A Heart of Gold
It was a rainy, chilly Friday evening. My son Kelly had gone to evening services. Evening services are not usually long since Friday nights are the eve of the Sabbath. Families gather around the table for a special meal. The Shabbat candles are lit. The table is set. All is ready to greet the Sabbath. As one enters the house, one’s nose quivers with the delicious aromas that waft out of the kitchen, the stomach rumbles in anticipation of the delicious meal that would soon be eaten. Since it is just the two of us, and I have not been feeling up to par, I had only prepared a hearty mushroom barley soup filled with chicken legs. The soup bubbles with barley, mushrooms, carrots and thinly sliced celery. It simmers patiently on the stove top waiting for Kelly to come home.
The skies are quite dark now. It is getting later and later. The rain gently hits the window panes in a steady staccato rythme. I peer out of the window hoping to see him walking up the block. I see nothing but the occasional reflection of the headlights of the cars on the rainy street and tires swishing in the puddles as they drive by. I sigh. I call his cell. There is no answer. Of course not! He must not have taken his cell to the synagogue! That wouldn’t have been a good idea. It would have been disrespectful. I draw ithe curtains closed and switched off the fire underneath the soup. I sit and wait. After a while I go upstairs. As I do so, I chide myself, “Don’t panic! There must be a reasonable explanation why he is still not back. You will see.”
I switch on the television in the sewing room. It drones on and on, but I am not focusing on it. I am listening for the sound of the door opening downstairs. My feeling of panic threatens to bubble over. It is three hours since he left.
“Oh God, please keep him safe for I cannot bear to have anything else happening in this family,” I silently pray.
Just at that very moment the dogs, who were curled in a ball dozing on their cushions, bounded up and rushed
to the door. I breathed a sigh of relief. He’s home!
“Where were you?” I ask.
It was dark and wet as he walked back home from the synagogue. The weather was undecided on what to do. Should it rain or should it stop? It was damp and chilly. He hunched his shoulders over and had his hands in his pocket as he hurried up the Turnpike towards home. By then most of the stores on the main street were closed. The street was quiet. His head was bent down to ward off the rain. Even so, some rain trickeled down the back of his neck as he strode towards home. Nearing our street, he glanced up. There were lights in one of the shops, my hair salon. He spotted my stylist inside. Madeleine was still in the beauty salon. There was no one else there.
She was widowed at a young age. Her children were in their teens when her husband passed away. On her days off, she dresses up, put on her makeup and perfume and goes to visit him at the cemetery. She stands there looking at his grave and tells him of all the events of the past week. This touches me deeply.
I have been going to the same salon for years. The salon is homey and welcoming. It is friendly and comfortable. The first time I saw Madeleine was on a Friday morning. Peter and I had walked down to Lulu’s for a cup coffee and a pastry. We did that occasionally. On Fridays and Peter would walk me over to the salon and then head over to his office.
Fridays I have standing appointments for my weekly wash and blow at the hair salon. On that day Madeleine had her interview to work there. It was also the last day of my then current stylist before she went on maternity leave. I chatted with Madeleine and we hit it off immediately. I liked her and she liked me. She has been my hairdresser and friend ever since. That was over ten years ago. She is a very special and fine person. I have recommended her to my neighbours who all love her. These days she comes to the house to style my hair, especially on days of inclement weather. I must admit, since Peter passed away I do not have my hair done as often.
Kelly glanced into the lit hair salon, and realized Madeleine was there all by herself. He rapped at the storefront door. She smiled when she saw him and unlocked the door.
“What are you doing here all alone?” he asked her.
Apparently she was waiting for a client. He glanced about him. Because the street was dark, wet and deserted, Kelly decided he would keep her company until she was done. Afterwards he walked her to her car then headed home.
When he told me that, I could not help but feel a great sense of pride in him. He truly is an honourable person. How could not a mother be proud of such a son?
What a heart of gold he has!