The World According To Bull
The Claim Ticket
Two short stories from the series which are also available as short film scripts.
The kitchen drawer opened with a dry squawk and the clanging of fifty years of discarded objects, no longer loved or needed. Bull’s thick fingers swirled the mess around loudly, banging from side to side.
“Gramps...what are you looking for in the junk drawer?” granddaughter Dee Dee asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? What nothing?” she answered.
“My extra pair of glasses.” Bull didn’t look up.
“Why? What happened to your Orville Redenbacher glasses?”
There was an instant silence of sound, motion and breathing. Dee Dee cringed knowingly.
Bull looked up at her with a stone face. “What is the rule in this house young lady?”
She sighed and her head lowered as she spoke in a robotic, sarcastic, monotone voice. “We never mention the name of the gay Nazi, Orville you know who.”
“That’s right.” The old man returned to his mission in the junk drawer.
“But Gramps, he wasn’t gay and he wasn’t a Nazi.” she argued.
“Jury’s still out.” he mumbled, not looking up from his task.
“Why do you hate him so much?”
“That’s between me and him. You’re twenty years old, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Twenty-five. My birthday was yesterday. We had a party...remember?”
“You gonna earn your keep and help me, or watch me have a stroke?”
She added her hands to the crowded space and began placing objects on the counter.
“You must have a hundred of these Taco Bell sauce packets...all mild.”
“I only like hot.” he answered.
Dee Dee scooped up a handful of Bic cigarette lighters.
“Why so many cigarette lighters? You don’t even smoke?” she asked.
“It’s okay, they don’t work.”
Reaching to the back of the drawer she pulled out a rectangular piece of blue paper.
“Rubenstein Shoe Repair.” she read out loud. “Gramps this is a claim ticket. And the pick-up date is...August 2nd...wow...from twelve years ago.”
“Yeah, yeah...throw it away.” he barked without looking.
“But if you have the claim ticket...that means he must have the shoes.”
Bull slowly straitened up to his full, slightly bent, height. His eyes searched his memory.
“Oh lord...August second, twelve years ago...that’s the day Granny…” her voice trailed off and she laid her hand softly on her grandfathers shoulder.
He limped over to the yellow Formica top, kitchen table, and plopped into the seat.
“That night...that’s the night her heart gave out. That’s the night my angel went to heaven.” he spoke in a soft whisper.
Dee Dee sat next to him and held his hand, caressing it sweetly. Her eyes welled up and ran over, silently.
“You know...I do remember now...I asked her to take my Landon’s, an old pair of shoes I loved, take em to that Jew Rubenstein and get new soles. I guess she did. I forgot all about em’.”
“Gramps...you shouldn’t call people…”
“I wonder…” he interrupted. “...I wonder if he still has them. What do you do when a customer doesn’t pick up a pair of shoes?”
Dee Dee thought carefully, “Well...you surely can’t keep them for twelve years. I bet he donated them to charity.” She patted him on the back.
“Yeah...yeah...or sold them. Probably sold them. You know how those people like to turn a buck.”
“Stop Gramps...you can’t…”
Bull sprung from table with what spring he had left. “Shhh...you wanna be a helper or a yapper?”
She shook her head with a smirk, “A helper.” she moaned.
“Good. Let’s go see if the shoe shop is still open. Grab that ticket.”
Dee Dee, happy to see Bull didn’t wallow in the sad memory, hugged her grandfather. As she pulled away from the tight embrace, her eyes grew big and her lips sneered. She reached into his front, shirt pocket and pulled out his round-framed glasses.
Startled, he snatched them from her hands. “Why are you being a trickster to an old man. Gimme those.”
###
“Well...still here.”
Dee Dee pulled up in front of Rubenstein Shoe Repair and turned off the motor. The rundown strip-mall displayed more closed businesses than open. But Rubenstein’s sign over the door appeared freshly painted, and a reversible, OPEN sign hung in the window of the brick building.
“Yep. Still here.” Bull replied.
He stared at the door through the windshield. He seemed almost in a trance, not blinking. After a long, eerily silent minute, Dee Dee offered the claim ticket in her hand. Slowly Gramps took it and held it tightly.
“Soooo…you going in Gramps or…”
Bull nodded without changing his focus from the door.
“You don’t have to do this you know? Its just a pair of shoes...and we know after twelve years they probably won’t be there anyway. You wanna just go home?”
He looked at Dee Dee, “Its not the shoes...its the memory. This is kind of like...a new memory of your Granny. I’m just letting it sink in and settle.”
“Aw…” she pulled him close enough to kiss his cheek. He blinked away an oncoming tear. “If you’d rather, you can go next door.” She pointed to the shop next door. The sign said, ‘Springfield China and Glassware.’
“What? Why?” he grumbled.
“Cuz then you’d be a Bull in a China shop.” she joyously snorted and sputtered.
“You’re an ignoramus.” he said calmly. “Wait here, you embarrass me.”
He hid his wrinkled smile as he walked in the shop. An old, balding gentleman wearing a dirty apron met him at the front counter. Shoes, boots and dusty foot-ware posters lined the walls.
“You Rubenstein?” Bull asked matter-of-factly.
The man pushed his black framed glasses up his nose. “That’s right.”
He slip the blue claim ticket across the counter to the proprietor. “Do you have these shoes?” he deadpanned.
Rubenstein picked up the ticket and glanced at it. “Let me check in the back.” he answered and disappeared behind a gray curtain.
The old man slowly looked around the shop and took it all in. He was the only customer and he walked the perimeter, his cane clicking on the tile floor. He touched every shoe and boot on display. Every picture, every poster too. ‘Maybe Betty touched this picture.’ he thought.
She had done so much for him in their marriage. Taken such loving care of his every need. The perfect soulmate. ‘This was the last small, little act of love she did for me.’ He sighed, fighting back the tears.
Just as he stepped back up to the counter Mr Rubenstein reappeared from the curtain and handed him back the ticket.
“They’ll be ready Monday.”
THE END
The World According To Bull
Gone Fishing
“Fasten your seat-belt Gramps… please… no arguments.” Dee Dee begged.
The old man sighed angrily. “What’s Bull’s Rule about seat-belts young lady.
In a robotic, sarcastic voice she answered, “Seat-belts are for suckers. They kill more people every year than smoking and drowning combined.”
“That’s right. It’s a common fact that without a seat-belt you will be thrown free from the wreckage, increasing your odds for survival.”
“Well, Dee Dee’s driving rule number one… put on your damn seat-belt you crusty old fossil or we’re not going fishing.” She gave him the last-stand look.
“Fine, fine. But if we get in a wreck and both your legs get broken, don’t come runnin’ to me!” he barked. “You’re awful bossy for a teenager.”
“I’m twenty-five. Buckle-up Gramps, you got a woman driver in charge of your life… or death.” His granddaughter laughed maniacally while Bull made the sign of the cross.
###
They broke through a row of bushes and walked to the edge of the water; a pristine, calm lake stretched out before them. A stand of cat-tails to their left and a submerged, fallen pine tree rose from the water, twenty yards to their right.
Bull limped behind Dee Dee, his eighty-eight year old legs and twenty year old cane providing troubled locomotion. His granddaughter struggled as she carried two folding lawn chairs, a large cooler, her book and an eight foot cane pole.
“Ah...how sweet it is. I just love the shit out of nature.” His big yellow teeth on display in a rare smile. “Can you set up my chair hon, I gotta go take a squirt before I burst.”
Dee Dee shoots the Devils Face at his back as she drops the heavy load on the ground.
Finally set up, Bull opened the cooler and lifted out a small, rusty, Folgers coffee can and a Busch Light beer. As he popped the top on his cold beverage the thick bushes parted above them, and birthed a preteen Asian boy of about ten-years old.
He had a shiny Shimano spinning reel in one hand and in the other a hefty Plano tackle box he struggled to carry. Wireless, white earbuds decorated both ears and he wore a clean, ironed, yellow Sponge Bob T-shirt.
“Oh, hi there.” he squeaked. “Do you mind if I fish over here… by this tree?” he asked politely.
“Well actually we do.”
“Actually we don’t mind. Welcome to Bullville.” Dee Dee interrupted with a well educated, preemptive strike.
Bull turned to his left where she sat several feet away, smiling and thumbing through her book. She ignored Bull’s dirty look, a move she had performed thousands of times.
The old man took a long pull off his beer, and picked out a night-crawler from the Folgers can. He spit on the worm and slid it deftly onto the hook.
“Okay… yeah… I will.” the boy spoke up as he prepared to cast a three inch, red and white lure, with double treble hooks.
“What’s that?” Bull looked to the boy, who seemed to be ignoring him.
“Okay, bye.” the boy said into the air.
“Bye? Ya just got here boy… you leavin’ already?
“What?” The boy took a step toward the older fisherman. He popped out one of his earbuds and leaned his head toward Bull. “Oh, sorry, I was on the phone.”
Confused Bull yelled, “You can’t yell like that boy. You’ll scare away the fish. Why you wearing hearing aids? You deaf or something?”
The kid smiled and pulled his iPhone from his back pocket. “No sir, I was talkin to my mom at the campsite. She was checking on me.”
“Well shit boy you can’t have a phone while you’re fishing. It’s illegal… turn the damn thing off. It sends magnetic sonar waves into the water and tells the fish some nerd is tryin’ to catch him.”
Dee Dee shook her head but didn’t look up from her book.
“Oh… sorry sir… I didn’t know. It’s my first time fishing.” He turned off his phone and put it in his pocket.
“First time!” Bull is almost insulted at the thought. “I thought your people learn’t how to fish when they’re still on the tit.
The boy snickered.
“Gramps.”
“Well yank those hearing aids out and scoot on down here so I ain’t gotta yell like a banshee.” Bull commanded.
The boy grinned and dragged his massive tackle box over next to the old guy and sat on it.
“You want a beer boy?”
“Gramps…”
“Okay, okay… we got Pepsi Cola too… want a Pepsi Cola?” he asked his new fishing buddy.
The two toasted with their cans. “Here’s mud in your eye.” Bull said. The boy giggled.
“My name’s Bull son, what’s your name.
“Topher.” he answered.
“What the hell kind of a name is Topher?”
“Well its Christopher, but just the last part. Instead of Chris… its the second part… Topher." the kid explained.
“That’s the stupidest… is that some sort of Japanese thing?”
“Gramps…” Dee Dee again interrupted without looking up.
The old man shifted in his seat and accepted the rebuke. “So...Boy...why ain’t your old man teaching you how to fish?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the name.
Topher prepared to cast his line and looked shyly at the ground, “He doesn’t live with us. But he bought me all this cool fishing stuff for my birthday.”
Bull’s eyebrows lowered and he pursed his lips, “He sounds like a real dickhead.”
“Gramps!”
Topher is laughing up a lung. “That’s the same thing my mom calls him too.”
“Me and… the boy are trying to fish here Dee Dee, can you lower your damn cackle about ten decibels?”
Bull flashed a paternal wink as the boy giggled louder, and shared an admiring look to his elderly fishing companion.
Topher cast out his lure a few times, then a few more, while Bull taught him how to guide and throw for distance. After about five minutes of casting lessons, the old fishing sage grabbed the kids pole.
“And now… I’ll teach you how to catch a lunker boy.”
“What’s a lunker?”
“A giant damn fish… not a minnow.”
He removed the lure and replaced it with a regular fishing hook, added a couple sinkers and opened the Folgers can.
“Okay boy… find us a plump and juicy worm.”
Topher dug through the dirt and pulled out a giant. “Wow, where did you buy these?”
“Buy? Ya dip-shit… you don’t buy nightcrawlers. You hunt em.”
Bull lowers his tone in an over dramatic, ghost story, Scorsese performance of man hunting the dangerous, killer worm.
“You see, once the sun goes down, all the way down, the night crawlers come halfway out of their holes to look for a mate. Their wary, very afraid to be above the earth. It ain't natural to em. Spooks em to be out there so… vulnerable, so open. So they will never come completely out of the hole. A part of their body always stays in for a quick retreat.”
Topher leans in mesmerized by the adventure.
“Most of the time they're just looking, searching to see if another nightcrawler has come up close enough, cuz they only mate above ground. When you spot one you keep the flashlight in their eyes...disorients em. You sneak up softly, if they feel the vibration they're gone. Then BAM put your finger down. Pin em so they can't make a break for it. You have to be fast cuz they move like lightning… ya know… for a worm.
“Wow… that’s cool.”
“You bet yer ass it’s cool. And sometimes you'll see a pair of em whose holes ARE close together and they're hooked up.”
“Hooked up?”
“You know… he-in and she-in. Layin’ on top of each other. So you get a two fer one… a double.”
“Wow… a double.”
“Best time to go is during a full moon. Lot more of em come out on a full moon. I reckon they think its romantic like us humans do.”
Bull takes a long, satisfying pull on his beer.
“I tell ya boy… ain't nothing sweeter in this whole dang world than nightcrawler huntin' on a full moon.” Bull falls back in his chair, exhausted from telling the dangerous tale.
“So cool… we don’t have a yard though, we live in an apartment.”
“Then you gotta buy em.” Bull answered. Spell broken, he prepared to hook the worm.
“Won’t it hurt the worm to stick him with the hook?” Topher cringed.
“Well first off, God made the worm especially for fishermen and robins. Not Buddha or whoever…”
Gramps.”
“And secondly, that’s why you spit on them. It completely numbs them, they feel no pain and it’s actually like a… a drug. Makes em feel great even, like they smoked that marijuana stuff or snorted some of that CO – CAIN up their snout.”
“Gramps!”
“Will you read your book and leave us fishermen alone?” he barked. “Okay now… boy...you’re all set. Cast out by the second log sticking up and just let it settle.”
Topher made a perfect, pinpoint cast. The old teacher turned to make sure his granddaughter was watching the lesson; she was and grinned back at him.
As Bull readied to throw out his line, the water exploded and Topher’s pole bent almost double. He let out an excited scream.
“Wow! What do I do….”
Bull stood up and grabbed his shoulder, “Just reel in a little bit at a time. Holy shit boy ya got a whopper! Not too fast… don’t horse him… you don’t wanna horse him, he’ll break the line.”
The boy stepped backwards a few steps.
“Nope… don’t do that. Stand you’re ground Boy. Don’t be a sissy. You’re in a damn fight.” he coached the boy. “It’s a lunker.”
After several minutes Bull waded out into the water a couple feet and grabbed the worn out fish by its lower jaw. He held up the prize as high as his arthritic shoulder allowed. Dee Dee hugged and congratulated Topher.
“That there is a largemouth bass… if that ain’t at least five pounds I’ll kiss a fat woman’s ass!” he said triumphantly.
“Gramps!”
“What? I will.”
As he waded to shore with the trophy Topher rushed to meet him in the water, and attacked his waist with a massive hug.
“Thanks Bull. You’re the GOAT.
Bull patted the boy on the head, secretly absorbing the love in spy-mode.
“Okay… its just a damn fish, don't wet your pants. And I ain't no goat boy. I think you need a lesson in critter identification.”
“It means you’re the best you rusty old coot!” Dee Dee snapped.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Boy you might just be smarter than you look.” Bull dabbed his eyes on his sleeve.
###
An hour later Dee Dee reminded her grandfather, “Gramps, we gotta head home… time for your meds soon.”
The boy looked quizzically at his hero. Bull leaned close, “When she says meds… steroids…” he whispered, “I do bodybuilding.”
The kid nodded. “Cool.”
They all hugged and as they walked through the bushes to leave Bull waved and shouted, “Goodbye Topher. See you in the funny papers.” he turned to Dee Dee, “I wonder if he’ll be here tomorrow?”
THE END