Uncle Wally.

 

So I was walking back from the store

with a bag of celery, egg noodles,

and frozen meatballs.

I planned on making

Swedish meatballs for my neighbors.

It's a nice walk, about six blocks.

There's one block, public housing,

that's a little dicey.

Broken windows and beer cans

all over the place.

As I passed by the public housing

a young woman,

smoking a cigarette

and drinking something in a

brown paper bag

said to me in a cheery bright voice:

"Happy Holidays, sir!"

She had two little kids with

her on the porch;

about three or four --

they appeared to be sleeping

standing up, swaying gently.

Maybe they were sick.

I don't know.

Anyway. 

The first time she said it

I smiled at her and bobbed my head

to acknowledge her greeting,

but also to show I didn't want to

engage in any further conversation.

I was burdened, she could see,

with a heavy bag of groceries.

Plus, what she couldn't know,

my bladder was reminding me of

the cold snap we were experiencing

that week.

She called again, louder and more insistently:

"Happy Holidays, sir!"

I could tell she wanted some recognition,

some validation of her greeting.

But that just made me more determined

to get out of earshot without returning a word.

I'm like that sometimes.

Besides, I suspected if I stopped

to return her greeting she would

ask for money or something.

So I just smiled and bobbed my 

head more emphatically at her.

So emphatically that my rabbit fur

trapper hat nearly flew off my head.

I was just about to round the corner

when I heard her say, probably to her kids,

"Guess he didn't hear me."

I took one look back

to see her shaking her

kids gently until they began

to whimper.

I hurried home to unpack the groceries

and put the water on to boil for the noodles.

When I looked in the fridge

I realized I had run out of sour cream.

Damn!

Would I have to go all the way

back to the store to get some?

Couldn't I use salad dressing or something?

I could get someone to drive me, of course.

Then I wouldn't have to worry about that

idiot woman with her children, freezing

out on their front porch.

Or maybe they were homeless

with no place to live, just stopping

on that stoop to die of hypothermia.

No, that couldn't be.

I was letting my imagination run away

with me.

I often did that.

I once thought a nest of baby

rabbits under the elm tree

in my backyard were rabid baby bats,

getting ready to swoop out

and infect the entire neighborhood,

so I drowned them with the 

garden hose. 

I felt bad about that.

But I didn't want to feel anything

about that smoking drinking woman

and her kids. 

I decided to forget the Swedish meatballs

and instead book a flight to Sun Valley

for a winter vacation.

I booked an Uber ride to the airport

that night

and returned six days later

thoroughly refreshed and

with a new long-distance girlfriend.

She was a single mother with two kids;

I took to them right away.

They liked me, too --

by the time I left 

they were calling me Uncle Wally.

She and the kids are coming out

to visit me in April.

After that --

who knows?

I hear they're going to tear down

that block of public housing

by my place

to put in a parking lot.

All I can say is

it's about time;

the street parking around

my place is terrible.