Jonathan Harris is a puzzle to me.
I have been watching him for days, and I thought I understood who he is: a simple man, a quiet man, unimaginative, but good at heart. Today, however, he did something that did not fit with my picture of him.
Jonathan rarely goes out of his way for anyone. He follows his own schedule, stays to his own places, and talks to as few people as possible. He is a good person because it is easy, and because nothing that he wants to do ever gets in anyone else’s way. No great light comes from this man, such that I had begun to wonder why it was so important that I tend to him. I know it is unkind of me to imply that he is not worthy of my time and care, but in the past I have always been able to tell the merit of my charges almost immediately. Jonathan, though, has taken some more time, but I think I have found it.
He was alone in the store, running through the day’s sales—modest—and starting to think about closing the door a bit early. He was just getting up to do that when the bell at the door rang and a young man came in. The boy, only fifteen or so, glanced at Jonathan then quickly away. Sticking his hands into his pockets, he walked away to look at the display that Jonathan keeps for local artists. This one showed a collection of bracelets and earrings hand-made by a woman Jonathan knows from college.
Jonathan did not watch the boy closely, and I could not read suspicion in his spirit. The boy, however, was radiating anxiety and wariness, like a cornered animal. I was confused by what all this meant, until I saw him slip a bracelet into his pocket.
I have never seen a theft before, and it gave me something of a shock to realize that this was what was happening. It was clear to me, though, that the boy was not happy about it. He wandered the store, pretending to look around at the rest of the merchandise, but he saw nothing of it. His spirit was in turmoil, filled with guilt and exhilaration and hope and fear in such a tangle that I could make nothing of it.
I considered warning Jonathan, but it turned out not to be necessary. As the boy turned to the exit, Jonathan got up and casually blocked his way. “Didn’t find anything?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the boy.
Stopping short, the boy looked away from Jonathan’s eyes. “Nope,” he muttered. “I was just looking—my mom’s birthday’s coming up, so…” He tried to dodge around Jonathan, but the man neatly stepped in his path again.
“Your mother is Judy Baldwin, right?” Jonathan asked. “I happen to know her birthday is close to Christmas—she used to bitch about it a lot back in high school. So why don’t you try that again.” He held out his hand.
The boy stared at him. “I don’t know—”
Jonathan reached out, grabbed the boy’s shoulder, and snaked his other hand into his pocket. The boy twisted away, crying out, but Jonathan was quicker, and he held up the bracelet as evidence.
Slouching in defeat, the boy scowled at Jonathan. “You gonna call the cops?”
Jonathan considered both the bracelet and the boy. I couldn’t read his thoughts very well, but I could tell that he wasn’t angry. “This isn’t for your mom, is it?” he asked.
The boy slouched lower. “No,” he muttered.
“Is it for you?”
“No!” the boy protested loudly, offended for some reason I couldn’t discover.
Jonathan shrugged and tucked the bracelet into his own pocket. “Then it’s for a girl. Does she know you were going to do this?”
For a moment, the boy considered not answering. But Jonathan continued to look at him evenly—and to block the exit—so finally the boy nodded. “Her idea.”
“Oh, I see. What, she dare you or something?”
Again the boy nodded.
“Then she’s not worth your time,” Jonathan said, startling both me and the boy. “Look, I learned the hard way any girl who makes you jump through hoops like this is just yanking your chains.” He shook his head and stepped behind the counter again. “Go find yourself a girl who won’t make you prove how much you like her with dumb shit like this.”
The boy stared at him. So did I, because suddenly I was seeing a level of compassion that lay so deep in Jonathan’s spirit that he didn’t even recognize it as such. He did not even think of pressing charges against the boy. Quite the opposite—he considered it just as vital to help the boy as it was to get his taxes done or to contact his retailers. To him it was not the right thing to do, it was just what needed to be done, so he did it.
A simple man, indeed.
“So,” the boy said as Jonathan started typing at his keyboard again, “you’re not going to, like, call my mom? Or the cops?”
Jonathan paused and looked up. “I mean, I can if you want me to.” His hand hovered over the phone.
“Whoa, no!” the boy protested, waving his hands. “Just—” He looked at Jonathan as if he couldn’t figure him out, a feeling with which I sympathize. “Thanks, man.”
Jonathan shrugged and returned to his work. “You on the soccer team?”
“Yeah,” the boy answered.
“Thought I recognized you,” Jonathan said with a small smile for that solved mystery. “Luck on the championship game.”
“Thanks.” And still looking bewildered, the boy left the store.
Jonathan spared him no further thought until later that evening, and then it was only in passing. He smiled, shook his head, and continued to brush his teeth, and that was the end of the matter.
I find the incident very interesting, although I am not quite certain I can sort through what it means. It is the first time, however, that I have gotten any real insight into Jonathan’s character, and that makes it important. I will have to continue to think about this, because it may be something that I can work with.
More news when I have it.