by Julie Hockenberry Hicks

Created on: March 14, 2010

Old Mr. Jenkins

It looked like a lumpy castle. Or, maybe, a starchy version of her failed attempt at an igloo last winter. Whatever the mound of potatoes on Bradley's plate was supposed to represent, Mackenzie shook her head as she cast another glance to watch the monstrosity grow. Mr. Jenkins, of all people, was helping in the creation.

“Bradley!” A stern tone started from Mackenzie's mother, until she realized her son had an accomplice. She smiled, her eyes dancing with amusement as she continued her attempt to be serious. “...and Mr. Jenkins. I want to see that food being eaten, not made into a masterpiece.”

Mr. Jenkins pointed at a massive hole in what was presumably the front. “But, milady, we just need to make a drawbridge for the main gate.”

“Maybe we can use this, Grandpa!” Bradley held his fork upside down.

Mr. Jenkins chuckled, winking back at Mackenzie and Bradley's mother. He grabbed a fork from off his own empty plate and started plowing into the potato fortress. “I think we'd better start using our drawbridges to devour our kingdom here before your mother puts us both in timeout, young-in.”

Mr. Jenkins was not Bradley and Mackenzie's real grandfather, but he had been joining them for dinner so long that he felt like family. He had no relatives of his own and ever since the family closed their diner down on Willow Street, they had adopted the old man. Mr. Jenkins was a regular customer when the diner was still open. But that was years ago. Before Bradley was born. Before Mackenzie left for college and started making her occasional visits back home. Before Willow Street turned from a scenic part of downtown to a place that no one walk around alone.

Mackenzie wasn't sure just how old Mr. Jenkins was. The hair that was still on his head was stark white and his wrinkled hands were a rough terrain, hands that had been a working man's long ago. He walked with with a quick shuffle of his feet that always gave the impression to her that he was learning to skate and being propelled forward only by the inertia of his invisible wheels. And despite all this, the man still routinely walked about downtown for errands such as going to the store and getting the local paper. Mackenzie's mother had tried to get Mr. Jenkins to let their family take him where he needed to go but the argument was nearly always the same.

“Mr. Jenkins, you don't have to walk all the way down there if we're going to pick

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