Mr. Bradley’s Garden
By
Queen of Spades
Mr. Bradley’s Garden
A short story by
Queen of Spades
© Copyright 2014 Queen of Spades
Cover and Interior formatting:
© Copyright 2014 by All Authors Graphic Design
Second Printing
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Dedicated to:
My grandfather
For his relentless work ethic, his generosity to those around him, and his many life lessons. I’m the person I am because of him.
Queen of Spades
6:30 AM.
The bedroom door creaked open. No blares of an alarm or the talking of a morning announcer could be heard. Mr. Bradley never needed those things. He naturally rose at the same time every day. Eight steps later, he was in the bathroom. The wooden walls just above the bathtub still needed to be tiled. There just weren't enough hours in a day. Mr. Bradley would get to it, eventually.
Mr. Bradley turned on the faucet: eighty-five percent hot water and fifteen percent cold water. That was his preferred temperature mix. He unscrewed the blue Noxzema jar top with his right fingers while his left fingers grabbed the fuzzy green washcloth hanging on a nail. Familiarity with modern appliances was not his specialty. The long nails hammered in the walls would do as towel rods.
Soon Mr. Bradley’s dark brown face was covered in white cream. He inhaled it and smiled as the eucalyptus mist from the product tickled his nose hairs. He let the Noxzema set for a few minutes before soaking the washcloth and removing it from his face. After doing so, he noticed the prickles of hair jutting from his chin.
“Time to shave.”
He opened up the medicine cabinet and grabbed his razor. He turned the knob at the bottom of the gray razor counterclockwise to open up the top. The blade needed changing. Mr. Bradley removed one from the pack and carefully swapped out the old for the new. Then he used clockwise movements to seal the top. Mr. Bradley also secured a small black bowl, a beige shave brush, and the red and white striped can that held his shaving cream.
About ten minutes later, Mr. Bradley had a smooth face. He was going to take a bath but decided against it. He would wait until after he had completed his work outside.
Mr. Bradley went to the bedroom and proceeded to get dressed. He threw on a white A-line shirt and a light green cotton button-down that had seen better days. Then, he pulled up and fastened his dark denim overalls. He looked around for his boots but just as quickly recalled they were in the living room. Mr. Bradley’s oversized straw hat hung on the bedpost. He didn’t want his head to get too hot. Plus, he was self-conscious of the center bald spot of his head but wasn’t brave enough to shave the rest of his pepper-colored hair.
After pulling a pair of white socks from the chest of drawers, Mr. Bradley made his way to the kitchen. To his surprise, his huge brown ceramic mug was already filled with hot tea. He carefully lifted the mug and sampled a taste. It was perfect—extra sweet just as he liked it! Mr. Bradley glanced around. He didn’t hear the TV so he knew his wife wasn’t up yet. The mystery of the tea was solved when he looked out the screen door and saw his granddaughter drawing.
Mr. Bradley sat on the couch and savored all of his tea before putting on his socks and boots. The third step was a bit unsteady as he made his way outside. I will have to repair that later on today. Mr. Bradley didn’t want his wife or his granddaughter getting hurt.
“G’mornin’, Grandpa!”
“G’mornin’, Maggie. You want to help out in the garden?”
Maggie was a bit reluctant. The last time she was out there, she accidentally stepped on an ant hill that was in the garden. Her foot hurt for quite a few days. Sensing her thoughts, Mr. Bradley chimed in, “You won’t have to wander through the garden with me. You’ll just stand on the edge, and I’ll pass you the buckets.”
Maggie smiled. She could definitely do that.
Mr. Bradley unlocked the utility shed and grabbed four plastic buckets—two white, one green, and one red. He gave the colored ones to Maggie while he carted the white ones. While Maggie waited, she watched her grandpa put on his gloves and wander near the crowder peas. It wasn’t long before one of the white buckets was filled. He brought it over to Maggie.
“Sit this next to the bottom of the step. Do that with all of them.”
This bucket wasn’t extremely heavy, but every so often, Maggie would have to swap between hands while carrying it. The second white bucket also got filled with peas—that time, black-eyed peas. Maggie made the trek again, placing the black-eyed peas on the opposite side of the crowder peas.
“Maggie,” Mr. Bradley called. “I’m going to help you with these last two. They are too heavy for you to handle by yourself.
With teamwork, Mr. Bradley and Maggie carted over the remaining two buckets—one overflowing with green bell peppers and another with red tomatoes.
“When your grandma wakes up, let her know I picked some more stuff. Watch that next-to-the-bottom step. It’s very loose.”
“I know, Grandpa. I usually skip over it.”
Maggie grabbed the handkerchief dangling from Mr. Bradley’s pocket. She beckoned him to come closer and she wiped the little hints of Noxzema that were still on his face.
He nodded and went back inside to prepare. It was almost time to make his rounds in the neighborhood. But first, he would ask Maggie to fix him some more hot tea.