JAK. “So I’ve never asked, but lately I’ve started to wonder. Respectfully, I’d like to ask a personal question. Permission?” I chuckled.

“You ain’t in the military anymore, boy. You ain’t got to be askin’ me permission to speak. Step away from the doorway so the man don’t see ya,” Oscar grinned as he waved his hand to the side.

I stepped into the shop and away from the door.

“Go on and speak your mind. What ya got?” Oscar said as he leaned against the golf cart and pulled a cigar from his pocket.

“Well, I was wondering. Is your wife still alive? Are you still married?” I asked.

“Well, thems two separate questions. She’s gone, Jak. She died four years past. She died by the hand of a man who had one too many drinks on the eve of the new year. Makes that day a doozie for me. But the other question?” he paused and lit the cigar.

“Yessir. I’s still married to her. Always will be. That’s when you know it’s true. When you stay married long after they’s gone,” he nodded as he pulled the cigar from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed.

I had asked for other reasons, but knowing a little more about Oscar pleased me. He was a fine man, and brought a little more joy into what had become a wonderful life for me. Sharing time with people like him allowed me to understand the value of war. Good people fighting against the belief of evil for what they believed to be good. War was and will always remain terrible, but seeing the good in the world through the people in it provided me hope the fighting wasn’t all for not.

“The reason I asked,” I paused and walked toward the golf cart.

I opened my arms and smiled, “Thanksgiving is coming up. I was thinking if you had nowhere to go for the holiday, you could spend it with us. My mother, Karter and me.”

“Thanksgivin’ dinner. Whooooeeeee. Been a spell since I had me one a those. A real one. White folk eat turkey?” he asked.

“Yes, we eat turkey,” I laughed.

He puffed on his cigar and widened his eyes comically, “You eat yams?”

“Yes sir.”

He raised one eyebrow and stood erect, “Stuffin’?”

I nodded my head and laughed, “Yes, we eat stuffing.”

“Hmmm. Well, if there’s to be a certain pie at this gatherin’, you might count this ole black man in. I likes me some peeee-can pie. Any a you know how to make a good peeee-can pie? You gots to make ‘em with the Karo syrup, or you fuck ‘em all up, ya see,” he lowered his cigar, raised his chin slightly, and looked into my eyes.

“It’s the only way my mother makes them. As much as I hate to admit it, this will be my first Thanksgiving at home in twenty-one years. Karter and I would love to have ya,” I smiled.

“Your mom let nigga’s in the house?” he asked dryly.

I slumped my shoulders and shook my head in disbelief, “Well, I’ll explain a little about my mother to you. If you use that word in her home, she’ll escort you to the door. Everyone in my mother’s home is equal. Everyone. If she hears that particular word fall from your lips, she’d politely ask you to leave. I feel the same way. So to answer your question, no. She doesn’t let them in her home; because to her, and to me, they don’t exist.”

“I was kiddin’ about bein’ a nigga. Well, kinda. People have strange beliefs. Some of ‘em, anyhow. I like you an’ Miss Karter fo’ sho’. You’s good people. And I thank ya for askin’. If you’s serious I’d sho’ like to attend,” he nodded.

“Well, consider it a date. My mother’s expecting you. I told her about you some time ago, and she asked the other day. I said I’d ask.”

“Miss Karter got a family?” he asked.

I shook my head, “I thought I told you. No, she doesn’t. She’s alone.”

He shook his head and stared at the floor, “Maybe that’s why I like her so much. I had me a little boy, Albert. We just called him Al. He died at fifty years. Same way as his momma. He was back east. Lived in Boston. Makes me kind a sick, so I don’t drink me any of the devil’s juice.”

“I don’t either, and you won’t find any in my mother’s home. I’m sorry about both your losses, Oscar,” I said as I patted him on the shoulder.

“They’s in a mighty fine place now, Jak. You God fearin’ people?” he asked as he looked up.

I nodded my head sharply.

“Well, that’s good. I’ll say the prayer,” he smiled.

“Sounds perfect. Well, I better get. I’ve got to meet her for lunch,” I said as I rubbed my palms together.

He extended his hand and smiled. As I took his hand in mine and shook it, I tried to remember if we’d shaken hands before. As he released my hand, he grinned.

“I’ll be seein’ ya, Jak.”

I smiled and walked to the door. As I passed the threshold, I tilted my head rearward.

“Not if I see you first.”