The Bouquet
During an Arts-and-Crafts class I was admiring someone’s picture. Mr Lu came over with a picture twice as big, laid it down on top of the one I was looking at and said, “I have something for you, Frances.” I handed it to him. “Thank you, but I’m busy now.” He put it back, I picked it up and handed it to him, “You’re interrupting, I’ll see it in a few minutes.” When I went to look at the picture, he turned it face down. During the rest of the class he sat morose in the corner. When class was over and I was putting things in the cupboard, he walked to the back of the room and stood over me. Now remember I’m five-foot-two and he’s six-foot-two. He looked down and hissed, “I don’t like you, German!” He turned with a flourish, walked to the door, whirled, pointed his finger at me and yelled, “I deny your art! I deny your music!! I deny YOU, German!!!”
A few minutes later I was walking down the hall toward my office, he was walking toward me, purposefully looking away. When we passed each other he whispered, “German!” Half an hour later, in my office, a polite knock on the door. I opened it. Mr Lu, the gentleman, “I’m sorry. I have a bouquet for you,” and he handed me, rolled up in a cone, more than two dozen of his pictures. “Would you like some lemonade?” I asked, motioning for him to come in. He closed the door and sat down, sighed. “It’s a madhouse out there you know, my dear.”
~ Frances