Theme Week #4, rewrite

Version #1

Last night my father and I went to Tim Horton’s to get dinner.  When we pulled into the parking lot there was a man in the overgrown ditch that separated Tim Horton’s property from the Mechanic’s.  We sat still for a minute after Dad shut off the van, just watching the man with our heads cocked.  He was wearing a dirty white shirt and baggy jeans, and he seemed to be picking a bouquet of shrubbery.  

I told my Dad that I felt bad for him, that it seemed like we should buy him dinner or something.  But then I reasoned aloud that he might work at the mechanic’s, it was quitting time after all.  That would get awkward very quickly.  But that still left the unanswered question of what he was doing in the ditch. 

However, we both shrugged, got out of the van, and picked up where we left off in our pursuit of dinner.  I guess we’ll never know what he was up to.  

Version #2

I had been chattier then usual that night; shopping isn’t my thing and I suppose I was compensating by keeping up conversation.  So when we pulled into the Tim Horton’s parking lot and both noticed a ragged looking man foraging in the ditch, I immediately began commenting on it.

“Poor guy… I wish we could get him something to eat.”  But then my restless mind lit on another thought, “But what if he works at the Mechanic’s over there?  That might be embarrassing.  Still, I wonder what he’s up to.”  

He had a fistful of ferns and was closing in on a pine tree, his next victim.  We both shrugged and left the scene behind us.  When we got back into the van with our booty, the man had all but disappeared into the woodsy ditch.  

Version #3

It wasn’t more than a few seconds after parking the car that my father and I both noticed a dirty, ragged man foraging in the ditch.  We sat there for a minute, heads cocked, trying to figure out what he was doing.  It appeared that he was gathering an armload of shrubbery; ferns, pine boughs, grasses, you name it.  But for what reason I couldn’t tell. 

I said that I felt bad for him, but Dad countered that he might be working for the Mechanic’s shop on the other side of the ditch.  Maybe his shift had just ended….. but that still didn’t explain what he was doing out there. 

The man followed us into the store - not in reality, but in our minds.  I couldn’t let him go, it was sad to think that everyone usually looks past him.  When it came our turn to order our food, I asked Dad if we could get him something.  My Dad began to say something, but when he caught the look in my eye.  He didn’t say anything, but ordered an extra sandwich.   As we went out to the van, and to the ditch, the man had all but disappeared into the woods.  Dad gave me a look that asked if I still wanted to follow the crazy man into the woods to give him a sandwich.  I took a deep breath and we started down the path.

When we caught up to the man, he was still gathering pine boughs.  He was so consumed with his work that we were practically on top of him when he noticed us.  When he did notice us, he was so startled that he dropped his armload of brush and froze.  He reminded me of a frightened child, about to get in trouble.  We stood there for a moment, looking at each other in the dim street-lit night.  Then, without a word, I stooped down and began to gather the brush he had dropped. 

He just stared as the pine boughs, the ferns, and the dandelions were gathered.  I stood and handed them to him. 

He nodded, and took them.  “She loved flowers,” he said.  His voice was husky and he avoided my eyes.  It sounded like he was trying to excuse his actions.  Though I didn’t really understand, I nodded.

Dad handed him the bag with dinner in it.  The stranger looked up at us sharply.  “For me?”

“For you,” answered my Dad. 

The man nodded again and took the bag.  Then, without a word, he began to walk farther into the brush.  It was as if we had interrupted his sacred duty.  My father and I stood there for a moment, following him with our eyes before we turned back to the van.  

            We didn’t talk much on the way home.  After a while, I said - 

“We almost just left him there.  Then he would’ve been alone and hungry.”

As we passed the streetlights on the way home, Dad nodded.