The Anything Tree (part 3)

Thomas finished the last piece of the pumpkin pie, leaned back on the bar stool and belched. Instinctively his hand came up to cover his mouth as he mumbled “excuse me” to the empty room. The appreciative burp was the only sound in the room except the muffled noises coming from somewhere in the back as Gabriel searched for a suitable tree. Thomas had doubt that the old man would actually return with a tree! He looked around the shop again. With no doubt the shelves were filled with hundreds of different nick-knacks, colors and flavors, but nothing that looked like a plant, much less a tree. Thomas reprimanded himself again for losing the tree list.

His self-reprimand was cut short when the double doors opened with a bang. Carrying a large black pot with a tree rising above the rim was the little shop owner. With a wide grin on his wrinkled face, Gabriel carried the large pot over to a small two top table and sat it down. With hands on his hips he arched his back slightly, Thomas could hear the bones cracking and popping like kettle corn.

The tree stood about three feet high. The branches that came off it were scarce and practically bare. Most of them drooped, especially those near the top, as if or bowing down to some unseen king. The few buds or small leaves that were on the tree were pale yellow or an insipid green. This tree looked sick and yet Gabriel stood by the table with the look of a proud papa, smiling from ear to over-sized ear.

“Come here, come here. Get a closer look at this wonderful tree. I told you we are the Everything Shoppe! Come and look Thomas!”

Thomas climbed down from the bar stool wand walked over to the small table. Closer inspection didn’t improve the picture of health for the small tree. Thomas noted that even the pot that the tree resided in seemed old and incapable of holding soil or badly needed water and yet somehow it held together.

“Sit down and take a closer look. “ Gabriel read the look on Thomas’ face.

Thomas followed the direction of the shopkeeper and sat at the small table.

“What kind of tree is it?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know. See that small tag hanging from the bottom branch? Turn it over, the species should be written on it.”

Thomas turned the tag over with his larger clumsy fingers. He looked at the small and neat handwriting on the back. “N.E.THING” was carefully written with black ink, Thomas’ look of doubt transformed into a look of perplexity.

“What’s an N E Thing tree?”

At first Gabriel chuckled, and then his chuckle turned into full hold-your belly laughter. After a full minute of laughter, Gabriel pulled out the second chair and sat down next to Thomas.

“Well it’s not an N E Thing tree. That’s an old tag that must have fallen and got hung up on the tree branch. Long ago, before this was the Everything Shoppe, my dear wife named it the N E Thing Shoppe.  Her first name was Naomi. My middle name, which she favored over Gabriel, is Edgar. My last name, in case I haven’t told you is Thing. N.E. Thing Shoppe!  But over time we had so much stuff cramming the shelves that people starting calling it the “Everything Shoppe”. Well it made since so we officially changed the name in ’53. I haven’t seen one of those small tags in years. Naomi tried to tag everything that came into the shop, she would spend many late night hours writing out those tags and putting the price on it. Thomas does that one have a price on it?”

Thomas looked at the tag again. Faded but legible, written below the block letters was “25¢.”  

“It say’s 25 cents.” Thomas answered.

“Well what a deal you’re getting!  A tree for a quarter! For that price it don’t really matter what kind of tree it is.” An ear to ear smile returned to Gabriel's face.

“I can’t pay a quarter for a tree Gabriel. That’s not fair...no matter what kind of tree it may be.”

“That’s the price tag on it. House rules, whatever it says is what you will pay. That’s Naomi’s second rule, right after “Your break it you buy it.” Gabriel chuckled again.

Thomas thought for a minute before speaking again.

“I don’t know. I already messed up by losing the list. If I show up with this scrawny little tree, even if it only cost a quarter, they will probably shoo me out of town.”

“It won’t always be scrawny, Thomas. It’s almost wintertime, which means it is still fall. Fall is for planting!  Why if you get this tree into the ground now, by the first signs of spring I bet you have the best looking tree in all of Eden.”

“But what do I tell everybody when they ask what kind of tree is it?”

“You can tell them to wait and see. Or tell them it is an Anything Tree. That’s what the tag said.”

Gabriel cleared his voice and moved closer to Thomas.

“Tell them it is whatever tree they wanted. If they wanted an oak, tell ‘em it’s oak. If they asked for a pear tree, tell ‘em it’s a pear.”

“That doesn’t sound like the right thing to do; it sounds a lot like lying.”

“Thomas, what kind of tree is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how could it be lying?”

 Thomas Gallo was just a little slow, but this last puzzle the little old man tossed his way was too much.

“Well look there, the sun is coming out. I think you better get back on the road to Eden before the next batch of bad weather gets here. Pay me for the coffee and the tree; I’ll slice you another piece of pie for the road, no charge.”

The mention of another slice of pie took the puzzle and the thought of lying right out of Thomas’ mind.

“That’s nice of you Mr. Thing.” Thomas smiled.

“If you ever get down to Eden be sure and come find me. I think I owe you a lunch of your own.”

“Well thank you, Thomas. I might just do that. Now load up your tree, while I grab that pie. My knees tell me bad weathers on the way.”

As Thomas Gallo drove away he saw the flickering lights of the neon sign pulse once or twice. They “y” in everything” lit for just a second before all the lights went out.

“’Y’ indeed?” Thomas thought.

To be continued.

The Anything Tree (part 2)

The thought of having a good piece of pie had Thomas’ stomach rumbling. He had  bowl of cereal for breakfast but that suddenly seemed so long ago. Hot coffee and pie, Thomas was happy he had pulled into the parking lot of The Every Thing Shoppe.

“Do you have pumpkin pie?” Thomas asked the old cook.

“I got one cooling on the rack this very minute, just pulled it out of the oven as you were pulling that big truck into the lot.”

Suddenly the fragrance of fresh coffee was blending with the sweeter aroma of pumpkin pie. The bouquet of the combined aromas was irresistible; Thomas thought this is what Heaven must smell like.

Gabriel had set a cup and saucer in front of Thomas and was filling it with steaming hot coffee.

“I will be right back with two pieces, one for you and one for me.” With that he turned on his heels and disappeared into the back of the house. Thomas took a quick sip from the cup, holding the small handle carefully between thumb and finger. He had half expected the coffee to be too hot, the steam rolled off in steady swirls, but the temperature was just right, in fact it was perfect.

The shop’s owner, slash cook, slash waitress, came back through the double doors carrying two plates, each a temporary home for a very large piece of pumpkin pie. Gabriel set the larger piece in front of Thomas and produced a fork from somewhere beneath the counter.

“Dig in Thomas; you will never taste a better pumpkin pie.”

The fork cut through the golden silk of the pie with no resistance. Thomas closed his mouth around the fork and let the flavors of the pie rest upon his tongue.  

“Oh my!” is all he could manage to say around the mouthful of the best pumpkin pie he had ever tasted, and Thomas Gallo had tasted a whole lot of pie in his thirty years of life. His mother had died last year, but if she was alive Thomas would have told her that her pumpkin pie was now the second best, for he knew that to be the truth.

Gabriel watched as his only customer enjoyed the pie. “It’s the dash of nutmeg and splash of cinnamon that makes it so dang good. My wife made the pies here for many years, but she went Home to Jesus almost seven years ago now, leaving the baking to me along with everything else around here. But that pie you’re eating now ain’t her recipe.”

“Is it yours?”  Thomas asked around another mouthful of pie.

“Nope. An old fella from Eden came in here one evening; I believe the weather was bad that day too.  We got to talking about cooking and such and he gave me his recipe for pumpkin pie. I’ve been using it ever since.”

“Hey, I’m from Eden!” Thomas managed to say after swallowing a too large bite of the pumpkin delight. “What was the fella’s name?”

 The cook rubbed his whiskered chin again, “It will come to me in a minute. He was one of the nicest men I ever met though. Sharing pie recipes, talking baseball and religion, you would have thought we had been friends for years. I know his name was biblical...Samuel, that’s it, Edward Samuel. Do you know him?

Thomas wasn’t sure if old Mr. Samuel’s first name was Edward or not, and not too many people would have described him as a nice man.

Gabriel corrected himself, “I guess I should have asked did you know him.  I heard he died just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well I believe I did. I knew a Mr. Samuel from Eden and he died just a couple of weeks ago. But I don’t think I ever heard anyone call him Edward or nice.”

“Could be most people didn’t bother to get know him, or share a piece of pumpkin pie with him.”

Thomas thought about it for a minute. “It’s due to Mr. Samuel that I am on the road today.”

“Why’s that?” the old man asked.

Between bites of pie and sips of coffee Thomas Gallo told him about the town square and the tree selection meeting. 

“So what kind of tree are you driving all the way to the big city to buy? What did they finally vote on?”

Thomas reached his fingers, now a little sticky from the pie, into the breast pocket of his worn chambray shirt. He fumbled around for a minute before coming up empty.

“Oh dang it, I lost the list!”  Thomas’ voice trembled.

Gabriel thought that his lone customer was about to start crying.

“Well check your other pocket son.”

Thomas was already digging into the right side pocket, knowing the results would be the same. He pushed the plate with two bites of pie left on it across the counter.

 “I messed up again!” Thomas slapped himself in the forehead with the palm of his big hand and looked down at the stained counter top. 

Messing up was something Thomas Gallo was accustomed to doing. As a toddler he had suffered a head injury that had slowed his thinking motor. He was a capable adult, he held a job better than most, had his own small place and even a little money tucked away in the Eden Savings & Loan. But his memory or rather lack of memory kept him “messing up” on a pretty regular basis.

Gabriel placed his small left hand, wrinkled with age on top of Thomas’ big meaty hand, gently like a mother touching the cheek of a new born babe. With his right hand the cook tipped the coffee pot refilling Thomas’ mug with freshly brewed coffee. Thomas looked up from the counter and almost yanked his hand away from the touch of Gabriel. When he saw the smile on the cook’s face and the steam from the black coffee he stopped short and left his hand resting on the counter under the comfort of this little old man.

“Now Tommy, just stop and think for a minute. Let that coffee clear your mind, I’m sure that whatever was written on that list will come back to memory if you just let it in. But getting upset puts up road blocks in your head. You don’t need no road blocks between your ears.” He smiled.

The only person that called him “Tommy” had been his mother. Yet coming from this little cook standing behind the counter it was unexpectedly soothing. Thomas pushed back the John Deere cap that always rested on his head and scratched above his brow. He sat like that for a minute or two, and then took another sip of hot coffee.

“I can’t remember. Remembering ain’t what I do real well. I guess I’ll drive back empty handed. Maybe I can talk them into giving me another chance. I know that list is got to be there somewhere.”

“You don’t have to drive back empty handed Tommy. Did you forget where you’re sitting? You’re in the Every Thing Shoppe!”

Thomas looked around the shop; shelves overflowing with eccentricity.

“I don’t think you got any trees in here Mr. Gabriel. But I appreciate you trying.”

“Well of course they ain’t in here, wouldn’t get no sunshine. You sit right there, finish your pie. I’ll be right back.”

Through the double doors the little man disappeared again. Thomas looked at the pie plate and decided not to let the two last bites go to waste. Wouldn’t it be something if Gabriel did have a tree back there somewhere, Thomas thought. It didn’t occur to Thomas that Gabriel had no more an idea what was on the list than he did. Eating pie was on the front of his mind right now, that didn’t leave much room for reasoning.

The Any Thing Tree

The population of the small town of Eden was just under 200 souls. One early autumn Sunday morning most of those had gathered together in the new town square. New because old Mr. Samuel had willed the small plot of land that sat smack dab in the middle of the town to the citizens of Eden. Mr. Samuel died two weeks prior, only about 2 of the 200 were at his funeral.

The town leaders believed enough time, “an appropriate amount of time”, had passed since Samuel’s death to move forward with plans for the newly acquired town square. The plans had already been laid with exception of the final step. A tree would be planted in the middle of the plot; the town gathering was to decide on what type of tree. Nearly everyone had an opinion and it took most of the cool morning to narrow down the choices. Fruit trees topped the list followed by a weeping willow, hazelnut and finally an aspen. No one wanted to tell old lady Cooper than an aspen probably wouldn’t do very well in the south, no reason to disappoint the only Yankee in Eden.

After a short break for lunch, the town leaders and few of the hopeful returned to the square. They decided they would send Thomas Gallo, the town’s gardener/maintenance man/sign painter into the big city to shop at one of the many garden and nursery stores. Thomas of course agreed to the task even though he really knew very little about picking out a tree, but the chance to drive the town’s big truck that far was appealing to the slightly slow-thinking Thomas Gallo.

On Monday morning Thomas retrieved the keys and a blank check from town secretary’s desk, with her permission of course, and pointed the big truck to the north. The city was more than two hours from Eden so Thomas decided to skip the coffee this morning, didn’t want to have to make too many pit stops along the way. An hour into the trip the skies began to darken with ominous looking rain clouds. Far off, lightning flashed across the horizon and strong wind gusts from the northeast shook the big truck. Thomas was getting nervous about driving in bad weather and knew a pit stop was going to necessary after all. He hoped it was someplace he could get the earlier skipped cup of coffee.

Ten minutes later large raindrops, the size of silver dollars began to pelt against the windshield. The wind gusts were replaced with a steady and powerful force.  Thomas had driven to the city only once before and couldn’t remember what was along the straight narrow highway. He said a little prayer under his breath and turned the wipers on.

Five very long minutes passed before Thomas could see the glow of a neon sign about a half mile away on the southbound side of the highway. The rain had increased in intensity preventing Thomas from reading the words on the sign. But the orange glow was enough to ease his anxiety.  Thomas down-shifted the big truck, slowing it down so as not to miss the turn. As the truck rolled to a stop Thomas flicked on the left blinker even though there were no other cars for miles. He could now see the sign in front of the small building, the neon tubes spelled out-“The Ever thing Shoppe”. Thomas wasn’t the brightest person in Eden, but he knew the “y” had stopped working and that the name of the store was “The Everything Shoppe.” Thomas hoped again that “everything” included a hot cup of coffee and a restroom.

He pulled into the empty parking lot and pushed the truck’s heavy door against the strong wind. Cold rain greeted Thomas as ran to the front entrance of the tiny shop. He heard a bell ring from the back of the store as he stepped over the threshold. The store seemed much larger in the brightly lit interior. In the middle of a store was a long counter where a dozen vacant bar stools stood at attention in front of it. Thomas could see a kitchen behind the counter and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air. The thought of fresh hot coffee put a smile on his face as he looked around the shop. On the left and the right the walls were lined with floor to ceiling shelves. The shelves were packed with... well with everything. Thomas saw groceries, toys, tee-shirts and even cowboy boots. There was no organization, “rhyme or reason” his mother would have said, to how the many items sat on the shelves. Thomas thought if you walked to heavy in the small shop surely something would fall off the shelf, so he gently walked to the counter and grabbed a seat.

“You don’t have to worry about anything falling, never has, never will.” said a voice from the kitchen.

Thomas looked up and saw a short, rotund, grey haired man coming from the kitchen area. He wore a dirty apron with “Tip the Cook, there ain’t no waitress” embroidered in the brightest green Thomas had ever seen. The suggestion brought another smile to Thomas’ face.

“Can I get a cup of that coffee that smells so good?” Thomas asked.

“You might as well have a piece of pie with it. This storm is going to be here a while, I reckon that’s what pulled you off the highway and is probably going to keep you off for a bit, that is if your smart.”

The thought of pie sounded pretty good to Thomas. “I think I will, what kind of pie you got?”

“Well you saw the sign Thomas, Everything Shoppe, you name it, I got it.”

It took Thomas a moment to realize the little grey-haired cook had called him by his name. 

“How do you know my name?

The old man rubbed the stubble on his chin, “Well you look like a Thomas, so I took a guess. I tell you what Thomas, if you guess my name I will give the pie for free. You gotta pay for coffee, there ain’t none better around.”

Thomas looked him in the eye to see if he was pulling a joke on him. Thomas was accustomed to people pulling jokes on him, it didn’t bother him, and in fact he usually laughed with the jokester.

“I don’t think I could guess your name, I’m not really very good at things like that.”

“That’s alright; nobody ever gets it right anyway. Name’s Gabriel and the pie is still on the house. Business has been good today.” Thomas looked around the empty shop and thought that Gabriel may be joking again.

“You came in at a good time.” Gabriel said as if he had read Thomas’ thoughts. “Now what kind of pie would you like?”

To be continued...