The Money Exchange
By Ovetta Sampson – Short Story on Demand
If there ever was a flesh-and-blood Mr. Potter it was him. Tammy squinted, shielding her eyes against the mid-day sun. She was on her way to the bank when she bumped into Bass T. Ard.
Mr. Ard was the town’s richest man. Standing just a hair below six feet, Mr. Ard was about as wide as he was tall. “Fat from all his excess,” Tammy thought. His tightly fitting wool suit, black winged tip shoes and ill-fitting black v
est made him look like a stuffed penguin. The ratty black top hat he wore didn’t help much. Tammy didn’t understand why a man with all his wealth would dress so shabbily. He owned half the town – the grocery store, the church, several houses, heck, he even owned the bank building she was trying to get into. Surely he could buy him a better suit. But her momma used to say, “Rich folk stay rich ’cause they cheaper than po’ folks show me a man flauntin’ his money and I’ll show you a man living off someone in a shabby suit.” Most of the town hated Mr. Ard. If they missed a payment on their rent or if they forget to pay their grocery tab Mr. Ard, they said, would throw them in jail.
Although Tammy never saw it happen she made sure that she was never indebted to Mr. Ard. This of course was hard in a town where the bank was especially particular about loaning money to people like her. Yet she and Lonnie had managed to stay out of Mr. Ard’s checkbook. They did a lot of work for him in the past – she cleaning and cooking for him and her husband making things he needed. Her husband was a good carpenter and the things he made with his hands kept them on their feet.
Tammy tried to pass by what most people in her small town of Bakersville thought of as the anti-Christ and tried to avoid eye contact. But Mr. Ard was having nothing of it.
“Good day miss Tammy,” Bass T. Ard said in a gruff voice. He had a thick European accent and Tammy could barely understand him.
“Hello, Mista’ Ard,” she said sharply, trying desperately to scoot around his wide frame into the bank’s double doors.
“Lovely day Miss Tammy,” he replied refusing to move. “How’s your husband doing?”
“Fine,” she said a loud, but inside she was thinking, “Oh just what do you want you ole’ coot. What do you want?”
“I see he finished the Brown’s porch,” he continued. “Looks nice. Looks real nice.”
“Why thank you Mista’ Ard, Thank you,” Tammy whispered, her head down, her eyes staring at the bubble gum stuck in the dirt road. When Mr. Ard didn’t move Tammy began to shift her weight from one foot to the other, her gray dress swaying softly in the sand of the road.
“Well, I, I gotta’ go now Mr. Ard.,” she mumbled. “Lonnie really wants me to deliver this money inside the bank right away. And then I got to go back home and make supper for him and the children.”
“Oh, that’s fine Tammy,” Mr. Ard said, but he stood perfectly still. To Tammy it seemed like he didn’t even breathe. Finally, the young woman looked up and saw his face. Pale, dripping with sweat, Mr. Ard’s face was tomato red. Tammy knew he had to be burning up in that three-piece get up in the nearly 90-degree heat. She physically felt his discomfort. Yet he didn’t move. Tammy noticed his black eyes, usually always so penetrating were softer, almost tender.
“And how are your children, especially, Little Lonnie?” Mr. Ard said, his voice softening. “Is he O.K.? He hasn’t had another episode has he?”
Tammy was dumbstruck. She couldn’t believe that the most powerful man in town was asking about her eight-year-old. Lonnie was severely diabetic. The doctors say they had never seen a case as extreme as his. Lonnie and Tammy didn’t know about their son’s illness until last summer. That’s when the entire family went to the traveling circus. Lonnie Jr., begged like crazy for a piece of Cotton Candy. Tammy had never let her children eat sugar – she feared it would make them fat. But it was a special day and Tammy didn’t want to ruin her son’s already dreamlike experience. So right after the family threw peanuts to the elephants and danced with the tigers she ushered Lonnie over to the cotton candy booth. The first bite was fine. But three bites into the cotton candy his eyes began to glaze over. Then he just sat down, his body rigid his eyes wide open. Strange noises began to emanate from his mouth. They were tiny growls. He began to cry, long slow sobs as if his dog had just died. Then his Tammy was terrified. She clutched at her son on the ground and began screaming.
“Help me,” she cried. “Help me.” People began to stop and circle her and her son. But none moved forward to help. Finally two police officers came.
“Look here gal, you’re scary the people here,” one of them spat out. “You need to get your kid under control or get the hell outta’ here.” The crowd grew larger. But still no one offered to help.
Through angry tears Tammy began looking frantically for her husband.
“LONNIE!” she screamed. “LONNIE! LONNIE.” Minutes later all three were in the car and Lonnie was driving as fast as the speed limit would allow to the hospital.
Days later the doctors would tell her Lonnie Jr., had had a diabetic seizure. The hospital discharged them that very day but gave her the name of a Doc Wiston. Doc Wiston wasn’t really a doc but he was in the habit of serving folks that other people didn’t serve. Doc Wiston gave Tammy medicine every month for Lonnie Jr. It never occurred to Tammy how much the medicine cost because well, she had never seen a bill.
“Thanks for inquirin’,” Tammy said, her face smiling now. “Lonnie Jr., is fine. Just as ornery as ever. He’s going into the fourth grade after the summer and we’re so proud thanks, for askin’.”
“Good day,” Mr. Ard said with as much suddenness as when he greeted her. “Good day.”
Tammy stood looking at the penguin’s back for a long while. She smiled.
