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.
