A Nice Young Man

I guessed right off by the fanciful demeanor
and baroque, manicured appearance.

Barbara Streisand records on display in the parlor
were a decisive give-away.

He said he taught special-needs children.  

His mother left him the estate in her will

and he turned it into a Bed & Breakfast.

I know men like him who fled to the city
in their youth, delivering themselves
from the stranglehold of rural intolerance,

yet here he was──fledgling entrepreneur,

charitable volunteer, director 

of the Presbyterian church choir,

as rooted in the red soil as the Cottonwood tree
that shaded my bedroom window.

I wanted to ask why a handsome gentleman
living alone in the dust bowl of America
had not turned his heels in search of companionship,
but thought better of it when he presented 

a photograph of daughter and grandchild.

"The blessed outcome", he declared,
"of an awkward, high-school affair ...
Don’t the Lord fashion fortune from our folly?"
he added before retiring for the evening.

I lingered with that on the stairwell, pondering 

the difference between luck and fate,

then straightened his picture wall

and signed the guestbook inscribed

with a verse from Psalms 139:14:

"I praise you because I am fearfully

and wonderfully made; marvelous are

your works, my soul knows it well." 

In the morning, he set a table
of fresh berries and scones, poached eggs, coffee,
crème brûlée in homemade raspberry sauce.

Our dear Grandmother, for whom we traveled
many miles to celebrate a birthday,
remarked that our host reminded her
of the nice young man who designed
her home interior remodel.

"You're thinking of Cousin Jerry,"
her sister replied.  "Such a charming boy he was.

Shame he never married."

**First published in Hole In The Head Review