Margaret Mulaney and the New Faces
- Feb 28, 2025
- 4 min read
by Cuyler Meade
I met a man last night. He had one of those faces you think you’ve seen before, but you just can’t place. We laughed and talked all evening. Oh, heavens, he was lovely. He asked many questions, not like other men who just want to blather on about themselves. He asked about my family, my children. I told him of my husband, George, and he didn’t seem threatened that I once had a man in my life. You don’t always get that. I let him put me to bed, but no more. I’m a Christian woman after all. But, I do hope I’ll see him again.
I met a man this morning who made me breakfast in bed. I was floored! I can’t think of a time I’ve had a man serve me breakfast in bed — not since I was young, anyway. Mother’s Day, maybe. Sloppy eggs and droopy French toast and my little boy smiling beside his sister and all the best things in life. But not like this! The man’s face sparkled like the rising sun as he beamed over the juice and pancakes. What a joy he was. Brownish skin, dark hair. He was gentle and kind. I’m not sure what came over him, treating an old lady he’d just met to breakfast in bed. Don’t let them tell you there aren’t good men anymore.
I met a man today who insisted I knew him. I was embarrassed, but I did not. He knew many things about me — where I used to work, what church I attended, where my daughter lives — and his face was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I pretended, though, to be polite. Nobody likes to be forgotten. I taught my children to be kind to anyone, even strangers. But honestly, I was happy when he left. It’s exhausting to nod and smile that much at someone you know nothing about.
I met a man this evening who lifted my spirits. My friend from last night wasn’t there when I looked for him. I was a bit sad, I’ll admit. He told me we’d meet right there, I’m sure of it. But it’s alright, because I made a new friend. His face was soft, with a true smile. We spent the evening together in rapt conversation. It was a great pleasure to share his company. If the man from last night sees us together, he’ll have to understand. I’m not about to be pinned down waiting for a no-show Nicky!
I met a man today while out for my walk. He had a face like Daddy’s ranch hands from my youth, and he talked like one too. All music and lilt and life. Younger fellow. Very kind. Called me Mrs. Mulaney, which surprised me at first. I don’t recall introducing myself. Maybe I said my name without realizing it. I do forget things sometimes.
I met a man this afternoon. He must have been a doctor. He wore a dingy white coat and his face was very serious when he spoke. These doctors. I’ve met so many in my day. This one seemed sad, but I don’t know why! I was perfectly pleasant to him. I suppose not every smile begets another. I worry for him, to be truthful. He kept looking at his papers and at the wall and stammering. I hope his day gets better. It must be hard to be a doctor. My George worked in sales. He was always smiling. Not like this doctor. Poor fellow.
I met a man today at supper. He was so funny, so thoughtful! I thought I’d tell him about the poor doctor from earlier, but decided it might darken his happy face. I didn’t want to make him sad. Instead we talked about the old days. What our friends were up to. Of course most of mine are from church. This man is a Catholic, I’m a Lutheran, but of course that’s alright. Jesus loves us all, no matter what those silly preachers tell you. It’s right there in the Bible, isn’t it? My new friend agreed. Surprising for a Catholic to say, to be honest, but I was pleased to hear him say it.
I met two men this morning. One blew into my room like he owned the place. All hustle and bustle and not even a how-do-you-do or a my-name-is. There was another man with him, white coat. Doctor type. At least he said “Hello, Maggie” when he walked in. His face was quiet and serene. But these two, all men’s business. You know the way. Lots of shuffling papers and the like. Can’t say I cared for it. Before they left, the blustery man looked me deep in the eyes and said he’d be bringing Jessica. I can’t imagine what that means. I tried to be polite, even though he’d been so strange to me. “Lovely name, Jessica,” I said, offering a broad smile he’d hardly earned. “My daughter’s name.” His face got even more severe then, which I hadn’t thought possible. Odd man.
I met a man this morning. I knew him. His face shone like lightning. His clothing was white, but not like the doctors. His was pure and white as snow. His still, small voice entered into my heart like coming home and burned within me. He opened wide his arms, welcoming me, embracing me. “Blessed,” he called me. I wept, and so did he.
Cuyler Meade is a father of six and a husband of one living and working in rural Northwest Colorado. Cuyler’s fiction has been published by Elegant Literature, TL;DR Press, and Intrepidus Ink. He writes stories about people.
