Is it because of my feelings for Alice?
Thinking about it now, I can understand why I was taught to keep away from women.
It was wrong for me to express my feelings to Alice.
I have no right to think of a woman that way—not yet.
But even as I write these words, something inside shouts that there is more.
I'm a person. I was somebody before I went under the surgeon's knife. And I have to love someone.
May 8
Even now that I have learned what has been going on behind Mr. Donner's back, I find it hard to believe.
I first noticed something was wrong during the rush hour two days ago.
Gimpy was behind the counter wrapping a birthday cake for one of our regular customers—a cake that sells for $3.95.
But when Gimpy rang up the sale the register showed only $2.95.I started to tell him he had made a mistake, but in the mirror behind the counter I saw a wink and smile that passed from the customer to Gimpy and the answering smile on Gimpy's face.
And when the man took his change, I saw the flash of a large silver coin left behind in Gimpy's hand, before his fingers closed on it, and the quick movement with which he slipped the half-dollar into his pocket.
"Charlie," said a woman behind me, "are there any more of those cream-filled eclairs?"
"I'll go back and find out."
I was glad of the interruption because it gave me time to think about what I had seen.
Certainly, Gimpy had not made a mistake.
He had deliberately undercharged the customer, and there had been an understanding between them.
I leaned limply against the wall not knowing what to do.
Gimpy had worked for Mr. Donner for over fifteen years.
Donner—who always treated his workers like close friends, like relatives—had invited Gimpy's family to his house for dinner more than once.
He often put Gimpy in charge of the shop when he had to go out, and I had heard stories of the times Donner gave Gimpy money to pay his wife's hospital bills.
It was incredible that anyone would steal from such a man.
There had to be some other explanation.
Gimpy had really made a mistake in ringing up the sale, and the half-dollar was a tip.
Or perhaps Mr. Donner had made some special arrangement for this one customer who regularly bought cream cakes.
Anything rather than believe that Gimpy was stealing.
Gimpy had always been so nice to me.
I no longer wanted to know.
I kept my eyes averted from the register as I brought out the tray of eclairs and sorted out the cookies, buns, and cakes.
But when the little red-haired woman came in—the one who always pinched my cheek and joked about finding a girl friend for me—I recalled that she came in most often when Donner was out to lunch and Gimpy was behind the counter.
Gimpy had often sent me out to deliver orders to her house.
Involuntarily, my mind totaled her purchases to $4.53. But I turned away so that I would not see what Gimpy rang up on the cash register.
I wanted to know the truth, and yet I was afraid of what I might learn.
"Two forty-five, Mrs. Wheeler," he said.
The ring of the sale.
The counting of change.
The slam of the drawer.
"Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler."
I turned just in time to see him putting his hand into his pocket, and I heard the faint clink of coins.
How many times had he used me as a go-between to deliver packages to her, undercharging her so that later they could split the difference?
Had he used me all these years to help him steal?
I couldn't take my eyes off Gimpy as he clomped around behind the counter, perspiration streaming down from under his paper cap.
He seemed animated and good-natured, but looking up he caught my eye, frowned and turned away.
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to go behind the counter and smash his face in.
I don't remember ever hating anyone before—but this morning I hated Gimpy with all my heart.
Pouring this all out on paper in the quiet of my room has not helped.
Every time I think of Gimpy stealing from Mr. Donner I want to smash something.
Fortunately, I don't think I'm capable of violence.
I dont think I ever hit anyone in my life.