I saw the back of his shiny head for the first time in two years. It was at the elementary school, in the music room where third graders were performing. He was seated with his wife in the front row, so my husband and I took seats in the back, near the exit, planning slip out quickly when it was over.
The children, dressed up like pioneers, trappers, cowboys and Indians, played zithers and sang Polly-wolly-doodle all the day! I waved to the pioneer girl with her hair in a bun.
I wondered if he was uncomfortable up there, knowing we were present. Did he feel a hot stare burning a hole in the back of his head? Could he not wait for it to be over?
Or was he thinking, This would be a good time to make amends? Maybe he’d approach and greet us, just for show. Maybe a courtesy nod?
What if I approached, hugged his wife and acknowledged him?
No. I could not, would not. The back of his head was tolerable, but not the front.
The children sang the official state song.
Montana, Montana, Glory of the West
Of all the states from coast to coast, You’re easily the best
Montana, Montana, Where skies are always blue
Montana, Montana I love you!
When the performance was over we bolted, as planned. No stopping to admire the little chairs or the artwork in the hall; we were out the front door, first in the parking lot. When we got to the minivan I looked back and saw one guy at the far end, head down, hurrying to his car.
He’d slipped out the side door.
His wife and the pioneer girl stood there with no one.
At least she knew I’d been there.
Daily Prompt: I Can’t Stay Mad at You
Do you hold grudges or do you believe in forgive and forget?