The Man Who Always Left

By Anita G. Gorman

He was her boyfriend, her significant other, her live-in hanger-on, and he had a habit of leaving. But only at certain important times of the year.

His name was Lucas. He had struck up a conversation with Margaret at the Giant Falcon supermarket near the endive. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied.

“Nice endive.”

“Yes. And the arugula looks good, too.”

And that’s how it started.  Before long they were dating, and then he was living at her house, but he didn’t pay rent. He didn’t even buy an endive. Or arugula. Margaret should have been suspicious, but she wasn’t. In fact, she was so pleased to have a boyfriend that she never asked him to do anything. 

Lucas didn’t have a regular job, but he was always working on a writing project. Or said he was. He might sit in the basement in front of her computer for a time, but when she walked by on her way to do the laundry, she often noticed that his fingers were not tapping out any deathless prose, not even deadly prose, or boring prose. 

Margaret had a job. She was a lawyer in a busy office, and there was a great deal of work to do. She hoped while she was at the office poring over books and papers and meeting with clients and doing all those other things lawyers do that Lucas was writing the Great American Novel, or the Great American Short Story. Or something. He never let her see what he was writing. He said he preferred that his work remain private until it was published. Margaret eventually figured out that it was going to be a long time before she would read a single word.

So she was not happy with Lucas, not happy that he helped her not a bit, that he lived off her largesse, that he did not seem to be working very hard at his writing, and that she had not seen any evidence of his writing skills.

The first time he left was on February 13. She came home from work and found a note: Must visit my uncle. Back soon. Lucas.”

Margaret did not get a Valentine present. Within a week he was back at the computer, and things went along in the usual way until fall arrived. When Margaret started hinting at her impending birthday in October, Lucas said he would be buying her something special. Then the day of her birthday dawned, and he was gone. The note said, “My brother is sick. Gotta visit.” She spent her birthday by herself, and within a week Lucas was back, sitting in front of the computer.

Then before long the houses and stores announced the coming of Christmas with decorations and lights and music. Margaret had always enjoyed Christmas. She had forgiven Lucas for the Valentine and birthday lapses and started looking forward to Christmas. After work she spent time buying presents for Lucas and then hiding them in the attic. And a week before Christmas Margaret came home to find Lucas gone. He had left a note on the computer keyboard: “Gotta visit family for the holidays. See you soon.”

And there she was, with presents for him in the attic and nowhere to go. Her family was too far away, and they didn’t celebrate Christmas anyway, so why make the effort? Margaret went up to the attic and took down the presents. 

What to do? Return them to the various stores? A bother. Burn them in the fireplace? Impractical and wasteful. Put Lucas’s clothes in the garbage can? Another waste of good stuff.

She picked up the local newspaper. Toward the back she found what she was looking for, even though she didn’t know what she was looking for. The headline read, “St Jude Parish Collecting Presents for the Needy.” She read on: “St. Jude Parish welcomes donations of money, food, clothing or other suitable items to be distributed to the needy this Christmas. For information, call or visit the parish office on Church Street.”

Margaret thought that sounded like a good idea. One thing she had learned during her years at law school and her years of reading literary classics: It always seemed better not to think about one’s own ego; it was better to think about others. Sure, she had a loser of a boyfriend who had deserted her at Christmas. But there were no doubt lots of other people who were in worse shape than she was. She had a job and money and a house. She also had a closet filled with her boyfriend’s clothes and Christmas presents in the attic. She sprang into action.

Within two days she had managed to amass a carful of donations to St. Jude’s: boxes of canned goods, Lucas’s Christmas presents (pajamas, shirts, a leather belt, books on writing) and, to top it all off, Lucas’s entire wardrobe, all nicely washed and dry-cleaned. He’d never desert her again on a holiday. Actually, he’d never desert her again, because he was so last week, so totally passé.

Margaret had a locksmith change all the locks in her house. She had a fancy security system installed. Then on Saturday morning she delivered her cache to St. Jude Parish. The young man who helped carry her donations into the parish hall sported a name tag: “Joe Clancy.” The woman in charge, Eileen Clancy, was probably Joe’s mother. Mrs. Clancy was seemingly about to ask Margaret questions about why she had arrived with such a collection. Then she seemed to have second thoughts. She’s probably remembering what my Grandma used to say, Margaret mused: “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Thank you, my dear, and God bless you!” Mrs. Clancy was smiling. So was Joe.

Margaret smiled back and then had a thought. “Do you need help with delivering presents to the needy?”

“Absolutely. You’re an answer to my prayers.”

“And you’re an answer to mine.” She was looking at Joe.

Margaret wondered where she would be spending Christmas and with whom, but at the moment she wasn’t feeling depressed or worried about that. She had been released from a burden. She was feeling happier than she had felt in a very long time.

Anita G. Gorman grew up in Queens and now lives in Ohio. She is currently behind on all of her writing projects.