Ham Salad Sandwiches

I got up early this morning. I guess I fell asleep early last night. Even at 6:30 am, you could already tell it was going to be a beautiful day, so instead of just taking the dogs back inside after we took care of "business", we just kept on trucking to the cemetery. I figured I'd let the dogs work off some energy before the workers started tending to the grounds and giving me dirty looks.

I had Regrette on her leash, but Warden was off smelling things and claiming tombstones as his own when I lost sight of him. It was then that we had a strange encounter.

There was a man, with a picnic spread. Again, this was pretty early, a strange time for a picnic if you ask me. The man was old, but his features looked well preserved. He was asking Warden why he ate his wife's sandwich when I caught up to them. I leashed Warden and gave him a scolding.

"So sorry!" I said. "What kind of sandwich was it?? Where is your wife?" I was out of breath, and out of sorts, and after I asked about his wife, I realized what he was doing, and where his wife was.

"Ham salad," he said cheerfully. He wasn't mad. He seemed amused more than anything.

"Early for a picnic, eh?"

"It'll be too hot later, by God. And breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I don't know if I believe that."

The dogs were surprisingly, and thankfully calm. The man offered me a sandwich and asked me if I'd like to sit down. I accepted, and got the dogs to sit, too. They were already hot, and panting.

"Your wife is buried here?" I asked. I took a bite from the sandwich, which was tasteless, but I enjoyed the texture of the Ham Salad interacting with the crispness of the lettuce.
"No" he said.
I asked him where his wife was. He said she was working. I'm not sure why he had a sandwich for her, but hey. I apologized for thinking she was dead. It was awkward.
"No she's fine."

We had been talking for five or ten minutes, about the weather and such things, when a mower started in the distance. I explained that I needed to get the dogs out of there before we got kicked out. I asked the man if he played chess. He said that he hadn't in a long time, but that he'd like to. He introduced himself as Ronny McDonough. I felt like I had heard that name, but I'm not sure where. He packed his basket up and followed the dogs and I out of the cemetery.

I realized when we were almost to my apartment that it was no place to invite someone to. It wasn't just in bad shape now--I was still living out of boxes.

"Ronny," I said.
"Curt?"
"I can't play chess today."
"Tomorrow?"
"Maybe." I gave him my phone number.
"Curt," he said.
"Ronny?"
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay."

I shook his hand, and went inside.