That Audobon Day: His Name Was Larry

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I shook his hand

after he introduced himself

to the only son

of the woman

whose funeral

was exactly

forty-nine years ago

come Sunday.

 

He was the reason

my parents met in 1943

on a blind date in Harlem

at the Audobon Ballroom.

 

No, he wasn't a friend

of both parties.

He was the scheduled dance date

of the woman in the casket

but he took ill and a substitute

was needed.

Larry shook my hand

and it was white on black.

 

He was a caucasian coal miner

whose hand was solid black

or so it felt

at my mother's funeral.

 

I think I thanked him

for being sick on

that Audobon day

but I said no more

than that.

 

He was hunched over

and wore tattered sneakers.

He looked like he hadn't been

healthy since that day in 1943.

 

Two years after the Audobon date,

these two people were wed ➨

 

Linda was born the next year.

I was born in 1949

and Judith arrived

in 1955.

 

Our father had died

six months before our mother.

 

The three newly orphaned siblings

were in no mood for laughter

at their mother's funeral 

but Larry conspicuously

introduced himself to each of us.

 

When we got home that night

I said

We all got to meet

our Hunchback of Notre Dame

and we all ended up on the floor

from laughing so hard.

 

Despite my sisters' marginal skepticism,

I was certain that laughter

resonated (and was duplicated)

in the heavens.

 

© PAUL OLIVERIO  

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