My new friend

He got my phone number from a magazine.
And he called.
And called.
And called.
He said, “I love to play!”
He couldn’t wait to see me.
And he called.
And called. Every day.
“Is this weekend okay?” he asked. “I just love to play.”
She drove, not him. He can’t drive anymore.
Both were old. Very old. Both had walkers.
It was difficult getting them up the stairs and into the house.
And we played, this stranger and I.
Duets, solos – two violins in bad timing and desperately out of tune.
As his wife sat and smiled.
After an hour, she was tired. He could have gone on all night.
And so they drove back – four hours across the state.
All this way just to play one hour with me.

He called today and told me that he had a good time.
“Did you?”
Yes, Richard, my new friend. Our joy was mutual.