Luther and I

Luther and I sat on the balcony sipping iced tea and munching on Grandma Nina’s cinnamon cookies. There was a gentle breeze that blew across peace, calm and the scent of lilacs to Luther’s porch. As we sat there enjoying the evening, I remembered the very first time we met. I was driving back from the library, about three years ago, and my cell phone was ringing. I was trying so hard to pick it up and drive at the same time, but I lost control of the wheel and bumped into another car. As I stood at the side of the road, I lamented my situation, not only because I had bumped into a car, but because the call was not important, it was only my ex-husband Steve, calling to tell me he was getting divorced from his third wife and that he wanted to get together and have tea. As I stood there, I prayed that the owner of the car would be lenient with me and not call the cops. I had a rap sheet a mile long and I was trying really hard to maintain my new upstanding, good citizen life. Luckily for me, the owner of the car was mild mannered and sweet Luther. He looked at my distraught expression and then he told me not to worry about it that he would fix it. He called a tow truck and his car was taken away and he asked me for a lift back to his place.

His house was the house of my dreams. It was a sturdy, light blue, bungalow that was framed by lovely rosebushes. After I dropped him off, I put the incident out of mind and made a promise to myself that I was never going to drive with my cell phone on again. I forgot all about Luther and went about my life. A week later, I broke down, and had tea with Steve the Slime ball at a coffee house across from my best friend’s saloon. The location was beautiful, because, Maria could watch out for me and if Steve made a move toward me, she could send out anyone of my eleven brothers to deal with him. They had all flown in from all over the world, just to make sure that coffee hour with Steve went well. As I sat there listening to Steve prattle on about how suited to each other we were, I saw Luther walk into the café. As he looked around for a seat, he saw me, smiled and waved. I smiled back and that was the beginning of a beautiful acquaintanceship. Luther and I never really became friends until he took ill. One day, when Luther did not show up for our daily coffee break, I got directions to his place, to find out what was going on. While there, I realized that Luther was down with the fever and was too weak to do anything. So, I tidied up his place and did his laundry.

While going through the pockets of what must have been the only pair of pants he owned, I saw a piece of paper, one that would change our lives forever. I saw Steve’s birth certificate. He was born on July 15 and his mother was An Margaret Taylor and his father was Billy Mark Taylor. I thought back to my own birth certificate and I discovered why I was puzzled. On my birth certificate, it states that my mother was Anita Gonzalez and my father was Billy Mark Taylor. After my father left, we changed our names to Gonzalez. On Luther’s certificate, it states that he was born in Ukata General hospital and so was I. Oh! Did I forget to mention that I was also born on July 15?

I waited until Luther was doing fine, then I broached the subject to him. We did some research and came up with some outstanding results. Apparently, my no good two-timing father had been having an affair with Luther’s mom, while he was married to mine, and believe it or not, he was there on the day we were born. He went back and forth between the delivery rooms just to make sure that he was present on the day his two children were born. So, in addition to one annoying sister and eleven overprotective, elder brothers, five of whom were adopted, I had to add another on, who thankfully was the same as age as me.
As Luther and I sit here sipping iced tea and munching on Grandma’s cookies, I realize that I was grateful for the accident, both on the road and in Luther’s laundry room, because it helped me find my best friend.