|Mrs. Robinson in blue jeans in Cloutierville|
It's Sunday, and we gets all dressed up for church. Bonnie leans over the pew to talk about Mrs. Robinson, a new woman in town. People have been wonderin' about her since she got a divorce, as she lives in a house down the road a spell but is still in Cloutierville. The house is plain and simple like, and Mrs. Robinson hasn't been seen outside much. But then it's only been weeks since she came to town in that big old truck some feller was drivin' to bring her and her things.
"I just don't know, Bonnie, " I lean over and tap her on the arm, quiet like, since the preacher is right up there so's he can see everything that's goin' on. " I also don't think it's the kind of thing The Man Upstairs likes to hear. I know I sure don't. Well, I gets curious myself at times, but you see I learned a long time ago that when I talk bout someone else, well I gets to thinkin' maybe folks might talk bout me too. Cause that's the way it is, you know. When you talk bout other people, then you worry all the time bout what they might be sayin' bout you. So it's better to do just like I taught my babies growin' up, if you ain't got nothing good to say, don't open up your mouth."
Now Bonnie puts her head down. Maybe she's just prayin' or maybe she's thinkin' bout the time she came into the women's church group when she first moved to town and one of the women was in there gigglin' about Bonnie's hats and how funny they all looked perched on top of her near-bald head. A lesson then, and a lesson now, that findin' fault with others is likely our own fault.
Well, here's to you, Mrs. Robinson. People might be talkin' but one day a graduate might meet up with you and find that you're a good gal after all or at least a lot of fun, like Paul Simon says:
"And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please Mrs. Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
Hey, hey, hey."