that made the difference for us. We had trees all around our garden and three or four bird feeders out there. Any grasshoppers that came into our garden were met by flock of birds looking for some dessert. Well, the circus performer got all worked up about it. After all, traveling in the circus back then, one didn’t see many fresh vegetables.

I know tomatoes are fruits, hun, now go back to bed. Grandma will be there to tuck you in as soon as she’s finished here. He’s had a big day with the zoo and all. You can leave him here when you folks go home tomorrow.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. So Bob made a deal with the man, and the next morning I helped him pick half a bushel of those juicy red wonders from our garden. But you don’t think Bob walked ten miles like Willard, do you? Not on your life. He made sure the Hendersons up the road knew the circus was on he and laid it on thick, too. By the time he finished telling them about it, they would’ve gone if it had been a hundred miles instead of ten. Then he caught a ride with them. The grateful circus performers let him in and even let him sit with them at ringside. He had all the popcorn and peanuts he could eat. They let him pet the trained dogs, and he got to hold the lion tamer’s pistol and laughed with the clowns. Bob just had a way with people even back then.

When it came time for the circus to open, Willard was tired but excited and ready for the show. He’d gone to work that morning carrying a clean pair of overalls so he’d be ready once the show started. He and the other boys who had worked so hard to set up the show watched from beneath the stands. I don’t think Willard minded, though.

He didn’t resent Bob for that. They just drifted apart and went their own, very separate ways. Maybe it was the way Dad acted toward Willard after Bob was old enough to talk. Willard could never please Dad, no matter how hard he tried, and the good Lord knows he tried. You’d best be getting some sleep, now. You’ve got a long drive tomorrow.

But, you know, to look at them now, I’d say that life has been like that circus. Neither started out with the money to pay, but each one found his own way in.