He had known Dean Bur to be a radical, mean boss but tonight really revealed the other side of him. He clicked his fingers impatiently at him “What the hell gave you the guts to think you can live here, Jamole?”
Once he noticed a vein pop from his forehead, he knew he had lost it. Promptly he went down on his knees and molded his arms to plead.
But the burly man before him tossed his head in refusal and his reddened eyes whipped Jamole severally.
“You just told me your wife divorced you. How the hell is that my business? I am just stating the obvious, Jamole you can’t live here. Go and rent yourself a house.”
“No, boss please,” he interrupted him furiously.
He widened his gaze at Jamole as though to ask him what nerve he had to interrupt him. He had never interrupted Dean Bur for once; he was a boss he revered and feared due to his strong features and personality. But he didn’t know when

Few months ago when Jamole paced down to the bus terminal where he boarded bus to his work place, he often prayed inwardly for the homeless beggars that hounded the cold streets of Antipolo. But tonight he was literally one of them.
Struggling under the weight of his bag, Jamole kept staring at the post office while he trudged away, hoping Dean Bur would change his mind and let him pass the night .
“What sort of life is this? I caught my wife and her boss flirting, she divorced me and now I am homeless. What am I living for?” a thought echoed in his head.
He sighed, tossed his head and snapped out of the thought. Few hours ago he had proposed marriage to Susan, the disable beggar on the street. And with that done, he had his plans running; he would work harder to pay her dowry and with the remaining proceeds, he would rent a house and carter for her.
The disable beggar was as classless a

The disable damsel was unruffled by what she perceived to be a stunt. But it wasn’t a stunt. Reality was playing. Jamole remained on his knees, though a bit fidgety, yet he knew what he was doing. At the time he had created a scene; onlookers were staring keenly at them with bated breath.
He took her fingers into his and repeated, “Can you be my wife? I mean every word of it.”
The disable lady shot a nervous gaze at him. She gazed down to her rickety legs and expected him to have taken notice of her physical condition before proposing marriage to her.
He swallowed hard and caught the blaring message in her cloudy eyes.  “I know you are physically challenged. It is all glaring before me. You may be physically challenged and it is enough to repel me from proposing marriage to you. But it is you that I want.”
The aghast disable lady who had gagged her moth with her trembling hands all the while was forced to protest, “Are you sure about this? I hope you know I am not as cute as every other girl out there. Besides I am not rich. I am as poor as you can imagine.”
He sighed and perceived the glint that hung on her face. His instinct had never been perfect; deep down his soul he felt a rare peace of mind that enveloped his vanity. He couldn’t have opted for a woman like his ex-wife who would humiliate and treat him as some piece of garbage because he didn’t have deep pocket.
The fact that she was poor and physically challenged inspired his affinity to want to make this lady his wife.
He said firmly, “Beauty is deceitful and only skin deep. Money is good but it is not everything. I may be as poor as you. The most important thing is that we are happy.” He stretched out his hands, “Once again, I am Jamole Cadry.”
She gazed down to his I-swear-to-God shoes which had gaping soles and then she returned her gaze on his torn, worn our T-shirt and unkempt hair.
“My name is Susan Pack,” she lied and it was evident in the way she grinned. She had been hiding her identity since two years now all in her bid to find the right suitor. “What do you do for a living?” she settled her gaze on his scaly arms which was traceable to the strenuous labor he passed through at the post office.
He hesitated, a bit shy and nagged by his parlous source of livelihood. Through confident tone he sounded, “I…um…I am a janitor at the municipal post office and also at the town hall.” He followed her gaze which couldn’t be averted from his countenance. “Unfortunately I don’t have deep pockets. But I want to marry you. You will give me some time to save enough money so I can afford the dowry.”
She blushed and queried yet further, “But how do you intend to marry me. Am I not going to be problematic to your finance? I don’t have anything doing. I am just a poor disable girl who survives on the kind gestures cheerful givers.”
It was then Jamole caught sight of the sizeable bag by her side, which had coins and one dollar note. “Are you a beggar?” he queried politely and raised his gaze to lock eyes with her.
She dragged a pitiable brow across her face and nodded in agreement. “Yes I am a beggar. This is my spot. I am destitute and always here.”
He took her fingers more firmly now, “That is enough reason you should be my wife. See, I don’t have a home too. We may be poor today but I believe with persistent hard work we could be the richest tycoon in Antitpolo. Truth is, I am a broke ass janitor but with the proceeds I make on a daily, it can put food on our table while we live on the street.” he sniffed back tears as he sounded yet further, “I believe everything is going to be fine. Please don’t say no to my proposal,” he pled, and molded his arms.
She dimmed her gaze at him. “But you barely know anything about me. Are you sure about this decision you are about to make?” she queried for one last time and let a cheerful smile hang on her face.
Through an uproar of heartbreak Jamole beamed. “Yes, my mind is made up and I have no regret whatsoever to propose marriage to a disable lady like you.”
Her gaze met his, so full of certainty and satisfaction. She pushed out her finger and he slid in the same Arabic Coral Gold Ring. A strange glistening smile ran across her face and he was churned with fulfillment in his heart.
***
Few minutes after he proposed marriage to the disable girl on the road, he resumed his job at the post office as an unscathed soul. Inwardly he had agreed to have savings from his extra duty at the town hall and pay her dowry in about one year or so.
His ex-wife, Stella had divorced him so he was literally homeless; she was the ‘husband’ and the bread winner and had always paid the bills.
This was an ideal time for him to be a man and refuse to be unruffled by his fate. He would have to perch around the post office complex until he saved enough money to rent a house; He didn’t know how long it would take him but he would definitely survive.
Long after he rounded off his job for the day, he laid on the bare floor of the corridor at the post office to pass the night when a weird tortuous torch light was flashed into his face.
“Who the hell is there?”
Without any soothsayer he perceived that was the voice of his boss, Dean Bur. He was stamping his feet more furiously with the vigor of one who would whip the ass of his offender as soon as he got here.
“It is me, boss,” he replied and sprang to his feet, his breath wheezing in fear.
“Jamole?” he intoned emphatically, confirming his guess by flashing the torch light into his teary face.
“Yes, boss, it is me,” he replied, lowered his gaze in uncertainty and knotted his arms in front.
“What the hell are you doing here? You are not on night shift. You should be at home now,” he intoned and combed around with the torchlight to see he had formed a false bed with his shirt. “What is happening here?” he fumed.
He bowed his head remorsefully. “Boss my wife divorced me and I left the house for her since she foots the bills. I just want to perch here for a while…”
He had barely finished his statement before Dean interrupted him, “No. No, Jamole that is not going to happen. You can’t spend the night here.”

He had known Dean Bur to be a radical, mean boss but tonight really revealed the other side of him. He clicked his fingers impatiently at him “What the hell gave you the guts to think you can live here, Jamole?”
Once he noticed a vein pop from his forehead, he knew he had lost it. Promptly he went down on his knees and molded his arms to plead.
But the burly man before him tossed his head in refusal and his reddened eyes whipped Jamole severally.
“You just told me your wife divorced you. How the hell is that my business? I am just stating the obvious, Jamole you can’t live here. Go and rent yourself a house.”
“No, boss please,” he interrupted him furiously.
He widened his gaze at Jamole as though to ask him what nerve he had to interrupt him. He had never interrupted Dean Bur for once; he was a boss he revered and feared due to his strong features and personality. But he didn’t know when he did.
“Boss don’t push me away, please. I have nowhere to lay my head after work; right now I am 

Chapter6:Rejected and Dejected