Score Card

Tis the season and, thus far, the score around here is two falls and one death in a short period of time.

The death was an old gentleman living with his 18-year-old grandson.

The two were a popular fixture on the complex. Never attended activities, but regularly seen out walking together.

The kid moved in with his grandpa two years ago, after his mom passed away, now his grandpa is gone, and he’ll have to find other accommodations.

One of two falls is a neighbor around the corner in this building. She just kind of slipped while out walking on the complex, her foot went wonky, and she’s laid up with a broken foot.

The other fall is that new resident — moved in three months ago, the guy the ladies were all going ga ga over.

Word on the grapevine was the guy, mixed with First Nation blood and some other blood type, resulted in his being a devastatingly handsome kinda guy but "He’s mean ….. antisocial …… doesn’t like people knocking on his door; And he doesn’t like women. Says he’s sick and tired of women always chasing him".

He slipped in a puddle on the property, fell backwards, landed on his side, cracked a rib and was laid up for a while.

Today, returning from this morning’s workout and a stop by the market, was the first time I’ve seen him up close and personal — other than briefly, one time before I heard the girls speak of him, when we'd passed on the walkway and I'd said, "Good morning". He'd scowled at me but did say "Good morning" in return.

I later understood the scowl face was because he'd come to expect women around here were thirsty and "Good morning" from a female, in his mind, translated into "Hubba Hubba Awooga".

He'd been burned, was guarded and didn’t want to open the door by appearing friendly.

Today he did.

Talker pulled up behind me just as I was getting out of the car, chatted me up for a bit, then went to park whereupon I thought to ask her if my Little Stalker had liked my Wednesday dance.

She didn’t exit the car right away, so there I was standing in the parking lot, arms full of workout gear and grocery bags, when this Silver Fox walked across the lot, stopped, looked at me, asked "Are you alright?"

That was nice.

"Yes, I’m just waiting to say something to my neighbor".

As he then moved towards his parked car, Talker exited her car, saw him and engaged him in conversation, asking how he was.

"Worst year of my life", said he. "I had Covid, Bronchitis, a growth on my chest blew up into a big deal and had to be drained, then I fell and was laid up for a while".

Standing close enough to listen as he and Talker finished their conversation, I did not introduce myself or ask for an introduction because, since he’s so leery of women coming onto him, I was being guarded in return.

After he walked away, I mentioned to Talker that he seems nothing like what I’ve heard from the other ladies.

She'd not heard what I'd been told, was surprised the others had labeled him as antisocial, tired of women chasing him.

"That’s because one of the girls, I won’t say who, was constantly knocking on his door", said she.

Ohhhh, the old sour grapes. He wasn’t interested in whoever that was, so she put antisocial yada yada yada out on the grapevine. Now everyone stays away from him.

Talker went on to say Silver Fox is in business — owns an ammunitions company.

"He’s an arms dealer", I joked, but sometimes words come out of my mouth that turn out to be accurate.

At any rate, having seen the infamous Silver Fox up close and personal, he seems nice enough to me, is handsome but not the drop dead ga ga the other ladies seem to think.

In fact, I don’t see First Nation at all. Instead, I see Louisiana Geechee, clearly Creole in his skin color, texture of his hair, mustache, beard and body type; but Covid, Bronchitis, a Growth on the chest that needed draining (a cyst?) and now a cracked rib is a lot.

He's like that Charles Schultz Peanuts character that has a cloud following him. Possibly, some woman he left behind in Louisiana that is now working a voodoo ritual on him.