The old woman with the old house on University. (Last Part.)

There was a door in my room that lead to the rest of the house. For the first month, Mrs. G. kept that door locked at all times, and being a stranger to her, I totally understood. However, as she got to know me better, she didn't bother to lock it. I appreciated her trust, and went out of my way to respect her privacy by never going through that door uninvited.

Early one morning right before going to work, Mrs. G. knocked at the door and asked me if I had any plans for dinner that evening. I told her I didn't.

She said, "Well, come on into the house after you get home and I'll make you a nice dinner."

I told her I really, really appreciated it. Being one of the working poor, a good dinner was hard for me to come by. While living there, I existed on a diet of hamburgers, french fries, and Cup-O-Soups. Having no kitchen, I had to make do with one of those electric coil things that you place in a coffee cup to heat up water. To this day I don't think I've ever had another Cup-O-Soup. I have had enough for one lifetime.

That evening I got home and changed, and knocked on the door that lead to the rest of the house. I opened it up a crack and yelled, "Mrs. G! Mrs. G! Are you there?"

I didn't hear anything.

I opened the door and cautiously entered the hallway.

"Mrs. G! Hello! Are you there? It's Steve!"

I continued to yell out in this way, and walked down the hall to her living room. As I walked, I passed her hall bathroom. The door was open. As I walked by, calling out, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

Mrs. G. was in the bathroom, totally naked, sitting on the toilet, seemingly asleep.

I rushed past and stood in her living room, ready to panic.

My mind was racing, "Oh my God! Oh my God! What am I going to do? What am I going to do?" I had to get out of there, and there was only one way. I went to the front door, which was securely double-bolted, and unlocked it. Then I unlocked the screen door, and carefully closed both doors behind me. But, I was unable to lock the main door's deadbolt or the screen door. I stood on her porch and didn't know what to do. She would definitely notice that her deadbolt and the screen door weren't locked.

What on Earth was I going to do?

I quickly went around to the side of the house and unlocked the door that lead to my room. I closed it behind me quietly, and sat in silence on the corner of my bed for at least a half hour. To this day, that fleeting image of her is burned into my memory. 

Finally, I heard a quiet knock on the door. Mrs. G. called through the door and asked me if I was home.

"Yes, Mrs. G! I'm here!"

"Are you ready for dinner, hon?"

"Yes, Mrs. G! Thank you!"

"OK, well come in whenever you're ready, hon."

She made me a nice dinner and we ate it together at her kitchen table. After we finished, she and I walked into the living room. I had to get her doors locked up again. I couldn't think of anything better, so I asked her if I could look out her front door for a moment. She was puzzled, but said I could. Thank goodness. I pretended to unlock the deadbolt and pretended to unlock the patio door, looked out on the porch for second or two as if I was getting a good look, and then locked both doors up again. She looked at me with a little curiosity, but it quickly passed and I thanked her for the dinner and excused myself. I quietly closed my door and went and laid down on the bed, thinking of my narrow escape from a complete and utter mess.

I stayed with Mrs. G. through the Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's holidays. Sometime in January I started looking for an apartment for Jane and me to live in after we got married in March. Mrs. G.'s daughter was a manager of an apartment complex in east Fort Worth, so I met with her and finally signed a lease for my first-ever apartment that February, and told Mrs. G. that I was going to move out.

She and I had really come to like each other during the time I lived there, and she said she was sorry to see me go. During the last week I stayed with her, she invited me to have breakfast with her, and I gratefully said yes. She told me to come in anytime after 7:30 and she would make our breakfast.

Not wishing for a repeat of what had happened before, when the next morning came I waited until 8:00 to open the door and enter her house. I called out, "Mrs. G! Mrs. G! It's Steve! Are you there? Hello!!" I walked down the hallway, cautiously. "Hello! Mrs. G? Mrs. G! Are you there?"

I walked quickly past the hall bathroom. Once again the door was open.

And once again, as I walked by, Mrs. G. was totally naked, sitting on the toilet, seemingly asleep.

How could this happen twice? How could this happen ONCE?? What was I going to do? I couldn't go through the front door again and then pretend later on that I wanted to look out door!

So, I just went to her kitchen and opened her back door and stood there looking out at the back yard. Finally, after a lifetime or two, Mrs. G. came into the kitchen (fully clothed, whew!) and was initially startled to see me standing there looking out her back door. She looked at me with mild suspicion.

"I hope you don't mind," I said. "I've always wanted to get a good look at your back yard. It's so nice out there. Your flowers are really pretty."

She looked up at me, scrunched up her face, and smiled her really beautiful smile.

"Well, sit down and have some breakfast now." she said.

The second crisis had passed, but I was convinced that someone in the universe was sitting back and laughing at me.

Soon after, I finally moved out of Mrs. G.'s place and into my own apartment. After so many fast-food meals and Cup-O-Soups, I was so grateful just to be able to boil a pot of water and make a couple of hot dogs for my first dinner there. It was one of life's simple pleasures that I was to never take for granted again.

That March, Jane and I got married, and our honeymoon was driving from Ohio to Texas with two cats in the car. We had settled into our little apartment, when I heard from Mrs. G.'s daughter that she had been put into a nursing home and her house on University was to be sold.

Jane and I made a trip to the nursing home. We found her, alone, in a little room she shared with another woman. I introduced her to Jane, and Mrs. G. smiled her big smile at her. But then her expression turned to sadness.

"They took my house away, Steve."

Her family had come to the conclusion that Mrs. G. was incapable of taking care of herself or her home anymore. I'm sure they had nothing in mind but her well being, but by taking away her home, they had taken away her reason to live.

Soon after Jane and I visited with her, she passed away.

Earlier, when I still lived with her, she told me some of the details of her life. She had had it rough. Without giving me any of the details, she had hinted at extreme poverty and possibly physical abuse by a long-dead husband. I never pressed her for information. All I could offer was my understanding.

She was a product of her time and her upbringing. She was frugal to the point she reused paper towels and dried them in her kitchen. She was a gardener who loved to put her gardening gloves on and tend to her flowers around the house. She was a mother and a grandmother and a great-grandmother. 

She was afraid of black people.

She was also a nice and loving person, who took me into her home and treated a stranger with kindness.

And I know fully well that being white was the ticket necessary for me to be taken into her home and to be treated with kindness. 

That I took advantage of that ticket is my burden to bear.