Not too backward

SHADY SADYE

 

Now and then I am lucky enough to see Miss Sadye as she walks towards Lincoln Park. I am entranced by her erect posture, the way her ass shifts gracefully with every step she takes. Although I would surely enjoy following her, see where she goes, what she does, who, if anyone, she meets, I continue doing the things I have to do on any given day. The park entrance is two blocks before my bus stop. My job depends on my being on time, checking to be sure no employees are missing, that time clocks are punched and the cards are in order, that the cooks are in place preparing simple to exotic lunches for the usual crowd of about sixty. It's not Einstein work but is usually pleasant, and the freezer at home is always filled.

 

My sex life isn't fantastic but I don't quake and shiver when I get in my single bed. A science fiction book, something fairly good on t.v. and I close my eyes before I can dwell on superficial, fixable answers to my long- gone- mother, who really isn't gone. She was a doer, a goer, old fashioned in many ways, but more hep than I have been during my slow time. The evening she brought me a small gift wrapped box that turned out to be Sure Shot condoms, I nearly passed out. Oh, how she laughed, told me she knew where I could get them cheaper by the dozen, and added- 'I'll give you an early Christmas present if you use these soon.' Well, I was in no hurry and took longer than most men would, but I used them well before they dried out. If I didn't, my mother would be at me, laugh as she lectured that time was not going to stand still for me. 'Get with it, Son. Just don't fool with shady ladies and you'll be okay. Don't get the clap!'

 

Sadness enveloped me. My dear, close, loving Mom was taken from me by a sudden stroke six months ago. I miss her jokes, her caring, her butterscotch pies. Our house feels as empty as my heart. She has to be somewhere, laughing at me, for me. I hear her when I am trying to fall asleep, when I am at work, supervising others. I do my best to be the man she pushed me to be, except with women. My small appetite for them has shrunk further than it should.

 

Mom's bedroom still holds the smell of her Diamonds perfume. Although I have tried, I still I have not done a thorough cleaning of her personal items. Monday coming will be Labor Day and I will labor, do what Mom would want me to do. Her boxed felt hats, not worn for years, took up an entire closet shelf. I piled them on top of each other, to the basement for the  Good Will. The shelf was empty–almost. In the corner, near the door, I found a small round, metal, red box. It was tough to get open but I had to be sure what was in there–as if I didn't guess. I laughed. There were two more condoms, still in their packages. A simple note read, 'Use these soon but beware of shady ladies.'

 

Work called. The bright sunny morning told it to shut up. A desire to be on the the Champs Elysees in Paris came from nowhere. I grabbed onto a newly planted cherry tree near the curb and did an imitation of Gene Kelley dancin' in the rain. Without the rain, my foot caught on a pebble and I fell a few feet behind Miss Sadye. I felt her hands reach under my arm pits to help me up. Instead I grunted and pulled her down.  Her concern for my bones was minimal, her smile magnificent. If butterflies could sing, their sound would be like her voice.

 

Uncontrollably I began to laugh. Here I was, more or less, in Miss Sadye's arms and I didn't give a damn if Sadye was Shady. We walked into the park, sat on a bench now and then, talked away hours. My boss blew his top when I celled him that I was home sick. I didn't give a damn about that either.

 

Sadye and I went to a cozy little French restaurant for lunch. I saw the drug store across the street before she did and made a dash for it.