QUEEN OF RODS, KNIGHT OF RODS, AND KNIGHT OF SWORDS

A story

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This story is going to be told right to left instead of left to right because that is how this story came to me.

This is the story of Paul. Paul has lived whole life in a bubble of sorts. Born into wealth, Paul had never before had to work or wonder where money came from. Money was just there. Paul wanted a new shirt, Mummy just handed over her credit card. Paul decided he needed a brand new car, Daddy just wrote a check. Paul never questioned it and it didn’t even dawn on him to question it. Paul was the only child of two wealthy people who had also come from wealth. Daddy spent his days on the golf course. Those days were interrupted every third Thursday of every third month for a meeting with the board of directors who managed Daddy’s money. In these meetings, Daddy always nodded his head as if understanding what was being said and then ended the meeting with “That sounds just fine, boys. Keep doing what you’re doing.” Then he’d head out to the golf club. Mummy spent her days caring for her skin and looking for new wrinkles. Twice a year, she vacationed at a very exclusive spa in Fiji. She came home with tight skin and plump lips and a weird new juice diet that she would devote herself to until the next vacation. Paul lived a life of luxury without even knowing he was living a life of luxury. He just assumed his friends and truth be told, everyone else in the world lived a similar life of luxury.

Paul was clueless.

Then came the day that tragedy struck. Daddy suffered a massive coronary on the back nine of his exclusive golf course, killing him instantly. Of course this was devastating for Paul and Mummy, the worst part turned out to be that Daddy had not made any legal arrangements for his demise. Not only was there no will, but the board of directors in charge of the money had mis-handled that money. There was embezzlement and fraud and massive debt. Mummy and Paul were left destitute. Paul stood in the center of the massive entry way to their massive mansion and dumbly watched as movers carted off priceless works of art and antiques while Mummy stared in her mirror, crying and swallowing pills. Paul found her the next morning crumpled over her dressing table, her lifeless eyes still gazing at the mirror. Paul was not only destitute, but now he was an orphan. He buried Mummy next to Daddy on a rainy Wednesday. There was no one in attendance other than himself and Rosa, their cook.

Rosa had been the cook since before Paul was born. She had been the one he’d run to whenever he had a skinned knee or a splinter or hurt feelings and Rosa always greeted Paul with a warm hug and some sort of treat. Rosa treated Paul like her very own son. She scolded him when he needed scolding, made sure he did his homework and ate his vegetables. She nursed him when he was sick and handed out hugs with abandoned. Paul assumed that everyone had a Mummy who handed out credit cards, but paid little attention and a Rosa who handed out affection and always wanted to know how their day was going, who generally cared about the math test or the cricket match. Rosa patted Paul’s arm as they huddled together under the umbrella. She knew the her Paul was not prepared for the life ahead. He had never had to earn anything for himself, had never had do anything for himself. They watched as the cemetery workers began to fill in the grave. Rosa turned to Paul and said “You will come home with me. It will not be easy. You will have to share a room with my sister’s boy and you will have to get a job and earn your own money. But I will help you and teach you. You have a good heart Mister Paul. It will be a good foundation for your new life.”

Paul considered Rosa’s words and having no other thoughts of his own, agreed to live with Rosa and share a room with her sister’s boy.