Daddy Long Legs

Astrid Poplar

The opera house was moreover or just in the center point of the city and the city was moreover or just in the center point of Tennessee. It had been constructed in the eighteenth century, created by an architect who was eventually supercharged with misdeeds. He needed to spend the rest of his existence in exile in Tasmania. Its style was New Spanish Baroque, with detailed boxes and a huge dispense of gilt. People traveled major ranges purely for the gratification of being seated on its purple plush seating under a towering multi-colored ceiling. The opera enterprise for which it granted an abode was well-reputed, even if not in a primary classification. It was vocalist studied, a great site to start, but not inevitably the most significant place to end up.

The door attendant in the opera house was a very tall man called Daddy Long Legs. His task was to monitor the stage door, where he had a large office. In the office, there was an index for cataloging the entrance of stagehands as well as vocalists and personnel of the orchestra. He wore a grey uniform with wide blue bands on the epaulettes. Long Legs was prideful of the uniform, which he said was established and was well worn by Bosnian troopers of the early nineteenth century. No one in their right mind believed that, as it was rumored that Long Legs aunt made the uniform, who owned the Wall of Extinction at a local town amusement park.

Long Legs resided as a boarder in a house owned by a French couple, Mr., and Mrs. Lacroix. Mr. Lacroix had been a watch repairer but had been compelled to give this up when his hands were impacted by osteoarthritis. Mrs. Lacroix made scarves. They gave their extra room to Daddy Long Legs, who stayed with them for ten years.

“Do you ever think about getting wedded?” Mrs. Lacroix asked.
Daddy Long Legs one day, “You will be a fantastic snag for some dame, you know.” Daddy Long Legs was thrilled with the flattery. “That is sympathetic of you to state that, Mallory Lacroix, and who knows? Possibly one solar day. We will see.”

The actuality of the topic was that Daddy Long Legs was infatuated by an opera singer, the second soprano Gretchen Rosenfelt. Gretchen, who was provincially known for her characterization of Desdemona in Othello, which is vastly valued in that part of Tennessee. She could have reserved parts more dignified, but she favored staying close to her elderly mother. She did not like the concept of traveling to Milan, Dublin, let alone Prague, or New York City.

Daddy Long Legs idolized Gretchen Rosenfelt. She hardly noticed him, but she always said hello when she came in for productions. “Oh, good evening, Lars Long Legs,” she would say as she walked by his kiosk.

He would jump to his feet, but by the timeframe he got up Gretchen Rosenfelt would have vanished into her dressing room. Her dressing room was consistently filled with beautiful flowers, positioned there by Daddy Long Legs. He collected a bunch of flowers from enthusiasts of Gretchen Rosenfelt, accepting them from the men who shouted at the stage door, requesting to see her. He continuously sent these men elsewhere—good looking, average men—informing them that Gretchen Rosenfelt was not taking any visitors. He would hand over the flowers, along with the love letters that came with them. Once the visitors were gone, though, Daddy Long Legs would remove the love letters, rip them up, and place the flowers in Gretchen’s dressing room, sometimes with a note from himself saying, “I anticipate that you will enjoy these flowers! Lars Long Legs.”

He sat at the kiosk and pondered on Gretchen Rosenfelt. He envisioned playacting the male lead inverse to her. He envisioned singing one of the most prolific duets with Gretchen. As he plopped down, he could hear an ovation from the auditorium as Gretchen Rosenfelt fulfilled the conclusion of a spectacular aria. He envisioned what it could be like to be with her backstage getting praise. They would have dinner at the extravagant restaurant across the street from the opera house.

One night an unknown man who had been trying to get in touch with Gretchen Rosenfelt got into her dressing room by avoiding Daddy Long Legs. Gretchen listened attentively to his invite to dinner with an unapproving look that made him leave. She stopped by Long Legs kiosk before she left the opera house.
“I had a long night, Lars Long Legs,” she said.
Long Legs empathized, “I will always do the foremost to keep pests away, Miss Grethen Rosenfelt.”
Gretchen looked at Long Legs and grinned. She was over men pushing up on her. She needed somebody dependable, somebody who would not be a problem. An epiphany came and she knew that Long Legs would be a cozy husband for someone: tall, humble, and uncomplicated. She grinned again at Long Legs.
“Would you care for a morsel of dinner tonight?” she asked. “If you are available that is.”

Gretchen Rosenfelt and Daddy Long Legs got married five months later. Gretchen’s elderly mother passed away quickly before the wedding ceremony, so they began their wedded bliss in her condominium. Then Daddy Long Legs’ aunt, the person who owned the Wall of Extinction motorcycle band, gave an invite to take over her business as she felt it was time for her to be a retiree. Gretchen Rosenfelt needed a hiatus from singing, and so she and Daddy Long Legs parted to reside in a small motorhome parked next to the Wall of Extinction at the fairground. They were merry.

Daddy Long Legs became cultured in how to ride a motorcycle on the Wall of Extinction. He demonstrated popularity with the multitudes. In time he educated Gretchen how to ride, and she took it very seriously. Every so often she rode and sang Verdi at the interval, which always conveyed an out-of-sight response. Out of sight… Using techniques that are out of sight will always produce an out-of-sight reaction. Love, generosity, acts of empathy for the people that have a small portion in their lives, a pat on the shoulder, and encouraging words. These things are out of sight.