Narrative Poem: The Invitation.

 

My Dear Children;

I went with your mother to Springville the other day to look the town over while she worked at the H&R Block office for four hours. I strolled around, got chilled, went back to her office, saw she was busy, went to the library, and started to read Irving Stone's "The Agony and the Ecstasy" in one of their comfortable chairs. 

Then I got hungry and walked a half mile to the Art City Trolley Restaurant. Where I was ambushed by an unexpected kindness.

I guess I look pretty forlorn when I'm eating by myself anymore. I'm always worrying about how much to tip (or whether to tip at all) and I always decide I ordered the wrong thing while I watch other people enjoying their meals.

While I was sipping my water (I never order a beverage -- my cheap-itis won't let me) a woman from a nearby table came over and invited me to join them. It was apparently a large, rollicking, family table. Celebrating an anniversary or birthday. I thanked her for her kind invitation, then turned her down. At her disappointed look, I simply said I enjoyed sitting by the tilework on the wall. She smiled uncertainly and went back to her table.

Why did I do that?  I enjoy company and conversation while I eat. Always have. I didn't hesitate to turn her down. Why? 

I decided not to overthink it at the time. And I refuse to feel guilty about it now.

Maybe I was just not in the mood to explain myself to strangers once again. It always happens -- when I'm introduced to new people and they find out I was a circus clown they begin to drill me with the same old questions. Of course, I could lie. I was wearing an old blue shirt I got at DI. It had SEARS embroidered above the pocket. So I guess I could have spun a yarn about working at Sears for thirty-five years before being forced to retire on a reduced pension. I think I would have gotten a lot of sympathy. And if I had played my cards right I bet that whole table would have taken up a collection for me. Poor old lonely man!

But I didn't have the energy to sustain such a bamboozle.

I'm reminded of a few years ago, when daughter Daisy came over one summer Sunday afternoon to ask if I wanted to take a walk with her. There again, I didn't hesitate to turn her down flat. Why? I don't really know myself. I have always craved the company of my children and I enjoy short walks in the park. But that day I told her my back was giving me problems -- but then, my back is ALWAYS giving me problems. I'm used to it by now. So Daisy went for a walk by herself.

My best guess is that I'm so used to looking for silt that I don't recognize the river. When good things are offered to me I automatically think of why I can't accept it. 

Thank God I didn't feel that way when your mother came to me last September to ask about getting remarried!

Your mother, by the way, made a dynomite bowl of potato salad last night, and I'm eating some with a slice of fried ham right now. It makes me happy as a clam and as satisfied as a pig in mud. And so I will leave youse guys on that happy note.

Roses are red/violets tremble/when they think/of Sarah Siddons Kemble. 

Love

Heinie Manush.