Gas Station Sam"Darn near everyone is a critic," he mumbled in a voice filled with gravel and tobacco stains. "Excuse me?" I answered, but didn't see anyone - at first. "She shoulda kept her 'pinions to herself and left me to the worrying about how it'll all work out. But no, that old biddie had to stick her nose in my business." Well, someone nearby ranted frustration about interference and he faded in about 10 feet ahead of me. Tall and thin, the image of a man in the dusty, oil-stained overalls with a greasy red bandana dangling out of his side pocket, grew clearer as I approached. "See what I mean?" he went on. "That old Packard would have run just fine if Mable just kept her two cents worth to herself. But she just had to force Ed to change the brakes on her. Darn shame, that's what it was. Darn shame." "Can I help with something?" I offered. "Don't know if you can do anything now. Ed's dead. Tried to change the brakes himself instead of coming to me to fix them. Said they couldn't afford my fee. Hell, I knew Mable still bore a grudge against me for taking her sister to school prom darn near 40 years ago. Mable said I done sloppy work in this garage and old Ed should just change those brakes hisself. She'd took her cars to Pete instead of me for years, and when they found Pete in the river with a broken leg last spring, that made my gas station the only game in town. Now, mind you, I didn't do nothing to Pete - he and I gone back many years and I miss the old coot. Don't know what he was doing in the river. But when Mable dawned I was the only one left to change the brakes, she got her feathers ruffled and told old Ed to change them himself. More's the pity, I say." Wow, I felt like I heard the entire history of this little town from one spirit in a few minutes. I needed to find out why he still hung around. "Where's Ed and Pete now?" I asked. "They're dead. Already told you that," he responded. "Oh yes, right. Sorry. And you? What are you doing here?" "I don't rightly know, I reckon." He looked at me with suddenly mournful eyes and his long, thin face tilted to one sided and bobbed up and down. "Never thought of it really." He spoke slowly and softly now, as though I'd confronted him with new realization. "What's your name?" I asked. "Sam. Sam Morris, at your service." He stood up straight and tipped his blue and white striped hat, it, too, covered in oil stains. "I can fill yer tank, check yer oil and sell you a sodey-pop. What's yer pleasure?" "It's nice to meet you Mr. Morris. What did you mean by 'everyone's a critic?'" "Aww, I was just fuming about Ed dying, is all. How senseless it was." He made a swiping gesture with his left hand because his right hand busied itself preparing to shield a deep emphysemic-like cough. That old red rag hung from his gnarled yellow-stained fore-fingers and found it's way to his lips just in time to catch his exhale. As I watched his struggle, I inquired, "Sam, can I ask you something?" "Sure," he answered between struggled breaths. "I got nothing but time." He rocked back on his heels and looked me right in the eyes. "Do you feel guilty about not changing those brakes for Ed?" "Sure I do! I'd a done 'em for free if they asked. But ya see, I didn't push the issue. Ed came to me and said he needed brakes and asked how much. I knew they were strapped since Mabel's momma died of consumption at age 93 and they spent every cent they had taking care of her. I was gonna offer to change the brakes for free. Seems I had some parts never took out of the box for that old car, and it'd do me good to use them. But before I could get the words out of my mouth, Mable honked the horn of that old Packard and ordered Ed to get back in that I was sure to charge them too much. Ed tucked his tail between his legs and went back to Mable. See? There's a reason I took her sister to the prom, 'stead of her." Sam walked to the corner of the gas station. I'm sure to him, the curbs looked new and the signs were shiny and proud. The crumbled concrete curbs crunched beneath my feet and the last vestiges of a metal sign for Texaco gas squeaked as the wind rocked it back and forth in its rusted hinges. For a minute, I'd hoped Rod Serling would step out from behind the counter and make sense of all of this for me! Sure, I knew I could try and help Sam to understand that all things happened for a reason, and even to comprehend that he's dead himself. The hardest thing I faced entailed convincing him to forgive himself and move on. I knew for the most part, Sam forgave Mable. He knew her character very well and her behavior that day was probably very predictable. Sam probably forgave Pete for dying, and even Ed for trying to change the brakes himself after he succumbed to his wife's demands. Grudges against others often remain easier to forgive than those against ourselves. Sam kicked a few pebbles by the glass topped gas tank. I'm surprised some of those dinosaurs still exist. "Yep, shoulda done more. I coulda done more. I coulda gone over there with the parts and helped old Ed with the shoes in his own garage and Mable could have screeched to her heart's content. Can't help but feel it's partly my fault." He took his greasy hat off and with and oil-stained, tobacco-yellowed trio of fingers, scratched his head, opened his eyes wide and grinned, "Can't help but wonder, though, if I really did old Ed a favor! Know what I mean?" He winked. Mable must have been the cat's meow because she sure didn't win any points in memory for congeniality! "Look Sam, we could talk about this all day, but I have some places I need to go. How can I help you? You sought me out for a reason. Can you tell me?" He motioned for me to follow him to the bays of his gas station. He pointed up to the header beam that spanned the 2 bays where countless vehicles received repair over the decades. I looked up and then to Sam. He made a gesture with his hands that indicated he'd hanged himself over the beam. "And here I am," he said. His palms faced me, hands outstretched to his sides. He shook his head as he said, "Haven't forgiven myself for that, either. Fought in two wars, saved hundreds of lives, served my country proud. Let one man change his own brakes and I fall apart like a baby." I don't know if time or intervention could ever help Sam. I think of how so many of us are stuck in our unforgiveness of ourselves or others. We hold ourselves back or we let it ruin our lives. And in some cases, we allow it to sacrifice our lives. I walked away from Sam, thinking about his first words to me. It looks like yes, Sam, everyone is a critic. And your self-criticism will haunt this town - and most importantly your own soul - until you can accept that things happen for a reason and Spirit forgives us all. It's time we forgive ourselves. 1263 words July 15, 2006 |