An Unlearned Lesson

CHUCK
I knew it was coming and tried to be prepared for widowhood. Yet when the heavy crying slowly dried up, I was empty, lonely and needed help. I know there is somebody out there for me, but where is he hiding? Being a widow isn't fun. I don't like it and have decided to change my status while keeping my standards and morals high. Is the man who will make my life happier the writer of personal ads? Does he belong to a dating service, a country club? Does he go on cruises alone looking for me? Does he live in an area similar to mine? Does he play golf, enjoy cards. theater, music, movies, traveling, conversation--warm and meaningful? If so, I'll find him somehow, someplace but before I do, start out on the road with me as I take my first step into a world strange, foreign and scary.

Fearfully, tearfully, I had placed my first ad. How I agonized over the few short, expensive words I wanted to convey. As I saw the ad in print I wondered if any man in his right mind would reply to a senior widow's cry for help. Why would he? Column after column of 'gorgeous gal, lovely young miss, absolutely super lady, I've got what you want' ads made mine ridiculously ashen.

Three days later one call on the 900 line came in so I set aside my scant replies, except for Chuck's which had some very vague possibility. Just a little phone call, a little hope, and there he sat, hound dogged looking like my Uncle Harry. Although I had written that I lived a country club life style, was a JWW Sr., non-smoker and lived in Hampton, my resurrected uncle was none of those.

I looked closely at the stranger having lunch with me and thought 'What am I doing here?' Myself silently answered, 'You're waiting for the Bluebird of Happiness to land on your shoulder. It's time now to spread a little bird seed.'

His face brought my dear Uncle back to me.. He could have been any one of my father's six male siblings, each bearing an extremely strong resemblance to one another. Their eyes, being blue or gray, were the one outstanding difference. Jowls beginning to sag, hair a striking beautiful shade of almost blue white, broad noses, supposed laugh lines on faces which I seldom saw smile, came back to me from their graves.

Smoke curled from Chuck's nostrils, yellow stains covered his fingers. He was wearing khaki pants with a wide belt and plaid suspenders. Our religious faiths were different. He had no interest in golf (or- as it turned out--ME). What Chuck liked was picking his own fruit, walking the beach, fishing, none of which he mentioned as we spoke on the phone.

Had I not been outgoing, inquisitive, silence would have reigned. It was like the proverbial tooth pulling to yank some words from his coffee filled mouth. He coughed into his paper napkin and laid it on the table. Ugh! We were on totally different wave lengths. As I tried to eat my dry tuna sandwich without choking, I did learn something. Chuck wanted more than I would be willing to give him that afternoon or ever in my life time. He knew a nice, clean cozy motel down the road. 'Maybe some other time, Chuck. Let's go. I have a doctor's appointment.' The lie didn't even burn my tongue.

I needed something sweet with my coffee just to try to get the smell of him away but skipped it. The waitress brought the check and darn if he didn't ask me to split the $10 tab in half. With no hesitation I gave him five dollars. 'What about the tip, Honey,' he asked. 'Chuck, I paid for the ad and wasted my money. You pay the tip. You at least got service.' That was mean. that was wrong and I didn't care.

Outside I watched him go to is his little pick-up truck with the right fender badly dented. I got into my nice, comfy, undented Camry, locked the door and headed home. That elusive Bluebeard of Happiness had messed on my head.

Chuck and I didn't even say GOODBYE.