Welton

After some frenetic dancing at Roberta’s house, we stepped out to a local cafe for tea and ham and cheese sandwiches. Welton disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned he told us he had gone to buy something. Little did I realize that he had called his family at home and told them that he was bringing home a guest (me).

When I reached the house with Welton, I saw the table laden with fresh fruits, breads, butter, milk, juices and cheeses. My eyes literally welled up at the thought that his parents had rushed out to buy all this food to welcome a guest they did not know – a meal fit for a king served, with a smile, in a house that was in a lower income neighbourhood. After we all ate, Welton’s father pulled out his banjo and played an old folk song for us. Then we went for a walk around the block.