Saturday, April 03, 2010
I kissed a girl
I kissed a girl. She's really more of a woman. Well, she's really more of an old woman. The fact that I'm male and have kissed a few in my day (if I'm forced to blushingly admit) isn't particularly revelatory. I doubt this report will go platinum, but here it is:
Old Widow McGrue was sitting on her front porch on Aukland Street looking rather glum as I was meandering my way to the Savin Hill T station. Service has been reliable recently, running on time, so I wasn't rushing in a worry that I would miss a train. I asked the Widow McGrue what ailed her.
"Today is my wedding anniversary," she said. "Old Man McGrue and I would have been married 53 years today if he hadn't passed away in 1997." I happen to know from previous conversations that the old man passed away on the job a few weeks away from retirement as a stevedore at the docks in Southie. He was crushed to death under a pallet of bananas. What a way to go.
"You know what the worst part is?" she asked. "The worst part is that I haven't been kissed since my dear old man left me for a better world."
I walked up the front porch steps and planted a peck on the Widow's forehead. "It's time to start counting again," I said.
I made my way to the T station. The Alewife train was pulling in just as I got downstairs to the platform.