Dangerously Close (A Collection of Fictional Short Stories)

| Mister Good Morning |

Seventy-year-old Greg Jordan lived a pleasant life once. Now all he wishes is to be left alone to read his newspapers. Not even responding to his neighbor's joyous good mornings could put his hardened spirit at ease. Nothing is important to him anymore until one shocking evening. He may not fully understand the world around him, but he realizes that he's not too old to learn a thing about human compassion.

Mister Good Morning is a short story about the nature of compassion. What it means to treat people with respect and to remember that every day should start with a good morning.  

~*~*~*~

Seventy-year-old Greg Jordan sat on his front porch of his rowhome reading the daily newspaper. The morning sun showed bright and warm above, relaxing the old man. Gradually, he turned the pages of the newspaper until an article caught his attention. It was about a famous car racer dying of a massive heart attack. He was young in his mid forties having problems with cholesterol.

"Forty-three," Greg blurted, shaking his head at the tragic news. That man was an excellent racer never was in a signal accident and always won either first or second.

Greg huffed away his feelings and scanned for something else to read. The governor of Louisiana was finally charged with money laundering.

"About time," he said, clashing his thick eyebrows together. "Idiot screwed up my pension. Is he going to jail?" Greg greedily skimmed the article and scolded aloud.

He slammed the newspaper close and disposed it onto the porch floor. "Probation. When will this world face its true consequences for slapping people on the hand for stupidity? Rich folk, ugh."

At that exact moment, the door to his neighbor's house opened, followed by the creaky screen door. Greg moaned and scrunched his nose at the twenty-five-year-old exiting the house in his black suite with his business bag hanging from a shoulder.

The moan caught his attention as he turned to lock the door. A smile of healthy white teeth lit his face and cheerful blue eyes glanced at him. He turned away from the door to descend the steps. "Good morning, Mister Jordan."

Greg groaned and scratched his protruding belly. He deliberately ignored him and bent over to pick up the newspaper. He watched the young businessman leap into his blue sedan and pull off.

"What a moose," he mumbled, rolling the newspaper until it was as stiff as stone. He pushed himself from the chair and wobbled into his house.

Like other days, the day went by swiftly and boring. Nothing good was playing on television and his taste bugs hinted for some ice cream. His sore feet ached from years of working in dairy factories to walk to the corner store up the street. Whenever he recalled those 45 years, a smile would creep onto his face. The memory would always shatter remembering his lost pension and he'd resolve to shaking his head.

He glanced at the clock. 5:55 p.m., exact.

For some odd reason, he always found it pleasing to sit on the porch to watch the sun turn burnt gold and orange as it edged its way to its own bed for the night. He hobbled his way out and hoped if he suddenly died it'd be peaceful, sitting on his porch before a gorgeous sunset. The thought made him happy, but his microwave dinner churned in his stomach.

There was nothing more to life anymore now that he was old. He couldn't go women chasing or bowling which was his favorite hobby. Now all he could do was walk around the house, eat, sleep, and sit on the porch to be nosey.

The loud family on the other side of his house was returning home from somewhere. He could care less. The three children laughed and joked, but was quickly hushed by their parents.