Leta's son Dale told her he had a surprise for her. Would she
meet him on Saturday morning at his favorite restaurant for lunch? Leta didn’t
care for surprises, disliked the restaurant, and detested that this was also a
restaurant frequented by Dale’s father Ralph, her first husband. She still felt
several resentments toward Ralph, even after being divorced for nearly thirteen
years. Both had been remarried, Leta several times, and Ralph once to a woman
who died of cirrhosis of the liver—or, as Leta liked to put it, drinking too
much. She should have felt some compassion or even a little sympathy for Ralph.
After all, he was her children’s father. But she did not. Once he tried to steal
her children away from her, and he always called her an unfit mother. These
atrocities she could not forgive.
“Can’t we meet somewhere else?’ she asked Dale on the
telephone.
“This is the best place,” he replied. “Humor me, Ma, just this
once.”
Leta was apprehensive. After taking a three-month hiatus from
responsibility by living as a hobo, Dale had been home for barely a month. She
had seen him only a couple of times since then but knew that he was still not
seeking employment, nor was he staying home very much. Now, he made this
unusual request for her to dine with him at a place where she would already be
uncomfortable to tell her something she probably didn’t want to hear. She was
his mother, and she was concerned.
“Please, Ma?” he entreated.
“Very well,” she sighed.
At the appointed time, Leta arrived at the restaurant. She
looked inside, and didn’t see her son. Nor was he waiting for her on the street
outside. She watched for him, looking up and down the sidewalk. After all, he
did not own an automobile. Without employment, he could not afford one. Then
she heard a voice that sounded familiar, coming from one of the vehicles that
had just parked across the street, and with a flutter in her heart looked
there. As he closed the door on the vehicle, an older man was whispering into
the ear of a large, giggling woman. For a few moments after that, Leta wondered
if perhaps her son did acquire an automobile. He had often talked about getting
one, and since neither his father nor grandparents with whom he still lived
drove, they could easily have financed the possibility of having him drive them
to various destinations. It would be a foolish decision, but a far more welcome
surprise to her than an announcement that he decided to leave home again for
distant parts.
When he old her about his three-month excursion, riding in
boxcars throughout the eastern states, he focused on where he went. He had seen
Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Gettysburg, Buffalo, Boston, New York, and the New
Jersey shore. He talked about the cities, historical landmarks and practices of
the people in those environs. He told her that he ate, slept well and was never
arrested for vagrancy. However, he never shared a word about the men with whom
he traveled. All she could draw out of him was that they were all men of many
different ages, some of whom had been traveling for years and others going to
specific destinations. While they all drank illegal liquor, not all of them
were drunkards. They bathed where and when they could. He never mentioned names
and would only say he had traveled with a couple of fellows for more than a day
or two.
Nothing much had happened to her son since then, so what, she
wondered, could he possibly have to tell her today?
Leta did not see her son until he was nearly upon her. While
she was looking in his direction, and actually saw him from a distance, she did
not recognize him, because of his attire. Then he was upon her, and her
countenance fell and rose simultaneously. While her face lit up, her shoulders
dropped. There was her son, standing barely twenty feet from her and coming
closer quickly, dressed as a sailor.
“Dale?” she inquired, still not quite believing her eyes.
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