From the Bench

(Ed. note: The past two weeks have been heavily involved with grandkids on spring break. Survival has superceded creativity. The following column was written early last year upon our return from an over-the-road trip to California. It appeared in The Barrow County News, but is new to Neganews.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARIE

We were in an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant in west Texas when the five of them came in.

Grandpa was a lean, wrinkled cowboy type, complete with boots and a hat to match. A large turquoise dangled below his chin, and his silver belt buckle was the size of a small frying pan. His face showed no expression except for a little tiredness in the wrinkles, and he moved as if he had been too long in the saddle. Slow. Deliberate. Tentative as he took his seat.

Grandma appeared to have pastured at too many all-you-can-eat buffets. Her dress

undulated in a shiny purple wave as she waddled to the table. The infant hanging from her side wailed in synch with the rolling hips. The baby’s face dripped moisture from

every opening. It was a sight.

Bringing up the rear was a young couple with the look of outriders angry from eating too much trail dust. At first I assumed these were the baby’s parents, although the boy seemed too young to be a daddy.

I was right. The girl referred to him as Uncle Lutie, berating him to the baby. "I’m sorry, precious. Did Uncle Lutie lose your balloon?"

When she said "balloon", the baby wailed louder.

The boy ignored them and followed the older man straight to the buffet. He returned with two platters of food and went to work.

When the girl wasn’t on him, the older woman, obviously his mother, was. "Louis, stop eating so fast. Louis, use your napkin." He ignored her, too.

There was one thing she never said to him. "Louis, take your hat off." And he never did. Perhaps this was because his father, the old cowboy, never removed HIS.

There are some things you don’t tell a man to do……at least, not in west Texas.

Once they got the baby into a high chair, Grandma started to the buffet.

"Mama, get Marie some of that green Jello. She LOVES green Jello. Maybe that’ll settle her down." I’m sure the collective thought in the restaurant was, "For goodness sakes, get the Jello. Quick."

"Ain’t you gonna eat anything?"

"Naw, Mama, not til I get her settled down." At the moment, it appeared to be a losing cause.

While Grandma was gone, the waitress came with a basket of rolls and asked if there would be anything else.

"Don’t y’all give out birthday cake and sing happy birthday?, " the Mama asked.

"Yes," the waitress answered reluctantly..

"Today is Marie’s secont birthday," Mama announced loudly, obviously for the benefit of all the diners. "She LOVES chocolate cake."

Feeling she had to explain the baby’s unhappiness, she glowered at the boy and continued. "She’s crying because she HAD a big, red, happy-birthday balloon, but her Uncle Lutie didn’t halfway tie it to her arm, and it floated away."

At the magic word, the baby began to cry louder. Pavlov’s dog revisited.

Grandma returned with an overflowing platter and a bowl of green Jello.

"Look, darlin’, GREEN Jello. Your favorite. And it’s got grapes and red cherries in it. You LOVE red cherries."

The crying subsided, and the mother coaxed Marie through the bowl of Jello. By now, both Grandma and Grandpa had been through two platters of food. We lost count on Louis.

"Ain’t you gonna eat anything?," Grandma asked again.

"Naw, Mama, it’s too late now, and, besides, I’m not hungry anymore." She seemed to enjoy her sacrificial martyrdom.

She looked around. "I wonder if they forgot about Marie’s birthday?"

As if on cue, a quartet arrived with a small chocolate cake and a lighted candle. As they clapped and sang happy birthday, it became obvious why they were waiting tables.

Mama was right. Marie LOVED chocolate cake. And it looked good on her.

The restaurant breathed a sigh of relief. But not for long. Mama promised the baby that as soon as they left, she was going to make mean old Uncle Lutie buy Marie a big balloon.

That did it. The magic word again. It was as if we had passed through the eye of a hurricane and were entering the other side. The screaming resumed. Marie began to choke, and soon she returned everything to the table…..chocolate cake, green Jello, grapes and red cherries. French impressionism at its best.

The baby jabbered as she wailed. The only word I could make out was, "B’loon."

The old cowboy had been sitting across from her. He moved surprisingly fast, like he was dodging a mad steer. He came away clean, and headed for the door.

The boy started to follow. Grandma stopped him.

"You ain’t done nothing but eat, Louis. Here. Take M’ree and go on out."

The boy reluctantly complied, but before leaving, he returned to the dessert counter and filled his pockets with cookies.

As the two women prepared to depart, the older one made a decision. "I’m gonna go get your money back. You didn’t eat a thing."

The young man who came to clean up the carnage mumbled angrily. Fortunately, I don’t understand Spanish.

The last thing I heard as we left the restaurant was, "But Bertha didn’t get any dinner." She neglected to mention that Louis ate for three.

Why we stayed til the end of the unappetizing performance, I’ll never know. Perhaps it was the same morbidity that goes with slowing down to see a car wreck.

As we drove away, the old cowboy was drawing on a cigarette. Uncle Lutie was holding baby Marie loosely, perhaps wishing that he could release her and let her float off in search of the balloon.

But don’t you worry, Marie, honey. There will be many more birthdays, hopefully much happier than your second. And you’ll soon forget this one…...which is more than I can say for the rest of us.