From the Window looking out onto Benavides Street
(Drawing, drawn on a napkin, at McDonalds)
They came
to visit their Uncle, perhaps a tinge skeptical at first, but more
optimistically, for a decade had since past.
His wife, Rosa awaited their arrival at
the airport. For the last two decades he had been clamoring into his writings.
Once they arrived at the house, the
uncle greeted them, it was obvious he and both Sharla and Sheryl (the nieces,
or the girls) entertained real affection for one another, —unmistakable,
he had missed them, he called them ‘The girls’
not out of disrespect, but it was the way he had always
thought of them, since they were tots. He felt fate brought them together, such
things will, and then to Lima, Peru.
To those back in Minnesota, his home state,
their uncle being gone for decades at a time, he was the hermit of the family,
per se. But as always, it had been for him, in general, the world, that had
forced him as to venture into its remote corners. As he had come to understand,
had he not ventured out at an early age, it would have sat with him a little
too late to start now, he had been to fifty-six countries, and still counting,
or hoping to.
Hence, he was overwhelmed by his
wonderful resignation to fate, a rarity, to have been able to do all he had
done. And the girls, of all they had to put
up with in their short lifetime (laughters and sorrows), but to their uncle, these two nieces were
like curious little brief flowers, like the China Roses he had in the garden,
that blossom for a day or two, and then are gone, but like his nieces and his
roses, they bring a luck-warm breeze with them.
And there they sat
at McDonald’s, second floor overlooking Benavides Street,
knowing they had much to talk about, and so little time to do it, as Rosa
brought up ice-cream filled in cups.
Oh well, there
are a hundred things one could write about for that nine-day vacation, the
girls stayed: Sharla wanting her own movie night, and so her uncle and her
exchanged days, and Sheryl annoyed with the roster in the morning waking her up,
little things, that make life all worthwhile, and good memoirs.
They all remained amiable and both the
girls had their “Starbucks” special as often they’d find one here and
there; as did their uncle who bought his strong ‘Sumatra,’ coffee in ampules, for his wife to make at
home.
And many a night they sat around the living
room table, enveloped in a harmonious haze of words chattering away like chipmunks. And the uncle, the old duffer bore witness to
everything being said, with tired old eyes for it was great to simply whittle
away the time, listening to which he had long since given up hope of seeing family.
#1208/11-6-2016
