Monthly Archives: July 2014

Waiting for God

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Ms. Nancy from Clarksdale Mississippi shuffles over to hover around Uncle Charles as he picks at today’s lunch. Since Uncle Charles is the only white man left in this wing that can still walk, many of the women assume he is their spouse. Now, I should probably tell you first that Ms. Nay-an-see is from Clawks-day-yell Miss-uh-sip-pee. She’s an old southern bell with a twist. Ms. Nancy is wearing her hot pink capris backwards today and her zebra striped tennis shoes are on the wrong feet. She hones in on me to let me know that the Minister gave the finest sermon this morning over at Clarksdale Baptist. Ms. Nancy does not know she is in Tennessee. She tries to place me and decides I must have lived over on School Street. Before I could get away my chin was grasped in her tiny hand as she declares that I am the most precious thing ever.
I tried to encourage Uncle Charles to eat as he is down to all bones these days. He carefully places a little square of hamburger bun on his spoon and raises it to his mouth. It plops to his lap but Ms. Nancy is ready. She grabs a napkin and reaches for his lap when she stops in midair. She turns to me and says “Honey, you better get that as I do not wish to get slapped today.”
Aunt Tiny is oblivious to the flirtation happening with her husband just one table over. It really doesn’t matter as he is oblivious too. Ms. Helen yells out “IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” Uncle Charles glares at her so she throws in a loud “BASTARD!” He is fuming now though he does not know why. He tells Ms. Helen to shut her damn mouth. The sweet little elderly ladies at the Manor have become foul mouth balls of anger. They spit out words they would have never said before.
We decorated Aunt Tiny’s room though she would not sit with us today. She did thank us for coming by but she really had to go. She grabbed Uncle Charles and began her pacing up and down the hall. She does this every day. I don’t think they knew who we were today. Sometimes I think a faded memory passes by but it is too muddled to sort through.
I do not wish to wait for God in this manner.

The Invisible Man

He walked up and down the River Market careful not to linger anywhere too long so as not to be called a vagrant or a nuisance. His hair was matted and his black jeans were caked with brown. He passed many people on his strolls but all turned away. He is not part of our world. He wanders as a ghost in a land he does not belong. We sat in a restaurant and I watched as the world avoided his presence. I had my camera and longed to take his picture. He was gone when we stepped out from our fulfilling lunch. His belly empty except for the remnants of last night’s cheap whiskey.