Traveller by L.W. Samuelson (english reading book TXT) 📕

up his lunch pail and followed them through the warehouse and into a door at the back.
Traveller found himself in a brightly lit room with lunch tables and bench seating. Several workers sat in groups laughing, joking with each other. No one noticed him as he found an unoccupied table. Traveller sat down by himself. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone after the foreman had embarrassed him.
Traveller set the black metal lunchbox on the table. When he opened it, a note rested on top of the food. “I love you Traveller.” it said. It was signed with a heart by Lori’s name. Two peanut butter and jelley sandwhiches, celery sticks, and a thermos of milk were packed neatly inside along with two light brown sponge cakes.
Traveller ate ravenously washing the PBJs down with the milk. When he finished crunching the celery, he removed the cellophane wrapper from the cakes. One bite caused immediate addiction. They were sweet with a white filling inside. He ate them slowly relishing the cake’s spongy flavor.
With his lunch eaten, Traveller laid out on the bench to rest. He closed his eyes. She loves me he thought.

By the end of his shift, Traveller was more exhausted than he had ever been before. His arms, legs, and back ached. He had loaded three boxcars during his shift.
The foreman watched as he punched his time card out. “Coming back tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes, take care of your grandma,” Traveller replied. He jumped off the dock and walked home.
Lori was asleep when he got there. She had left the kitchen light on. A note on the table said that there was a bowl of macaroni and cheese in the refridgerator for him. By the universe, Lori is acroluminous, far out, and groovy.

By the end of two weeks, Traveller had adjusted to the work. His muscles no longer ached. The past week he had resorted to seeing how fast he could load the boxcars to make the time pass faster.
It was Friday at lunch time. He had kept to himself all week long sitting at an empty table. Tonight, to his surprise, a tall muscular worker sat by him on one side. On the other side, a short heavy-set man sat down and crowded close.
“Hey moron, what do you think you’re doing?” the tall guy asked.
“Eating my lunch. Mine name is Travis,” Traveller replied.
“Eating my lunch. I can see that moron,” the tall guy said.
“I’m not a moron,” Traveller said quietly.
“You’re exactly what I say you are, ain’t he Therm?”
“That’s right. You’re working too fast, you piece of shit,” Therm said.
“I’m not a piece of shit,” Traveller tried to stay calm but a fever spread throughout his body. He saw Willy’s drunken father, could even smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Yes you are. You’re a stinkin’ worthless pile of shit,” Therm said slapping him hard on the back.
Traveller exploded. Before either man could react, he elbowed the tall guy in the face. A loud crack ensued with blood shooting everywhere.
Suddenly, Therm had both hands around Traveller’s neck pushing the lighter man to the grey cement floor. Traveller’s head hit the hard surface aggravating the wounds from the mountain lion. He broke Therman’s grip by punching him in the ribs. He could feel the claws marks throb. The pain caused Traveller to explode with fury, fury that he had worked so hard to control. He threw the Therm off and then rolled to his feet.
Therm rose to his feet with his fists doubled in front of his face. Traveller jabbed with his left, hit with his right. The blow to the temple laid the larger man out. It was a calculated blow. He jumped on Therm’s chest and followed up with a pummeling to Therm’s face. “You Lizerian dog!” Traveller shouted as each blow brought new freshets of blood and bruises.
Several of the other workers had gathered around to watch the fun. It wasn’t until the foreman broke through the crowd and shouted, “Travis! Stop! You’re going to kill him,” that Traveller came to his senses. He rolled off the larger man and stood shaking with rage.
“Back up, you guys,” the foreman commanded pushing his way through the crowd. He knelt beside Therman who had rolled over face down. He was moaning. “Someone get a bucket of cold water and a rag from the janitor,” the foreman said.
When the bucket was handed to him, he rolled Therman over then helped him sit up. He washed the blood from the cuts, wringing red from the rag several times until the water darkened. “Hold this over your face,” he said to Therman.
Someone had brought several lengths of coarse, brown paper towel from the lavatory for the taller man. He was holding a damp piece over his nose with his eyes closed. “Here let me look at it,’ the foreman said pulling his hands away. The nose was bent to one side.
The foreman gave his verdict, “He broke it.” The whistle ending lunch break sounded almost immediately afterward. The foreman looked around at the men. “You guys get back to work,” he told them. He looked at the men involved in the altercation and said, “You three, in my office.”
The foreman followed the men into a room on one side of the cafeteria. Traveller walked behind the two workers who had tried to bully him. Once inside, the foreman sat behind his desk motioning for the men to sit. Therm and his friend sat in the chairs before his desk.
When Traveller didn’t comply, the foreman raised his voice, “I said sit.”
“No, I will not sit,” Traveller said quietly. His blue eyes sparkled dangerously.
The foreman resorted to the only power he had over Travis, “Do you wanna lose your job?”
“I choose to stand. It is my right as an American citizen,” Traveller replied. He walked behind the desk and put his hand on the foreman’s shoulder.
The foreman reappraised the tall lanky man standing next to him. He noted the deep scars on Traveller’s left arm. He saw the muscles bunching with tension. When he looked into the Traveller’s penetrating eyes he realized he had no authority over the strange person who glowed with power. The foreman struggled to remember. “What’s, why, what was I going to say?”
“You were going to ask who started it. That’s what they do when there’s a fight on T.V.,” Traveller said.
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” The foreman looked at the two men who were seated before him. “Who started it?” he asked.
The room became very quiet as the men stared at Traveller. His eyes warned them to tell the truth. They saw the fear in the foreman’s eyes, nervous sweat beaded his forehead. They looked at one another, each pointed at the other. In unison they said, “He did.”
“You’re the one who said we should go sit by him,” Therman said.
“You called him a piece of shit,” the taller man said.
“It was a worthless piece of shit,” Traveller said taking over the discussion. “I suggest you apologize. While you’re at it, I want you to promise never, ever to call anyone a worthless piece of shit again. If I ever hear those words come from either of your mouths, the beating I’ll give you will make tonight’s seem mild. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” the two chorused like they were speaking to a drill sergeant. “We’re sorry, sir.”
“Now get back to work,” Traveller mimicked what the foreman had said earlier.
The men scrambled out of the office so fast that one of them knocked his chair over. When they were gone, Traveller walked around to the other side of the desk. He placed his hands on top then leaned over so that he was face to face with the foreman. He stared hard into the man’s eyes before asking, “Do I still have my job?”
“Ye… yes, yes sir,” the foreman stuttered. He watched Traveller turn and exit the room before a sigh of relief that started in his bowels escaped from his lips.

Traveller went home that night walking with his head down. Damn, I wonder if that’s what Lizerians were like, vicious and callous. How can there be such disparity between humans? Some are good, some are bad, maybe working for eight hours a day makes them as cold as lizards.
He barely realized that he was walking up the stairs to Lori’s apartment until he stood before the door. He let himself in quietly. There was a note on the table that read, “There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge. I miss you! Love, Lori.”
Traveller couldn’t bear the thought of eating. He turned the kitchen light off and sat at the table.

Traveller was still sitting in the dark when he heard Lori get up. He roused himself and made coffee. He found the pancake mix, read the directions, then made the batter.
When Lori came in from showering, Traveller had pancakes warming in the oven. “Good morning,” he said trying to smile.
“What’s that wonderful smell?” she asked.
“I made pancakes for the sweetest woman in the universe.”
“Why thank you,” Lori said sipping the coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and a dollop of milk he had fixed for her. She watched as he removed the plate from the oven.
When Traveller turned around, she noticed the hurt in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He set the plate and himself down at the table. While she buttered her pancakes and smothered them with syrup, Traveller explained, “I got in a fight at work. They called me a worthless piece of shit.”
“Who did? Damn it, I knew it was a mistake for you to work, Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault,” Lori said taking a bite of the pancakes.
Traveller explained in detail the events from the night before. When he finished he asked, “Is that what other humans are like?”
“Those guys are uneducated louts from the working class,” Lori replied as if that explained it. “They have no economic power so they bully those around them. Maybe you should quit. I don’t want you working with jerks. ”
Traveller ignored her suggection. “What’s a working class?”
“It’s a way of thinking about people, categorizing them. Most societies on Earth are arranged like a pyramid. At the top are the upper class, then the upper middle class, the middle class, the lower middle class, and then the lower classes. The people at the top have the power and influence, the people at the bottom live hand to mouth. Most people in the United States are middle class. My sociology teacher, Dr. Saraf says that our country has more upward mobility than any other nation, but it’s still hard to get away from the group you are born into.”
“Doesn’t one group of people having more than another create tension and strife?” asked Traveller.
“Obviously, but it also provides the motivation to work hard so that you can get ahead in life,” Lori answered.
“But doesn’t getting ahead involve taking advantage of those in the lower classes?”
“The people in our society that do well are those with an education. The amount of education an individual attains has a direct correlation to how much money they will make in their lifetime. The people that are able to think and look ahead thrive, while those who are content with their lot stay where they are at on the pyramid,” Lori replied.
“But if one is born to parents that understand the importance of education and can provide books and other enhancements, doesn’t that give them a great advantage?” asked Traveller.
“Our country isn’t perfect, but it’s the only place on Earth that I want to live. I