Chapter 23
Cleaning Up the Rag
I was still fuming when I walked back to the newspaper office. Walk is not an adequate description of my gait. A more accurate word would be “stormed.”
I remembered what Carolann had said about “no one reads that rag of yours anyway” and when I saw the word “Weakly” still painted above our logo on the storefront window, I no longer considered it amusing.
Rummaging through our broom closet I found a pail and some rags. As I filled the pail with water. Mabs must have heard me. She said, “Honey? What are you doing?”
I stormed past her and said, “I’m using a rag to clean up this rag.”
“Huh?” She followed me outside and watched. Her arms akimbo and mouth wide open.
My anger fueled my determination as I scrubbed the offending word from our logo. The effort was satisfying as I could readily see the results of my work. But I couldn’t stop and ended up washing the entire window, which gleamed in a way I hadn’t seen in years. I decided I now needed to add the title of “window washer” to that of “co-publisher and editor.”
“What’s got into you?” Mabs said.
“Your sister pissed me off.”
Mabs laughed. “I’m not surprised. Hell, there’s a long line of folks ahead of you that feel the same. What did she do this time?”
“She said, ‘no one reads this rag anymore.’”
“You think cleaning our window will improve readership?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But if I don’t take pride in this paper, how can I expect anyone else to do the same?”
“You got a point, there, Honey.”
We eased down on our butts on the sidewalk, in the shade, our backs against the wall. The newly cleaned and gleaming window above us. The cleaning had been good for me. In fact, cleansing in a way, you might say. My frustration and anger had ebbed while new emotions moved into my head and heart. “Oh, Mabs. What am I doing here?”
“Honey, you’re doing what you were meant to do. You’re the only one who can save this paper. Maybe your old coot of a father can help in some way, but not right now. It’s too dangerous for him.”
“Him? How about me?”
“Yeah, you, too. I know you think this town is dying and in some…no…in many ways it is. But the Weekly Standard is still the heartbeat of this town and county.”
I laughed. “Yeah. A heartbeat on life support.”
“If that’s what you believe then that’s what it is. But if you believe you can save this dying puppy, then you will. Until you come to that in your own mind, this paper will continue to teeter totter on wobbly legs until she finally falls down.”
“There’s so much going on right now. I can barely keep up.”
Mabs chuckled. “Have you ever eaten an elephant?”
“How the hell do you eat an elephant?”
“One bite at a time. One bite at a time.”
“Funny. Not.”
“Think about it. Focus on one story at a time. After a while you will have eaten your way through the full course of crime and/or evil, and high school debate competitions. And if you string it out carefully, you’ll keep the readers coming back.”
I looked in astonishment at Mabs. Here was this female version of Santa Claus sitting next to me spouting off sidewalk philosophy, giving me her gentle encouragement to keep going. Maybe I’d been wrong about Mabs. Maybe there was more to her than I knew. We stood up and I bear hugged her.
“Whoa there missy. I ain’t your huggy-kissy type.”
“Thank you Mabs. I needed that pep talk.”
Her eyes grew dark as she looked past me. “Uh, oh.”
“What?” I turned to see what she was looking at. “Uh, oh, indeed.” The Mayor of Standard, my Aunt George, looked like a tornado bearing down on us as she strode toward us, arms swinging, high heels clacking.
“I think I hear the phone ring,” Mabs said, and she hurried inside. The phone was not ringing, but I knew my ears would be soon.
I really liked the last line.
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