Incident On A Thursday Afternoon

 

Incident On A Thursday Afternoon 

                      

                                                                                 

So this little punk walks in

To the Ivory Gardens Tea Room

Where myself and fifteen of my closest friends 

And monied members

Meet for tea and french pastries

Every Thursday afternoon since

The love of my life and youth had left me

Some nine years earlier

Due to death and not, I'm sure

Because he wanted to.

"Listen up, Grandmas!" he bellowed

And waved a wicked looking dagger

In the faces of my stunned and interrupted friends

"I want all your cash, your credit cards

Your life savings and family heirloom jewelry

And I want 'em put in this Royal Crown purple liquor bag

And I want 'em right now, right this minute 

Or there's gonna be hell to pay!"

Everything went dead silent and into slow motion

And my long and interesting life flashed before my eyes

In an odd fifteen seconds or so

As I thought about it later on, I'm pretty sure 

That everyone else's did, too

Even those with extremely boring lives.

One could surmise by observation that the man

(If he could be called that) was a junkie in need 

Of whatever they needed these days and did not care

About subsequent heart attacks or epileptic fits

Or fainting spells that used to be called "the vapors"

In the deep, deep South where I was born and raised

He wanted money and he thought us easy prey

The elderly rich with nothing else to do but sit around in our finery.

"Now, see here, young man," I started and stood to my feet

While my mortified group of widowed women friends gasped

And hid their thin and undefined mouths behind stained napkins

"How dare you come in here and accost the cream of society?

Fine upstanding people who have never spoken to you or done you harm?

Have you no shame? Where is the mother who raised you?

And the father who taught you manners in your youth?

Do not you know your Father in Heaven is watching you

And disapproving and ashamed of your behavior?"

"My father ain't in Heaven!" he sneered

"And if he was, it's only because he came in through

The basement window and knocked the angels unconscious!"

Momentarily at a loss, I stood there and cast about for ideas

The thirty or so attending patrons were already digging into designer bags

And brief cases looking for money and tugging on old and wrinkled fingers

To remove rings and unscrewing costly, time worn estate sale earrings

(Yes, they used to screw on!) from ears that could barely hear the demands.

Jewelry was flung at the scoundrel and chaos ensued as Elmina fainted

And fell at his feet in a graceful heap of lavender and lace and old money

I was used to Elmina fainting and was not so alarmed at that

As at the dagger now pointing at my ample chest and the rage

Of the twenty something thug directed at my person.

"Give me the cash, Blue Hair!" he snarled and lunged forward

As I stepped back and the females in the Tea Room oohed in unison

"No, I shall not! "I said defiantly and straightened my back as best I could

And met his reddened eyes

He looked shocked. Then frightened. Then amused.

"Got a death wish, do ya, Old Folks? I can help fulfill that for ya!

You rich old biddies with your holier-than-thou attitudes!

Who do you think you are? Give me that money, you senior citizen

I don't got all day! Give me that purse! Where are your diamonds?

Hell, write me a check for all I care! Give me the credit cards! Hurry up!"

As Chairman of the Ladies Club and President and Founder 

Of the Society to Protect and Preserve the Old Ways 

I felt the need to show myself strong in the eyes of this effrontery

Now before me and to stand as a beacon in the face of the dissolution

Of those old and cherished ways.

I was after all, held in high esteem by my friends and community

And I had never backed down (just ask my late husband)

From a confrontation or disagreement (especially about money)

Or the terrible handling of it and the wasting of it on gambling or such

And I would not do so now in the presence of my peers.

Lost in reflection, I had no time to grab my handbag from the chair

Before our ragged and red haired robber snatched it away and howled with glee

"Let's see." he said, pointing the dagger with one hand

And opening the purse with the other.

And all my little everyday treasures went spilling out

Onto the table among the broken teacups and cake crumbs

Pawing through my things with dirty fingers, he scowled

Thumbed through my membership cards and photo albums

And threw them over his shoulder.

"Alright, High Society, where's the money?" he screamed

And my empty wallet went flying as everyone stared in amazement

"Where are the cards? The checks? Your bank deposit slips?

C'mon, GrandMaMa, I don't have all day! I got people to see

Places to be! Aha!"

 And his face lit up with a demented kind of joy 

As he pulled the pale yellow piece of paper out of it's hidden compartment.

"What's this? A receipt? Hmm. Let's have a look. Oh, looky here, looky here!"

And my face fell and I began to tremble because he had uncovered my shame

And the proof that I was not all that I pretended to be

"Alberto's Pawn Shop," he read aloud, "Paid to Mrs. La-Di-Da-So-and So....

$250.00 for one eighteen carat wedding band and one matching engagement ring

With three big old diamonds! Mmm. Mmm. Mmm."

And the chaos in the Tea Room hushed and I heard the intake of breath

In fifteen elderly bosoms and felt the eyes of all those who had known me

For half my life turn and question me in puzzled judgmental silence

What did they know!

 I had played my part well of a wealthy and respected

Society matron, the wife of a beloved and respected physician

Who had secretly lost all his money at the casinos and had the gall

To pass away without telling me what to do

I had sacrificed, gone without, lived meagerly and in secret shame

Haunted the poorer side of town, even, dare I say it? Looking for....cans

To finance my Thursdays at the Ivory Gardens.

And now this humiliation, this sting, this exposure at the hands of a hoodlum

"Pawn Shop patron!" the delighted criminal sang. "You're poorer than me!

You ain't got nuthin but your d-i-g-n-i-t-y!! Ain't that something?

Sold your wedding rings, did ya? How you gonna get 'em back?

Won't me to loan you some money? Here, I got plenty!"

And he thrust a fistful of stolen cash into my reddened face

Threw back his head and laughed

"Here, here's a tip for the limo driver, I'll tell one of 'em to wait for you

When I leave here. He can drive you to the shelter!"

(And it was true, there were several limos parked outside

(None of which were mine.)

"Let me have that mink coat. What's a bag lady like you

Doing with a fur coat? You old hoity toity hypocrite!"

And he reached forward and speared my cherished mink coat

With the dagger, cut a big hole in it and threw it on the floor

"What now, Old Woman?" he sneered. "Ain't so brave now, are ya?"

Well, that was it. That was all. The final straw. The breaking point

The end of the matter. The I- didn't- care- anymore

I cleared my throat, wiped my moist eyes and reached down

Into the bodice of the last new dress I had bought

Some ten years before, pulled out the pearl handled 22 caliber

And shot him dead.

Then, before the stunned and silent congregation of former 

And never again friends and ex members of the now defunct

And disbanded Society For The Preservation of the Old Ways,

I picked up my tattered and soiled mink memento of days gone by,

Marched out through the door of the Ivory Gardens Tea Room,

Past the waiting limousines with their bored, uniformed drivers

Thumbing through PlayBoys with one eye on the mirror.

I nodded good day to the door man of the hotel next door,

Stepped off the curb and crossed the street toward home

As usual, on foot, but this time not looking furtively behind me

To see if anybody noticed.

Stopping to admire my wedding rings in the window of the pawn shop

I sighed a bit and then on impulse went inside

And bought them back with the money that had been flung at me earlier

Money I had gathered unto myself, almost without being aware of it.

Happily I slipped them on my naked fingers and kissed them hello

Tore up the pale yellow receipt and threw the bits to wind

A kind of revenge, if you will

Then I hurried down the street on aged but wiser feet

The events of the day already dimming in my memory.

No longer caring about my lost reputation but for what I had regained,

I walked on toward my lonely but well kept three story brownstone

Humming a quiet southern melody in a noisy northern city

And with my head held high.

 

                          

©by Voo

March 9, 07 

1 a.m.