The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Thirty-Nine
What are Friends For?
Mort
grabbed the Earl’s spaniel as it held on to the screwdriver
protruding from Chico’s head. The small dog would not let go as
Mort pulled in his attempts to free its jaws.
In response,
Chico tugged back, backing up, working against Mort’s efforts, as
he pulled them both with him. Mort was afraid that Chico would get
hurt if he continued and allowed himself to drop the dog.
“Damn
it Rochester! Call off your f--king dog!” Mort’s anger rose to
the surface in a heated wave. In a flash, a black hat appeared, and
the writer’s demeanor changed from raging hatred to a more
controlled menacing threat.
“I believe Mr. Rainey made a
request, Mr. Earl.” came the long southern drawl of a Mississippian
accent. Shooter had arrived to help Mort, the shovel now in his hand.
“Now granted, Mr. Rainey and I may not see eye to eye at
times, but when he is angry like this, I just don’t get a minute’s
rest and I can’t think, so I just take it upon myself to be of
assistance. To straighten things out so to speak.” He flashed a
wicked smile, the whole time cradling the shovel in both hands, his
eyes dancing with the anticipation of what was about to come as he
looked at the spaniel.
“No!” the Earl cried, “Do not
hurt my precious!” He came running over, the brown wig nearly
falling from his head as he rushed to the dogs. Rochester held up a
hand in Shooter’s direction, a silent plea to give him a chance .
The Earl gingerly took hold of his dog who growled as he
clung to the handle of the screwdriver.
“Come precious,
please don’t let the man hurt you.” The Earl continued with his
coaxing. The dog still would not budge.
Rochester felt a tap
on his shoulder and he swiveled his head about to see Edward standing
over him, clicking his scissors. He gestured with his head for the
Earl to stand aside. Reluctantly the Earl stood and backed up a step.
Edward cocked his head, first to the left, then to the right
as he sized up the situation. Carefully he inserted his scissors just
between Chico and the handle of the screwdriver, the whole time
Precious was snarling and growling at Edward.
With a show of
strength, Edward closed the scissors on the screwdriver and a clean
“snap” was heard as he cut through the tool. Spaniel and
screwdriver fell to the floor. The King Charles spaniel dropped the
handle and ran to his master who swept him up, cooing and comforting
his dog.
It was Mort who now bent down to check on the
blue-tick heeler mix.
“Ah, Chico, don’t be discouraged my
boy. Tomorrow you will be as good as new.”
Mort stood to
thank Edward, extending his hand in gratitude. Sadly, Edward held up
his scissor-hands reminding the writer he could not properly shake
hands.
“Oh, yeah, right. Well, thanks for helping my dog.”
Mort waved down to Chico who was shaking his head at the new light
feeling.
Edward smiled and returned to his table, where he
resumed looking at a book, delicately turning the pages with the tip
of his blade.
A tinge of guilt swept over Mort as he watched
him, realizing he had never paid attention to the sad, young man.
“Ah, s--t.” He said to himself as he made his way to
Edward’s side.
Edward nervously shifted as Mort stopped at
his table, unsure what the writer wanted.
“What are you
reading?” Mort tried to sound interested.
“A book.”
Edward responded in a soft, gentle voice, so soft Mort almost did not
hear him answer.
“No s--t, Sherlock” Mort thought to
himself, but tried to maintain his smile.
“A book,uh? Can I
see?”
Edward acted surprised that Mort was interested and
pushed the book around for the writer to see.
“It was with
Gene’s books.” Edward explained. “In his last delivery. He
found it today. My friend Karyn sent it to me. It’s on
scrapbooking. Karyn has a wonderful talent. She taught me how to snip
and cut you, know.”
Edward waved a blade about the room,
festooned in his paper-chains. “I mean, I couldn’t always cut
paper like this you know? Karyn taught me a lot. Taught me how to
crop a lot.”
”That’s good, Edward.” Mort said with a
slap to his back. He looked at Edward through sad eyes as he realized
how alone the young man had been. He would have to try to do better
by him, Mort made a half-promise.
“Well I better get back
to my writing. Don’t want Wood breathing down my neck through that
megaphone of his, do we?”
Edward gave a tiny hint of a
smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Rainey.” Edward said in a quiet voice
as the writer started back to his desk.
Mort turned to face
Scissorhands.
“Thank me? What for?” Mort asked, confused.
“Thank you for being kind to me today; even if it is just
for a little while. Thank you.”
Edward went back to flipping
the pages of the book.
Mort was taken aback by Edward’s
deep gratitude. Mort realized that he had taken a step...a step he
never planned on doing in this God-forsaken room.
Mort had
made a friend.