Pretty Paper Flowers

“Pretty Paper Flowers”
Chuck Martin

One night, a few years back, I sat having a beer in the local tavern. In semi-darkness the regulars sat at tables, or stood at the bar talking. A small Mexican lady walked through the door, with a withered, wrinkled face, her body slightly bent. Her old muslin, white dress , had faded red and blue flowers at the hemline, her shoes covered with dust. Carried under her right arm a wooden box filled with handmade red paper flowers, each wrapped around thin wire. Walking to the center of the room, she held out her box, and in a low hesitant, heavy Mexican accented voice asked, “Pretty flowers for sale?”

Conversation stopped, and every eye turned toward her, but no one answered. They all wanted to ignore her, a little embarrassed for the old women, and upset that she had interrupted them. “Lady,” the bartended said, “we don’t allow solicitors. Go on outta’ here and peddle those elsewhere!”

In the back corner of the bar, sat an old man in tattered clothes. His cowboy shirt thread bare and filthy, a crumpled, cowboy hat was tilted sideways. His face was tanned, wrinkled and sported grey stubble. He was sitting alone in a corner drinking his beer. A couple hours earler I saw him panhandle a few dollars in front of the bar. In a loud voice he asked, “Cuanto, missy?”
Everyone turned to see who had broken the silence, and saw ol’ Dan, the alcoholic who was always begging for drink money. He had been thrown out of every bar in town.

“Who is he to ask?,” someone whispered, “he has nothing to give anyone. He is just a beggar.”

“Twenty-five cents, Senior” she answered.

Ol’ Dan walked over, searched his pocket and pulled out his change. He smiled, a twinkle in his eye, and asked, “Would you take twenty-two cents, senora?”

“Si Senior, I would, gracias,” she said handing him a pretty red flower.

Dan stuck the flower in the brim of his, worse for wear, hat, and handed her his change. “Might I escort you to the next establishment?”
She nodded and smiled, “Gracias,” and taking Dan’s offered arm, they ambled out the front door.
The patrons shook their heads, mumbled their disapproval and went back to their drinks. I was little ashamed that I hadn’t piped up, “Yeah, I’ll take one.“ But, sadly, I sat there like the
rest and said nothing . There’s an old cowboy saying that anyone who shows kindness to
others will also find happiness, and favor with the Lord. Why didn’t I think of that?