The Little Things

It's always flattering when people say nice things about you. And it warranted a smile. He flirted shamelessly, knowing he had nothing to lose.

And I smiled back, knowing he was harmless. And even if he wasn't, it was amusing to be chased after, even by an old codger. I figured I'd enjoy it while I could.

I don't know why they do it sometimes. The senior apartment complex was decorated as if someone was living in a shed. Well, at least this one was decorated that way. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and the floors had brown shag carpet. Time for some redecorating, I mused.

I found Bob watching a soap opera. He seemed fully engrossed. My mother insists that men don't watch soaps. I only nod my head and smile. I have met enough people to know the truth: some of the biggest fans are men. Hard to believe, but true. In fact, there was a "do not talk during soap opera" sign posted over the recreation room door, where he and a half dozen men and women were gathered.

When a commercial cut in, I said, "Hi Bob. Do you remember me?"

"Yes. You're that girl who visited," he remarked, still watching the commercials.

"Yes, and I have sort of a stupid question," I admitted. "You know those letters..."

"What about them. They were there, weren't they?"

"Yes, they were. Well, you said there was one that mentioned the Underground Railroad," I explained.