Ordinary Sins Read Online Free
Author: Jim Heynen
worry about money for the toll bridge or proof-of-insurance papers in the glove compartment?
Her biggest worry was that if she didnât do the worrying no one would take up the worrying role and the world would fall to pieces. Chaos. Bedlam. That would teach all the slackers to take up some of the worrying responsibility! In the meantime, she worried about the fact that no one else was signing up for the worrying role.
Worry-wrinkles burrowed deeper and deeper into her brow while the world around her somehow survived in spite of itself. Still, she had to believe the slackers had a heart, that some part of them appreciated what she did. They must have taken comfort in knowing the bills were paid. They must have felt grateful that someone was sniffing for gas leaks near the stove, and checking the carbon monoxide in the bedrooms, and the lead content of the soil in the tomato patch, and the radon level in the basement! When they went to sleep at night, they must have beenthanking her in their hearts, knowing that water and rations and candles and two-way radios and gas masks and life vests and fire extinguishers and radiation shields had been stashed away in case an earthquake or tornado or flood or terrorist attack should suddenly be upon them all from god-knows-where. But what about the neighbors? she wondered. What did she really know about them?
THE WONDROUS QUIET LIFE
She was sixty-two and widowed. Church people did not recognize her, but people at the animal shelter did. People at the shopping mall did not recognize her, but people at the library did. In this womanâs life, there were more books than traffic lights, more cats than cell phones, more vegetables than credit cards.
In appearance, she looked ordinary in her blue denim jeans and work shirt, her graying hair wrapped tidily at the back of her neck. Her hands had the size and strength of a laborerâs, but her smile had a gentle sweetness. She did not startle easily, though she moved through the world with a smooth swiftness, with a confidence that was not aggressive.
She seemed neither lonely nor gregarious. She seemed neither indifferent nor friendly. Still, some curious and good people wondered if she was all right. When they asked her, she said she had what she needed. When they gave her gifts, she accepted but offered more in return than what she had been given.
She had neither answers nor questions for anyone. If she had strong opinions, she didnât offer them. If she had worries, she didnât share them. Those who came near her felt a peacefulness spreading around her. She was like a soft cloud passing overhead.
THE MAN WHO RESEMBLED A PIG
This man had a peculiar resemblance to a pig. A Berkshire, actually, with oddly pointy ears and a squeezed snout. When he spoke, it was like a ventriloquist sending a human voice through the head of a Berkshire pig.
Already in junior high, classmates had taunted him with oink oink , so he knew very early what his life would be about. Later, after he had made his way through college and into reclusive work as a laboratory technician, there were still times when he had to appear in public. At first, when strangers stared at him on the street, heâd turn away, but he learned that he looked as much like a Berkshire pig in profile as he did head-on. He practiced a smile that he hoped would distort his features, but this made him look like a cartoon of a happy pig.
Ridicule, rejectionâand the face of a pig! Why didnât he lash out at the world? Why didnât he kill somebody, maybe himself?
In spite of his liability, the man was very intelligent, quite brilliant, in fact. Perhaps it was through careful analysis of his situation that he decided his solution lay in assertive goodwill. Perhaps it went deeper than that into the mysterious recesses of whatever it is that makes a man what he is. In any case, he decided that instead of becoming bitter, he would become sweet. That was his
Her biggest worry was that if she didnât do the worrying no one would take up the worrying role and the world would fall to pieces. Chaos. Bedlam. That would teach all the slackers to take up some of the worrying responsibility! In the meantime, she worried about the fact that no one else was signing up for the worrying role.
Worry-wrinkles burrowed deeper and deeper into her brow while the world around her somehow survived in spite of itself. Still, she had to believe the slackers had a heart, that some part of them appreciated what she did. They must have taken comfort in knowing the bills were paid. They must have felt grateful that someone was sniffing for gas leaks near the stove, and checking the carbon monoxide in the bedrooms, and the lead content of the soil in the tomato patch, and the radon level in the basement! When they went to sleep at night, they must have beenthanking her in their hearts, knowing that water and rations and candles and two-way radios and gas masks and life vests and fire extinguishers and radiation shields had been stashed away in case an earthquake or tornado or flood or terrorist attack should suddenly be upon them all from god-knows-where. But what about the neighbors? she wondered. What did she really know about them?
THE WONDROUS QUIET LIFE
She was sixty-two and widowed. Church people did not recognize her, but people at the animal shelter did. People at the shopping mall did not recognize her, but people at the library did. In this womanâs life, there were more books than traffic lights, more cats than cell phones, more vegetables than credit cards.
In appearance, she looked ordinary in her blue denim jeans and work shirt, her graying hair wrapped tidily at the back of her neck. Her hands had the size and strength of a laborerâs, but her smile had a gentle sweetness. She did not startle easily, though she moved through the world with a smooth swiftness, with a confidence that was not aggressive.
She seemed neither lonely nor gregarious. She seemed neither indifferent nor friendly. Still, some curious and good people wondered if she was all right. When they asked her, she said she had what she needed. When they gave her gifts, she accepted but offered more in return than what she had been given.
She had neither answers nor questions for anyone. If she had strong opinions, she didnât offer them. If she had worries, she didnât share them. Those who came near her felt a peacefulness spreading around her. She was like a soft cloud passing overhead.
THE MAN WHO RESEMBLED A PIG
This man had a peculiar resemblance to a pig. A Berkshire, actually, with oddly pointy ears and a squeezed snout. When he spoke, it was like a ventriloquist sending a human voice through the head of a Berkshire pig.
Already in junior high, classmates had taunted him with oink oink , so he knew very early what his life would be about. Later, after he had made his way through college and into reclusive work as a laboratory technician, there were still times when he had to appear in public. At first, when strangers stared at him on the street, heâd turn away, but he learned that he looked as much like a Berkshire pig in profile as he did head-on. He practiced a smile that he hoped would distort his features, but this made him look like a cartoon of a happy pig.
Ridicule, rejectionâand the face of a pig! Why didnât he lash out at the world? Why didnât he kill somebody, maybe himself?
In spite of his liability, the man was very intelligent, quite brilliant, in fact. Perhaps it was through careful analysis of his situation that he decided his solution lay in assertive goodwill. Perhaps it went deeper than that into the mysterious recesses of whatever it is that makes a man what he is. In any case, he decided that instead of becoming bitter, he would become sweet. That was his
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