James Hughes Narrative

James Hughes

Robert Frank Narrative

H English 102

What Comes Around…

Drip……drip……drip. There it was again. That maddening sound that didn’t so much annoy me as it reminded me of all the bills that needed to get paid. My name is Eric Ward. The health inspector came in today, and what he told me next wasn’t exactly inspiring. “You better get this dump into better shape or you won’t be able to serve anyone here before the month’s out,” he told me. There was no sympathy in his eyes as he said it, and just like that, three years of my life were gone. I had struggled to buy this place, to manage it virtually on my own, and it was all for nothing. Rent was due soon, and I barely had enough to pay for that, much less fix my leaking roof or deep clean the place. I closed up the bar for the night and went home to my apartment down the block. The street was a little darker than normal, some of the streetlamp bulbs had burnt out and public services hadn’t gotten around to replace them. I heard a soft call, a plead for help, coming from nearby. Was it my imagination? No, there was a small figure sitting on a doorstep not far from me. A bundle of clothes, shivering and calling quietly. I don’t live in the best neighborhood, and I was a little anxious to get home because I was never out this late. But something about how pitiful the bundle was made me want to know more. I approached the bundle and called to it. The bundle looked up at me from its sorrows. I kneeled on one knee introduced myself. The bundle had a name, Olivia, which she told me. I asked her why she was crying. “I’m lost,” she replied, with a little sniffle, “I ran away from home and I don’t know how to get back.” I asked if she had a last name, she said it was Clarke. A common name, I thought. I asked her if she would like to come with me to the local police station, so they could find her parents. She hesitated for a moment, then agreed. On the way I talked to Olivia. She was shy, and didn’t say much, but she wore nice clothes and the way she talked marked her as well educated. Once we arrived at the police station the police agreed to find her parents and took my name, phone number, and address just in case they needed me again. I would have liked to stay until Olivia’s parents arrived, but it was very late, and I had to work the next day. I finally returned to my apartment and fell into a deep sleep, knowing that I would have to return to the bar in only a couple hours.

            I woke up the next day late, late enough that I missed opening my bar at the normal time. I rushed to get ready and headed down to the bar. If I didn’t make money I wouldn’t be able to pay rent for my apartment and certainly not enough to fix the bar. I only made about half my profits that day and wouldn’t be able to pay rent for my apartment, meaning I might have to start sleeping in the bar relatively soon, which would also be permanently closed within a week. And it was Olivia’s fault. If I hadn’t stopped to help her that night, I might have at least made rent for my apartment. But speak of the devil, there she was. In my bar. I stopped for a second, then continued with my business. A taller man stood behind her, his face oddly similar to hers. The man introduced himself as Mr. Clarke. I offered him a drink, he politely turned me down. “I wanted to thank you for helping my daughter last night. You didn’t have to do that, and I don’t know what would have happened to her if you hadn’t gotten her to the police,” Mr. Clarke said. “For all the good it did me,” I said, “This bar will be closed within the week and it’s partially because I spent my time doing that.” Mr. Clarke frowned at that. “Why would you be closing?” he asked. I explained my situation to Mr. Clarke, the rent, the leaks, the health inspector. Mr. Clarke smiled and said, “Lucky for you, I’m a businessman that buys restaurants and refurbishes them in order for them to turn a profit. I’ve had my eye on yours for weeks, and when I found out that you were the one who owned it and helped my daughter I was quite delighted. I would normally buy the place after it closed, but since it appears I am in your debt I think I will purchase and refurbish your bar.” “How does that make me lucky,” I asked, “This bar is still mine. Not yours. I’m not selling out.” Mr. Clarke’s smile grew. “That’s the catch,” he said, “You will be able to run and maintain full ownership of your bar after I am finished refurbishing it, as long as a small portion of your earnings go to me at the end of the month. Let us say, until the refurbishment costs are paid. In the meantime, I will make you my employee, which will grant you a substantial salary to pay off your outstanding rent costs.” I stared at him in disbelief, “You would do that? Why?” Mr. Clarke looked at Olivia as he spoke, “You brought my daughter back to me. She means everything to me. I am simply returning the favor.” Of course, I accepted the offer.