The Proposal

When I was a younger man on occasion, I would visit an

elderly home-bound neighbor a few doors down from where

I lived at the time.

Roy was 95-years old then and had few words left to say.

He never complained about the pain of his aged condition,

reckoning he told me, “What in hell good would that do?

Be that as it may, I could tell he was glad to see me, said it

helped to pass the time. And at his age time was a dwindling

and precious commodity.

In middle age Roy’s first wife died. After a brief period in

mourning, Roy decided he had had enough wallowing in

self-pity over his loss.

Realizing how fleeting and unpredictable time could be, he

asked his secretary at work, whom he had known for years,

to marry him.

Flattered, Margaret, his longtime employee and confidant told

Roy that she needed some time to consider his proposal. Looking

around the room as if he had finished the story, Roy went silent.

Curious for an answer, I took the bait, begging to question,

“How long did you have to wait for her answer?” Roy looked me

straight in the eye and nonchalantly replied, “Not very long.”

Sitting beside Roy in the living room, both contented together

in their old age, and without a single word to add, Margaret

looked at me and smiled.

Chris Hanch 7-20-17