The Happy Teen in Middle-Aged George Crawley
George Crawley was happier than he had
ever been in his life as he walked arm-in-arm with Christine Palmetto along a
side street in New York City. He knew others would think it a bit strange for
him to be taking her out to dinner on a Saturday night—he being 60 and she
being only 19—but he didn’t care. He had fallen in love with Christine, and he
wanted to enjoy every second that he had with her.
He opened the door of the Magnolia Restaurant
and signaled her to go in first. They
were promptly seated, and after studying their menus and giving the waiter
their orders, he told Christine how much she looked like Sally Struthers.
She pointed out, “You already told me
that. She was the daughter in a TV show about a crazy family. And you remind me
of the grandfather I never had.”
George smiled politely.
“By the way,” she said, “I want to do four
more portraits of you for my final project, not just
two more, but instead of using just oils, I’m going to
use watercolor, charcoal and pastels. I’ll then select the best ones to show my
art professor, so he’ll know that I can handle a variety of mediums.”
“Has he said anything about the portraits
you’ve already painted of me?”
“He hasn’t looked at them yet.” Then she
asked, “You really found my ad for doing portraits of elderly people on your
computer? Because it was a difficult website to navigate through.”
“Well,” he admitted, “my niece was with me
at the time. You know I never asked you, when are you graduating?”
“In two years.”
“And then you’re going to
open your own studio?”
“With a classmate. So, George, what do you
do again in your supermarket?”
“I’m an assistant manager.”
“And you never married?”
“It’s a long story. Abusive parents,
everyone said I was ugly. I mean, my nose and teeth are crooked, my head is
tilted.”
Christine said sympathetically, “You don’t
look so bad,” but George brushed that off. “I think I asked every girl out in
high school who didn’t have a boyfriend, they all said no, so after a while, I
never asked any more girls out. I mean, why bother? Anyway, how about you? Do
you have a boyfriend?”
She sneered, “They’re all so immature in
this college.” Then she became excited. “You know that new movie about those
two-headed aliens?”
He shook his head.
She said hopefully, “Would you like to see
it with me?”
His face brightened. “Oh I’d
love to!”
Suddenly she looked angry and
complained, “I hate my English professor. He’s too
strict. We have to give him notes for everything—for absences, for being late,
and I don’t like that. I mean, what if I want to skip a class? Like what’s the
big deal? And my history
professor, who I like, might get fired because some students are talking about
going to the department chair because he sometimes gives us the wrong
lessons. Let me ask you, could the college fire him for that?”
But George merely shrugged. “I don’t
know.” And although he continued listening politely to every comment she made
about her professors, he would have preferred talking about his future Medicare
and Social Security benefits instead.
When
their dinner was served, they ate quietly, but when dessert was served, he held
a brownie up to her face. She leaned forward, and as he put it into her mouth, he
heard in his mind
the wedding song, “. . . Now the groom feeds the bride,
the groom feeds the bride . . .”
Thinking of the wedding he
never had depressed him, but he didn’t say anything.
After their dinner he drove her back to the
entrance of her dormitory, where a group of students were standing and talking.
“I’ll get out here,” she said, opening the door. “I know most of them. Sometimes
we go for a late-night drink. George, I’ll call you next week.”
He nodded, and as she joined them, he
drove off.
All he could think about on his way home were
the future portrait sessions he would be having with her, and, hopefully, of
seeing that movie with her as well—which meant actually sitting next to her in
the theater!
Plus maybe even having dinner with her
again.
Never in his life had he been so happy!
Frank
Kowal
Frank Kowal received his
bachelor's and master's degrees in education and English from the Brooklyn Center
of Long Island University. Now, after 46 years of teaching in NYC's public
schools and colleges, he has started what he hopes is a new career in writing.
He has had a short story published in Academy of the Heart and
Mind, and essays published in Adelaide and Literary
Yard.