As I sat at the end of a dimly lit hall, laden with expressions like that of a zombie, my ears perked at the sound of a frantic voice. My eyes lifted and searched for the source scanning each face. As I scanned every darting set of eyes and every downturned nose, I noticed how each was trying to sink further behind their respectable tombstone of a kiosk. Finally my eyes held on a young woman who had just walked into the hall from the expansive driveway that belonged to Henry Brown GMC. The young woman was trembling as she strained to complain with every ounce, her frail frame could muster. The aged female service writer in front of her was also frustrated continued to trying to explain the problem but was unable to look the angry girl straight in her eyes. The storm of anger that was the young girl, built slowly with small busts like that of a sub machine gun. “This is the Third time!” she exclaimed. The words scattering small bursts to the wind, her tone fluttering from obvious frustration, pausing as her worried eyes searched the ceiling for help, while the veins on her face bulged from stress and fear. No doubt she felt she had been confronted by a wall of bureaucratic red tape. As her patience thinned like the hair of an aging man, you could see she was nearing the point where she would lose all self restraint with the service writer who was attempting to help her. Then from nowhere a new voice, a voice with calm and soothing tone that floated through the air, like a light cloud that gently rolls in and fills the sky. Warmth radiantly entered the room subtly at first, as the tall man who belonged to the calm voice approached the young woman with a slow sauntering gate. Gently with the care of a bed nurse, he reviewed the young woman’s situations, past and present. With his commanding presence he told her the cold hard facts, in a matter of fact way just like Andy Griffith would have done with Opie Taylor. He injected a word here and there to commiserate, as he used his slow validating disposition to explain the situation. Slowly the woman’s grimace faded away as she was calmed. Letting each word sink in as she accepted the facts, the honest assessment and solution, however costly it was. The calm tall man wrapped up the conversation as he walked her out the door leading her to her car. With a few final words of encouragement exchanged. The car started off down the drive, but suddenly the car squealed to halt as the window rolled down. The young woman stuck her head out the window with a purposeful expression and called to the man saying, “Thank you! I will remember this.” And then she drove away.
- Jason E. Lee
- Jason Eric Lee was born in Clarinda, Iowa. He moved to and continues to reside in, the arid region of the world, often referred to as a desert. Jason is a fan of all things science fiction. Some of his favorite authors include Douglas Adams, George Lucas and Michael Crichton. Jason has several friends and family members, who have always been an inspiration to him. There are several rumors that he secretly trains small puppies to do household chores, for him and his family. Jason emphatically denies this, continually pointing out that he would rather shoot himself than ever own let alone train any animals, including the small furry and albeit sometimes cute ones. There are other rumors still that he has also been spotted repeatedly having brunch with such characters as Bob Sasquatch and Joseph Big Foot. When confronted by this he is most likely to respond with, something along the lines of: “Stepped in what?” Jason does however thoroughly enjoy life – what-ever the cost. He is most proud of (in this order): Mckenna Kaeko Lil Al a small book he published named "Visions of the Unknown"