Readers Who Write

It again drew near to the Christmas season, and the bar on the corner was dressed for the occasion with plastic greenery and flashing red lights. Inside the place stood a heavy-set man, bald and with a rather red face.

At once, he spoke up and said without facing anyone in particular, “You know what I like about this season? I can sleep in and enjoy the good food that’s available in many of the stores.”

He then turned to the man standing next to him, old man Sanders. “Usually, I’m an early riser but not on these special days. I make an exception and feast on all that good food, although it doesn’t mean much to me anymore,” he continued. “You see, I am a widower, I lost my wife.”

“Recently?” asked Sanders.

“No,” came the reply. “A few months ago,” said the heavy-set man in a somber tone. She had really died almost two years ago, but he always said that it had been only a few months. It made his loss more acceptable to him. Sadness was now his most important virtue. He then turned silent like an actor who had lost his lines.

With a voice filled with tears, Sanders commented that being alone at this time of year made it all so double-sad. The man with the red face looked at the other sideways with a degrading look and said, “That’s for sure.” He paid for his drink and slowly walked out of the bar.

In came a man wearing a fancy hat and a face that had seen better days. The server behind the counter asked him what he would like for a drink. “Make it a stiff one,” was the answer. “It will help me to get through the day.”

He turned to Sanders and mentioned — without having been asked — that sometime ago he had lost his wife and had a difficult time dealing with it.

“I came home one evening late from work. I was tired, you know, and was ready to relax and rest. My wife was sick, at least I thought so, but instead she had disappeared and had taken everything with her. Not a stick of furniture was left. I stopped dead in my tracks when I noted that she had taken it all.

“How could she, I wondered, while she was sick and depressed. I could not do anything about it because she had put everything in her name with my approval when we married. She at that time was a beautiful woman but pretty tricky come to think of it. When I stood there looking at the empty place, I said to myself, ‘John, you have faced something like this before, you can do it again. Start from scratch’ … and I did.

“I now have a wife who is not like the one before, and we get along just fine. Now when I come home late from work, she has dinner ready for me and is always concerned about my health. That’s worth a lot, don’t you think?”

He took a sip from his drink and lit a cigarette, while Sanders stood there in his long brown overcoat not knowing what to say or how to act.

Then a florist came into the place announcing that he had some nice Christmas baskets for sale at a reduced price.

“For whom?” Sanders asked. “I am all by myself. I lost my wife after 37 years of marriage.”

“Thirty-seven years,” exclaimed the florist impressed. “But, Christmas baskets will bring you a festive feeling even when you are all alone. And, like I said, these baskets are not expensive.”

A short time later, Sanders left the bar — a basket in his right hand. And he carried it in deep contemplation to his empty, cold and lonely home.

Send us your copy So you say you want to write? Go for it. Send us 500 or so words of scintillating copy. Make it funny. Make it poignant. Make it count. Make it any way you want. Just don’t cuss. Don’t be boring. And have a point. If we like it, we’ll run it. Email submissions to community@rv-times.com. Put “Readers Who Write” in the subject line, and tell us the city where you live.

So you say you want to write?

Go for it.

Send us 500 or so words of scintillating copy. Make it funny. Make it poignant. Make it count. Make it any way you want.

Just don’t cuss. Don’t be boring. And have a point.

If we like it, we’ll run it.

Email submissions to community@rv-times.com. Put “Readers Who Write” in the subject line, and tell us the city where you live.