My Life My Prayer
“Hi,” said the little boy as he pushed the left hand side of the double door’s glass entrance to the city’s main library open.
“Hello son,” said the blond-haired man as he swept past the boy and out the door.
The boy stopped and looked up. The door swung open past him and caused a bit of a stir in the youngster’s hair. His eyes were as open as the sky and as innocent as a dove’s. They were too surprised to blink and too polite to squint. He responded without a response. He turned back to look at the door. It swung back the other way as a large and very busy dark-haired woman (with even larger and darker glasses) scurried passed him. She appeared as if she were not only in a grave hurry to get somewhere yesterday by noon, but agitated about it as well. She did not seem particularly friendly, and the little boy was hardly disappointed that he had missed an opportunity to say, “hi.”
He was struck for what to do now, so he simply turned back around to survey the foreground. Sure enough, that long man he noticed on his way through the door was still hovering over him in a most assuredly scruffy manner.
The boy looked down to the ground. As a ball touches the ground only to spring back to life, so the little boy bounced back as if he had entered an entirely new setting. He looked back up at the very long man with the scruffy white hair and disheveled features.
“Hi.”
“Huh,” the man snorted. “You came in the wrong side. Keep to your right,” he said. “Keep to your right.” Without further adieu, he turned and disappeared somewhere between aisles A-C or J-L. The little boy wasn’t sure which.
As the little boy stood still, still unsure, and still in front of the double doors made out of glass, a family walked passed. Mom, brown eyes, blond hair, and red shoes. Two girls, presumably twins, in dumb but matching outfits. Dad, reading War and Peak no Peace, ooh almost missed that, glasses, hair pushed back and to the right – up and over the top. Bald spot, brown glasses, tan shirt.
“Hi,” said the little boy.
“Hi,” said the mom.
Nice teeth, good smile.
“Hi,” said one of the twins.
“Hi,” said the other. They both giggled. That must be the older one.
“Hi,” he said again. He paused a moment for the final response. Nothing. “Hi,” he said a bit little louder.
Dad looked up and back. “Hum. Ah, hi,” and he plunged his striking oblong nose back into his book.
The little boy smiled and turned back to the bookshelves. He headed straight to the J-L when he heard a book drop and that familiar grunt, “Huh.”
He was once again standing at the feet of the very long stranger. “Hi.” “Huh.” The man put the book back onto the shelf.
“Hi.”
This time the man’s attention was caught.
“Hum.” He looked down. He was gruff, but the kindness in his eyes spoke volumes. “Hello,” said the man.
The boy turned and walked away. Good, he thought to himself and said “hi” to two more people on his way back out the in door.
Well time went by in fact a week and a day. It was now a week from Friday, and the time was 3:17 in the afternoon. The day was quite hot. There was a mild breeze, which stirred as the out door was pushed in and in walked a confident little boy.
“Hi.”
“Huh.”
He was immediately confronted by the knees of the long skinny man.
“You came in the wrong side. Keep to your right,” he said. “Keep to your right.” The long man turned and shuffled back behind the counter. He had work to do.
Speaks very little, uttered the little boy to himself. “And of peculiarities of precious little worth. Silly…” He continued in thought as his eyes began to scan the room. Two families present. One reading, what is that, ah Peter Rabbit and sitting on the brown and beige carpet. The other apparently still searching for just the perfect book around which to gather and fall inside together.
Little girl. White dress. Black hair carefree and uncombed – a mark of impatience. That boy there must be her brother. Looks rigid, a bit older. My age. He’s leaning to his right. Ah, he’s holding something, a book – Picture pop-up. Strange for someone his age.
The little boy glanced back to the other family. They were happily engrossed in Peter Rabbit’s adventure. The little boy decided to walk over there.
Hum, white specks in the carpet. I’ll sit here on the green couch. Black pillow. Too many springs. Uh-oh, cat hair. I’ll go “ah choo,” over there.
Whoa, what was that shriek? Aha, the little girl. Time out for her. Smart mom. See, little kids can be disciplined. Now, what’s that picture book? Ah, Stuart Little, nice choice. I’ll join them.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” the lady responded from underneath her red hair. Golden smile, brown eyes. Woops, hair’s dyed. That’s okay. Very long, nice, pretty.
“Would you like to read with us,” she asked?
Before the little boy felt comfortable enough to respond he needed to establish a round of “Hi’s.” He turned to the boy his age.
“Hi.”
The little boy noticed right away that the boy his age was tremendously shy. “Huh, dorky clothes but clean.”
“Hi,” the tremendously shy boy said.
“Very kind,” the little boy thought to himself. “I like him.”
He then turned to face the girl.
“Hi.”
“I’m Heather. I’m this many.” She held up three or four fingers. It wasn’t possible to tell. The mom turned to her as if to say, “Don’t start playing missy, you’re still in a ‘time out.’ Heather did not miss the warning. She began to explain her predicament. She was silenced with a look from Mom.
The little boy turned to the mom.
“She’s in a ‘time out’ just until we begin to read.” She smiled and patted her daughter on the head. The little girl smiled, and the mom asked the little boy if he would care to join them.
“Hi,” he said.
“Well, aren’t you a polite young man,” the mother said. “Hello.”
The little boy was quite pleased with that and sat without further adieu. Within a surprisingly short moment, Mr. White, Stuart Little’s author, had stolen away all their cares on that hot and muggy Friday afternoon.
“6:00 o’clock,” informed the scruffy white-haired, very long man as he left his position from behind the counter.
“Boy,” the little boy thought to himself, “that was fast!” The little boy looked up only to notice the long man nearly standing on top of them.
“Library’s closing folks,” he said.
“Huh,” the little boy thought to himself. “Why does he seem so scruffy to me? He certainly is kind when I look close.”
The family started gathering up their things, and the little boy looked up to observe the long man. Hair disheveled. Hands in his pockets. Huh, big pockets. Black pants. Pale coat. White socks. He certainly is long up close. Wow! Big feet. The little boy froze. Did he say that out loud? He looked up. He would certainly hate to be impolite. No, no change in the long stranger’s gaze. Must have just thought I said it. He stood up along with the lady and her two children.
“Well,” said the lady, “thank you for letting us go on so.” “Go on” was said for this particular library makes a habit of closing promptly at 5:00 o’clock each evening. Why this evening was an exception was unclear; but it had been, and they were pleased. The long man had been as lenient as the book had been wonderful.
The little boy stood to bid a fond farewell to all present. He was very particular as he faced each individual. He showed them each, even the long man, a most pleasant face. He did not actually say good-bye. He did not like the word. He nodded distinctly. Everyone smiled to him and, without further communication, he headed out the in door and was gone.
A good deal of time passed since that most pleasant of afternoons had come and gone late last summer when the little boy heard Stuart Little read for the very first time. Or was it more like two summers since then? It was difficult for the little boy to remember for he was now no longer a little boy. The years of his childhood had come and gone. They had blended fairly evenly into the years called teenage and, nearly before he knew it, his 20’s were fast approaching his 30’s. With all this time zipping and zooming by, imagine his shock when he discovered he not only had a little boy of his own but a little girl and a wife whom he cherished as well. It was surprising, not in the “peak-a-boo” variety surprising, but surprising in the sense of “my goodness how quickly time flies.”
Certainly it was only a wee bit of time since his youngest boy had graduated college and married lovely Julie. It seems like only yesterday. She wore a blue dress. Large polka dots. Black pattern shoes. Bobby socks. Cute haircut. Shoulder length. White ribbon. My boy grew to be quite a fine young man. That does a father’s heart good. I enjoyed the ceremony, but I don’t remember what the preacher talked about. Something like, “Give ear to my words,” I don’t remember; it made precious little sense. I do remember the day though. It was warm and pleasant. Nice breeze, and the sun was bright. Huh, simply shocking to realize that this “yesterday” was 25 years ago. And time kept rolling forward.
Now he was 65, and the little boy was starting to get a twinge sad doing what he had always done, living life, growing older, and believing only what he could comprehend. Was there not something more to it than what could fit neatly into the box of his own cleverness? Getting older can certainly pose a dilemma or two. There seems to come a point in life when one gets too clever to continue thinking you know it all. This can be especially true as the ones you love venture off to destinations unknown.
As the little boy began to daydream in this direction, he wandered. As he wandered he ventured back into that same city library he had once spent a good deal of time visiting. He held a hope somewhere inside himself that maybe today he would be able to carry on a conversation with that long stranger. The little boy had never been successful at carrying on a dialogue with the stranger, despite what he had always considered to be great efforts on his part. So, eventually he quit trying. For some reason the long stranger, though not unpleasant, had never spoken with him. That is, apart from telling him something about coming in the wrong way and whatever else. It always seems so fairly trivial, and it grated on the little boy’s nerves in a less than pleasant way. So, eventually the little boy went where conversation was more intelligent and less tilted to one side, as he so plainly saw it.
Well, all this thinking brought him near the library. He came around the corner and headed up a hill. Library to the right. Three little trees. Brown bench. Just as he remembered. Hum, he began to ponder, I wonder whether the long man will even be around any longer. The thought was pushed out as the out door was pushed in. In the out door he went, and there stood the long stranger with his scruffy white hair. Funny, the long stranger wasn’t nearly as long, tall, as he had remembered.
“You came in the wrong side…keep to your right,” he said. “Keep to your right.” With that the stranger pivoted and went down the H-I aisles.
Interesting thought the little boy. His eyes are as kind as I remember but still so precious little to say.
Had this afternoon been like any other afternoon, the little boy, now grown older, would have left and that would have been that. But this afternoon was different. It had not gone as previously planned. His wife, happy homemaker, impeccable mother had passed away.
He was too sad, and he had no answers. He wanted to know what he didn’t know. He was tired. He had always gotten along with everyone except this one strange man who seemed somehow more than what he appeared to be. This is why he had ventured to pay a visit to this stranger he had known of for so long. He must set things right.
He went down the F-G aisle and back up the H-I aisle. He saw no one. The sadder, older boy grew sadder and older with each step. He was hoping to meet the stranger before he headed back up the other way or down another aisle. He could hardly bare another disappointment. But as it was, he had too. The long stranger seemed even more evasive than before, at least from the boy’s particular point of view. The little boy had to go all the way back up the H-I aisle and then down the J-L aisle, and he couldn’t seem to find him. He began to seek for him as if his life depended on it, and so it seemed that it did. He sought for him with all his heart. It wasn’t until the M-N aisle near the end of the N’s that the little boy finally found him. He caught his breath, and his eyes welled with tears.
“Excuse me, Sir,” the little boy began.
The stranger turned around neither abruptly nor particularly slowly but rather with an absolute assurance that he was the one being called on by the little boy. The stranger’s face remained motionless though not without emotion, and the two were silent for a good deal of time.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I have been coming here off and on since my youth. I do remember seeing you every time I came by. I have, and mean no cruelty or blame as I say this, but rather I simply say it, I have saluted you each and every time I came, save today, and you, though never unkind, were never particularly friendly either. Why, good sir, is that so?”
A long silence followed. Though volumes be spoken between two individuals, unless they are both speaking the same language, the content matters precious little, be it more beneficial than all knowledge and all wisdom throughout all the ages. Quite a lot of time seemed to pass. And still more time. After another bit of time, the stranger appeared to be considering his words carefully before speaking. It was a moment of great tenderness.
It was a moment of caution as well. The stranger seemed to sense that this very moment was a moment of tremendous heartache for the little boy who was once young but now was no longer. More time passed. More consideration. More time. More compassion developed. More time. More gentleness and more consideration. More time and once again more time. The moments seemed to grow as the little boy had once grown almost without his awareness.
Finally more time and then at long last, words.
“I noticed you came in the wrong side. Keep to your right,” the stranger said. “Keep to your right.”
The little boy’s heart broke in two. And his tears would not stop.
“I promise, good sir, if you will forgive me for not listening to you these many years, and be kind to me for I think I shan’t be able to bear another heartache. I am sorry it has taken me this long to apologize.”
The stranger began to cry.
“Apologize no further. I have so much I’ve longed for so long to tell you.”
The two walked to the green couch across the beige and brown carpet with the white specks. They sat down on the green couch, black pillows, and talked endlessly.
“Good sir,”
“Call Me Father.”
“Father,” the little boy asked?
“Yes.”
Before his question could come out, the little boy began to cry. He was at peace for the first time in his life, and it really did – finally – make sense.
“Father?”
“Yes child.”
“The springs that once hurt my back…”
“The springs,” his Father spoke tenderly, “are still there. It is you who is now positioned differently.”
The conversation continued eternally, and somewhere between I love you and I love you, the little boy’s Father led him back home for the grandest banquet ever to be given from a Father to a son.
