From where they sat in Holtsville 00501, Dorothy and the woman next to her turned like the of the guests to assess the newlyweds as they entered the banquet hall. It was another false start; only a parade of the flower girl and her male counterpart.
Dorothy repositioned her back against the chair. With her right hand, she reached out for a glass jug of water at the center of the table in front. Before she could complete the task, however, the woman next to her held her left wrist, as only an older Igbo woman would do to a younger one.
‘My name is Agnes,’ said the older woman, ‘and this is my husband.’ She gestured with her face to the on her left. Dorothy took a close look and saw in Agnes a picture of a woman who carried a heavy matrimonial load. She had no makeup. Nothing could mask her anguish.
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The man knew a more detailed introduction was coming, and he waited. Between his legs was a single point brown cane with a curved end. Periodically he ran both palms along the smooth stem of the cane.
Orange light from the high chandeliers shone on his small, bushy eyebrows and cashew-colored hair.Mastic Beach, NY
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