She wore a tuxedo for her senior portrait. The yearbook left her photo out. (WaPo)

 

(dedicated to Sarah Knowles)

I stepped out my door and there was a streetcar waiting for me. An old fashioned streetcar, with clanging bells and a conductor dressed in a dark suit with a tin change dispenser and everything. This was so unexpected and insane that I asked the conductor if he stopped at Crazy Henry's place. "That's our only stop this run" he replied, as he punched a ticket and handed it to me.

"Saints and wickets preserve me" I muttered as I sat on the mahogany bench that ran the length of the car. 

As soon as I got to Crazy Henry's place I told him what happened. He didn't seem to think it was out of the ordinary, and I began to think maybe I dreamed the whole thing. My daydreams are becoming more and more real to me these days, as the world tears itself apart. Mutter and peep, mutter and peep, is all I do anymore.

Crazy Henry wanted to show me his new tuxedo, made out of red velvet -- the kind they used to use for red velour ropes at the movie palace. 

"What in the world do you want a thing like that for?" I asked him derisively, already forgetting the magic of the streetcar I had just experienced. 

"I'm going to walk down the street and make people smile" he replied. "Wanna go with me?"

My initial response was to tell him he was a fool and I would have nothing to do with his folly -- but he did look good in that red velvet tuxedo, and I thought that maybe some of that good looking would rub off on me if I stayed by his side.

"Oh, all right" I relented, pretending to be irritated at him. "But only to keep you out of trouble."

So we strolled down Como Avenue together, Crazy Henry in his bright red tuxedo and me in black sweat pants and a gray hoodie. And people did smile at him as we passed -- lots of people. One handsome young woman stopped him to ask "Are you the Vita-Goodie Man? Can I have your autograph?" Crazy Henry just patted her on the shoulder and told her to run along and keep a low profile.

When we reached the end of Como Avenue there was that same streetcar again. I pointed it out to Crazy Henry, but he was too busy scratching himself all over to take any notice.

"Gosh" he said, "I forgot that I'm allergic to velvet. I'm gettin' a terrific rash here!" 

"Let's take the streetcar back to your place so you can change out of that monkey suit and take a bath with baking soda" I suggested. But Crazy Henry started running towards our old high school down the block, yelling back at me that he was going to the prom. I got on the streetcar and asked the conductor where he was going this time.

"To the Marmalade Fields" he replied, punching a ticket to give to me along with a sugared baby wipe.

"Is this trip really necessary?" I asked him. He didn't answer, but instead turned into a barber pole. And that didn't bother me at all.