MY FRIEND HENRY (by Geri L. Phillips)
He stood outside our house wearing grey pants that were held up by suspenders, and on his head, an old grey hat. In his hand he held a stick that had a nail on the end of it, used for picking up trash. He had grey whiskers, and he was very tall and dark. A scary sight for me, that is until he became my friend.
"Henry! Hi Henry!" I would call from the back doorway of our house.
"Hi Geri Lynn" he would answer, not even pronouncing my name correctly.
I didn't mind how he pronounced my name, in fact, I even liked it.
"I'll be right out" I would say. He just smiled big and his deep and dark eyes seemed to sparkle. I would spend every day with my friend Henry. I followed him everywhere, helping him pick up trash or raking the leaves. In my grandmother's West End Grocery store I would sit and visit with him while he took his breaks. We talked about anything that I wanted to talk about. Sometimes he sat on a bench inside the store resting. I was right by his side absorbing all the attention I could get from him. Often he would reach into his pants pocket and retrieve a quarter and give it to me. This was usually followed by a request to fetch him a grape soda.
When Henry wasn't working he sat with me and we visited. I entertained him by riding my tricycle or hula-hooping. His laughter and the joy in his tired eyes indicated that he seemed to enjoy my company just as much as I enjoyed his.
Henry's wife, ironically named Henrietta, was inside making beds or washing dishes and I always knew how to find her.
"Henrieeeeeeeta" I hollered.
"Yoooohoooooo" she answered in that pretty tune of hers.
One day while working outside in the heat, Henry became ill. I saw him at a distance by the warehouse as he collapsed while trying to sit down on the steps. I ran to him in a panic to find out what was wrong. He did not look so good, so I ran inside the store to get my mother and big brother. They brought him inside the store where it was much cooler. I stayed with my friend, wiping his face with a cool rag and helping him drink his water until he was all better.
Once I went to Henry's house, which was an old shack down the road. They had chickens and a pin in the back with turkeys. Inside there was an old wood burning stove to keep them warm in the winter and to cook their food on. I noticed that they did not have a restroom like ours, it was and outhouse. I had never seen such poverty before and I wondered how those to could always be so happy.
As I grew older, so did Henry. My mother told me one day that he died. Sometimes I think about Henry and Henrietta. I hope they knew my love for them. It didn't matter the color of their skin and it didn't matter that they lived in an old shack. What matters most is the love that we shared. In fact, they were not poor, they were the richest people I knew, for they had the love of each other, the nature to love others, and the love of the Lord.
My friend Henry, you taught me that the greatest gift from God is the gift of love!
© copyright 1999 written by Geri L. Phillips
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