Verses for Hire

“Of course it will work!” Susan said confidently, although she wasn’t the least bit sure that it would. “Emily Grierson has been doing it for six years. She’s sold over 1400 poems, and they’re not any better than mine are!”

“You know you can’t trust anything you read on Facebook,” her mother retorted, hands on her hips. “You’re just looking for an excuse to hang out at the farmers’ market all day instead of doing something constructive!”

Susan didn’t bother trying to answer. She had been living with her mother all twenty-two years of her life, and she knew that something constructive meant only two things: completing some miserable task around the house or looking for a job.

“I’ll pick up some fresh parsley. See you at four-thirty!” she said as cheerfully as she could manage and breezed out the door with her backpack and her father’s old manual typewriter. He had written two novels on that typewriter, as well as most of his poetry. That typewriter was going to be her lucky charm. A couple of those poems had actually been published.

It was a crazy idea, really, but if it had worked for Emily Grierson, maybe it would work for her. Emily couldn’t manage to get her work published through the normal channels, so she launched her own venture, Poetry On Demand. She set up shop wherever she could – markets, sales, festivals, sometimes even on sidewalks – and wrote poems on any subject requested. Clients who liked her work rewarded her with a donation. No paperwork, no taxes. The poems weren’t particularly polished, but they were one-of-a-kind, not available in any book or store, and not copyrighted, so people could pass them off as their own if they wanted to.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Susan told herself. Even if she didn’t earn enough cash to pay for her table at the farmers’ market, it would be a change in her schedule, which had become downright depressing since Precious Posies, the flower shop where she worked, floundered into bankruptcy. Greenvale was a small town, only 2,600 people, and there just wasn’t enough demand to keep Posies afloat after the supermarket started selling flowers at substantially lower prices.   

Susan loved her work at the flower shop, and had even managed to win an award for floral design. Much as she dreamed of living in an apartment of her own, she stayed at home and paid her mother six hundred dollars a month for room and board because she knew how tight finances were since her father died. It would have been a win-win arrangement, except for the fact that her mother never seemed to remember that she was no longer thirteen years old. 

Now Susan was unemployed, scrounging miscellaneous jobs in child care, pet-sitting, cleaning, and errand-running. She even resorted to door-to-door sales.  She managed to keep up her payments to her mother, but she rarely had enough cash to spare for even a cup of gourmet coffee. Her mother just kept nagging and nagging about finding a job, even though there were no openings in Greenvale. Susan checked every business in town every week, just to make sure.

She had invested her savings in a down payment on a car so that she could commute to a job in nearby Kettlesby, which was ten times the size of Greenvale. On her way to her first job interview, she slid off the road and did serious damage to the underside of her vehicle. The insurance company determined that it was too expensive to fix and paid her the book value minus the deductible, which was not enough to cover the outstanding payments. Then, on top of everything else, Susan had to make payments on a vehicle she no longer owned.
She was debt-free now, but practically penniless. If she managed to earn enough today to pay for her table and buy some nice fresh fruit and vegetables, she would be deliriously happy. Even limited success might even shut her mother up for a day or two.

She found her table at the market, set up the typewriter, a jar for donations, and the sign she had made.

           VERSES FOR HIRE
           Tell me your dreams
           I’ll do my best to make them come true.

The market would be opening in twenty minutes. She inserted a piece of paper into the typewriter and started to type her favourite poem.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach…

When she was finished, she examined her work critically. The lettering on the page was not as dark as she would have liked. The typewriter needed a new ribbon. Where in the world would she find one in this world of computer print-outs? She sighed. Her new business venture might be short-lived.

During the first hour, many people stopped to say hello and compliment Susan on her originality, but only two of them commissioned a poem. One was Mrs. Rushmore, who wanted a Grecian ode to impress the ladies of her reading circle.  She made Susan re-type her composition three times, and gave her two dollars for her efforts. The other was Tommy Dearborne, who had only a quarter to spend on something special for his mother`s birthday. He was a much more pleasant and rewarding customer.

After the initial rush, activity at the market slowed down. The busker across the way put his guitar back into its case and headed to the food stand for refreshments. Susan thought of doing the same, but if she did, she might not have enough money left to buy the parsley she promised to get. She sat back and tried to relax, wishing she had brought a friend to occupy the empty chair beside her and keep her company. Maybe it was time to give up and go home. 

She was lost in black thoughts, very close to tears, when the enticing odour of smokies wafted in her direction.

“Care for some lunch, Suze?” a voice beside her said.

She was so startled that she squeaked and almost fell off her chair.

“Doogie! What brings you here? Is city life getting on your nerves?”

Douglas Hargrove settled himself in the chair beside her and placed a napkin-wrapped bun and a can of coke beside her typewriter. “I miss Greenvale,” he said. “I miss the market and the dime store and my neighbours. I even miss my parents and that stupid cat of ours.”

“I thought you’d love working in Kettlesby,” Susan said. “I’m sure I would. So many things to see and do, and no one to watch my every move and gossip about it.”

She unwrapped the bun, her mouth watering. Onions, mustard, sauerkraut, and no ketchup. Just the way she liked it. She took a big bite. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.

She had known Doogie ever since they were old enough to play in the park two blocks from her house. He lived three houses away. They had started school together. He made it his business to protect her from bullies, and she did her best to help him with his homework when he needed it. He had serious problems with memory work, and she spent many hours listening to him reciting poetry until it was letter-perfect. After every attempt, he would ask “How did I do?” Almost always, her answer was “It needs work”, and she would continue her relentless coaching until she was satisfied. When he joined the drama club in high school, she helped him memorize his lines and encouraged him to be more expressive. He often told her that he could never have stumbled through a play without her help.

She was the first girl Doogie went on a date with. He was sixteen and had just passed his driver`s test. As a reward, his father let him borrow the car, even though they could easily have walked to Marco`s Italiano Restaurant. Doogie soon pursued other romantic adventures, but they remained close friends. Although she was happy for him when he got a good job at the Automobile Association office in Kettlesby, she missed him terribly. They texted back and forth on most days, but there were no more bike rides, no visits to the Burger Stop, no leisurely conversations.

She took another bite of her smokie. “Thank you,” she said. “How much do I owe you?” 

“My treat,” he said. “I’m getting a raise and a transfer to the office in Brandon.”

“Brandon!” she exclaimed, horrified. “In Manitoba? That’s hours from here!”

Doogie nodded and changed the subject. “How’s business?”

“Horrible,” Susan said. “I’ve earned two dollars and fifty cents so far. The table rental is fifteen dollars, so I think I’m going to lose money today.”

“Would you write a poem for me?”

“What kind of poem?”

“Something I can read to a very special lady I want to marry.”

Susan caught her breath. What would marriage do to their friendship? Even if he had time to keep in touch, it might not go over well with his wife. Especially if she happened to be Estelle Darwin, who expected the whole world to revolve around her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Doogie who the lucky lady was, but she bit back the words. It was none of her business. Probably someone he met in Kettlesby.

“That’s what I call a really, really important assignment!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her tone light. “Why don’t you look around the market for half an hour or so and then come back?”

Doogie stood up. “It doesn’t have to be fancy,” he said. “Just sincere. From the heart. Write something that you would like to hear.”

She stared at the blank paper, trying to focus. What would she like to hear?

You light up all my days and nights,
You keep me safe and strong and proud,
I can be myself with you,
I’m never lonely in a crowd.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Doogie reading those words. They sounded like an advertising jingle. No, that would never do.

Who would be listening to those words? Someone educated, sophisticated, who expected superior literary ability, or someone who enjoyed the simpler things of life?

As long as it wasn’t Estelle Darwin. Her latest romance had broken up two weeks ago. Could she have lured Doogie back into her net?

The night of Susan’s date with Doogie, Estelle had come into the restaurant with some girlfriends. She had stopped at their table for some flirtatious chatter with Doogie, completely ignoring Susan. When she finally decided it was time to rejoin her friends, she twisted her ankle and fell.
Susan was sure that her piteous moans and groans were faked, but Doogie was the ever-helpful knight in shining armour, and offered to drive her home. Susan could happily have killed Estelle, who looked triumphantly over his shoulder as he carried her to the car.

Doogie said he would be back in twenty minutes, but there was no sign of him an hour later. Susan paid the bill and walked home alone.

The next morning, Doogie showed up at her house to apologize and reimburse her. She laughed it off. “Forget it! I knew it was just a practice run. When you go on a real date, try to stay for the whole thing.”

Doogie was Estelle’s prom date a week later. Susan wasn’t there, but she heard the gossip. Estelle had been swept off her feet by Randy Davis, and went home with him. That relationship was lasted for six weeks, and then Estelle was on the prowl again. She seemed to take a special delight in stealing someone else’s boyfriend. Each time, Susan wondered how men could be so stupid. Hopefully, Doogie had learned his lesson the night of the prom.

Susan put a new sheet of paper into the typewriter and tried again.

You are the one I’ve waited for,
My hope, my dream, my strength, my light.
I want to spend my life with you,
I want to hold you every night.

Tears started streaming down Susan’s cheeks. She hastily wiped them away with her napkin.

The thought of losing Doogie was overwhelming. He was the reason her romantic life had been so unsatisfactory. She had compared every boy she dated with Doogie. Even though she insisted that they were just friends, he was much more to her.

When Doogie returned, she held out the sheet of paper she had typed when she first arrived. “I’m sorry – I couldn’t come up with anything I really liked on short notice. This is my favourite poem. It’s by Elizabeth Barret Browning. If your lady doesn’t melt when she hears this, you’ve got the wrong woman.”

Doogie pulled out his wallet. Susan shook her head.  “No charge. Let me know if it works.”

“If it does, I’ll invite you to the wedding,” Doogie said. He sat down beside her. “I want to tell you what happened the night of our date.”

“That was years ago!” Susan protested. “Just forget it.”

“I can’t,” Doogie said. He looked so serious that she knew it was time to stop shrugging off what had happened and listen to whatever he had to say. Listen with her heart, without judgement.

Doogie kept his head down and talked to the table.

“When I stopped in front of Estelle’s house, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and shoved them down her cleavage. She challenged me to dig them out. I just wanted to run, but there was no way to get her out of the car unless I carried her into the house. I tried to persuade her to give me the keys, but she just kept teasing me. I finally said I would walk home and pick them up the next day. That’s when she announced that I was taking her to the prom.”

Susan stared at him, wishing he would make eye contact, wondering if she should say something.

“I was getting pretty annoyed with her because I wanted to get back to the restaurant,” he continued, “so I told her I wasn’t interested. She said that I had better develop an interest, because if I didn’t co-operate, she was going to tell her parents that I had tried to rape her.”

Doogie looked up at last. “I caved, Suze. I said okay. She gave me the keys, and I went home. I was too upset and ashamed to do anything else.”

Susan looked into his eyes and took his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it. It seemed easier just to let it go. I paid Randy two hundred dollars to take Estelle off my hands. He said it was the easiest money he ever earned.”

“I was so upset that I was spitting thumb tacks,” Susan said. “I didn’t want to take it out on you because I was afraid of losing your friendship.” She paused, groping for words. “I never imagined something like that could happen to a guy.”

“Sexual harassment is an equal-opportunity crime,” Doogie said. “I’ve been going to some support group meetings, and I learned a lot.”

“Don’t hold anything back with the woman you’re going to marry,” Susan said. “Tell her everything that’s going on.”

“I will.” Doogie stood up and pulled a small box out of his pocket and put it on the table. “I bought this for you for our date. I was going to give it to you over dessert and ask you to go steady with me.”

He walked away, clutching the sheet of paper. 

“I would have said yes!” Susan called after him. But he was already out of earshot.

She opened the box. It was a heart-shaped silver locket with FOREVER inscribed on it in flowing script. She opened it and saw the grinning face of sixteen-year-old Doogie. 

She stared at it, imagining how different her life would have been if she had risked asking him what was wrong the morning after their date disaster. But it was too late now. He was going to marry someone else.

She looked around. No one was giving her stand a second glance. She didn’t think she could write anything anyway. She bought the parsley, packed up her things, and went home.

Her mother was digging in the garden. “Thank goodness you’re back!” she exclaimed. “I have to run over to Annette’s with my bundt pan, and I’m expecting a delivery from the hardware store. So don’t put on those crazy headphones that keep you from hearing the doorbell!”

Susan slumped on the couch in the living room. She was relieved to escape maternal interrogation, but she was not in the mood to wait for any deliveries. She just wanted to hide in her room and cry.

She took the locket from its box, found the silver polish in the kitchen cupboard, and removed all traces of tarnish. She polished it until it was as shiny as a mirror, then washed it, dried it, and put it on. She couldn’t wear it forever, of course, because she had to get on with her life. But just for today, she would pretend that Doogie would realize that she was the soul mate he had been looking for, and they were going to live happily ever after.

The doorbell rang.  She flung the door open with a sigh of relief. Once she received the delivery, she could hide in her room with her memories and regrets.

The person on the steps was not the delivery man. It was Doogie. He seemed fidgety. Not that surprising, considering that he was preparing to propose marriage to the woman of his dreams.

“Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked.

“I can’t. My mother has a delivery coming, and left me in charge.”

“Okay,” Doogie said. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I’m going to do this now, before I lose my nerve.”

His voice shook a little as he began.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach…

Susan stood, paralyzed, as he read the familiar words she loved so much. He expected her to coach him! How could he? Didn’t he realize that this was torture for her? Did he really think that, after all this time, all the ups and downs, all the moments of sharing, they were nothing more than friends?

She fingered the locket at her throat. Why had he given it to her now? What did it all mean? Could he have feelings for her, feelings he had never given voice to?

“I love thee to the level of every day`s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle light,
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.”

Doogie’s voice was thick with emotion. He looked up at her. Chills ran up her spine. Could it be? Could it be that this poem was … for her?

“I love with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood`s faith
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints.” 

Susan joined in, her heart in every word, and they finished together.

“I love with the breath,
Smiles, tears, all of my life; and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.”

Their eyes locked, and she knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that she was the first, last and only woman he would ever read this poem to.

Doogie stuffed the paper back into his pocket and cleared his throat.

“How did I do?”

“It needs work,” she said in her best teacherly tone. “A lot of work. It will take a long time. Maybe …” 

A flood of tenderness overwhelmed her, and her voice faced into silence.

Doogie smiled and held out his arms. “Forever?” he asked softly.

“Forever,” she repeated, and melted into him.