1001

A Toast to the Lassies

I opened the door and called myself once more a gullible fool. A few words of flattery placed with wizened wisdom, convinced me to attend. Guests mingled, and the sight of a few multicolored tartans made me smile. I turned in my coat and searched for my host. I was to deliver the reply to the Toast to the Lassies for this year's Burns Supper.

My host, a wiry man in his eighties told me with a smile.

"Light and entertaining, my dear. Take your cues from your counterpart."

And so, I compiled several pages of light hearted jokes about differences between men and women. "A woman would spend fifty cents for a one dollar item she doesn't need while a man..."

"Indeed." I muttered and noticed my host in a group of guests. Immediately, I froze. I could recognize the broad back that almost obscured him, at any time. There was no mistaking the slight taper of the shoulders and the way the coat stretched over them. Then I shook myself. Sebastian was dead, buried in a grave I never saw.

As on cue, the owner of the back turned and glanced over me, only to stop over the long rows of tables. I laughed at myself since it was indeed the face of a stranger. It wasn't a pretty face. Thin scar lines revealed a major injury treated with professional care. So that's what my elderly host meant when I asked a few questions about my "counterpart," the man to deliver the "Toast to the Lassies."

"Someone who went through a lot; however, who kept an excellent disposition."

A bell rung and I realized how late I was to the party. I joined the rows of guests in search for their names at the table. I found myself seated between two Scottish formal attires, and I smiled again. The table arrangement matched the occasion with the soup plate and the scotch glass in front of it.

My host uttered a short prayer, that I suspected was the Selkirk Grace.

A string of waiters followed and served a bearable soup while one of the kilts winked:

"Cock-a-Leekie"

Before I could try some civilized conversation, the pipes blurted out a Scottish tune. A wide cart carried a huge blob on an equally big plate, and a proud cook led the procession. They stopped before my host and handed him a large knife. He declaimed now a poem, of which I understood little. I made out the words " Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!" probably only because I heard them before.

I have to admit that haggis and aged scotch whisky are a heavenly combination. So heavenly that I didn't feel the whisky until thirty minutes later, when it hit me with force. The next hour or so passed in a blur. I only came back to reality when my host shook me gently.

"Charles is about to deliver his Toast to the Lassies."

I watched Charles stand up, and a fleeting emotion passed on his face.

"Our gracious host invited me to make a lighthearted "Toast to the Lassies." I was surrounded with so much welcome and warmth that I feel my "men are from Mars and women are from Venus" speech would be out of place. "

He cleared his voice and continued.

"Many years ago, I went in search of fortune in the Middle East. I was gravely wounded in an unfortunate event. I say an unfortunate event because I have no recollection of what happened or of my life before it. I think it is a good thing I don't because I needed a full face transplant. I woke up with my new face firmly glued on; however, I don't remember any other to compare it to. I don't know who I was; however, there is one memory that lingered. A lass with dark hair, dressed in a navy blue dress. I remember holding her and whispering in her year:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun:

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

He raised his glass and toasted:

"Here is to all the lasses who stay with us, when everything else is gone!"

Among the applause I saw my host's worried look. I gave him an encouraging smile, although I wasn't sure myself what I was going to say. He introduced me, and I watched the expectant faces around me. Then I remembered Sebastian.

"I also prepared a light-hearted speech. I believe the order in which men and women dress would not be the right answer to the riveting toast we just heard. I would match it with a similar story.

Many years ago, I met Sebastian, a young man who went in search for fortune. It was a beautiful summer; we were too busy loving each other to care about letters and pictures. When he returned in a closed box, I realized I have no letters to burn, no pictures to tear. I had only memories, and one burned more painfully, Sebastian whispering to me:

And fare thee well, my only Luve

And fare thee well, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

I used to be a practical woman; business minded and with a special talent in the exact sciences. Sebastian showed me the world of poetry and the exquisite adventure of reading a good book.

Here is to all the lads, who stay with us, and light our path when nothing else does,"

I closed my eyes and endured the applause that followed. I sighed with relief when the supper ended, and the dance started.

I startled when someone behind me grabbed my hand and turned me around to ask for a dance. He looked at me from a face I didn't know. The dark eyes that bore into me though...

I knew those eyes!