PROLOGUE

noun
1.
a preliminary discourse; a preface or introductory part of a discourse, poem, or novel.
2.
an introductory speech, often in verse, calling attention to the theme of a play.
3.
the actor or actress who delivers this.
4.
an introductory scene, preceding the first act of a play, opera, etc.
5.
any introductory proceeding, event, etc.: Appetizing delicacies were the prologue to a long dinner.

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Prologues often go unread. When I wrote my first unpublished novel I had a prologue. It was suggested that no one ever read prologues, yet I liked my prologue. It had nothing really to do with moving my story forward, but I liked it. It tweaked curiosity, and the fact that my eldest, Chase, wrote to say it was the most compelling prologue he'd ever read... well, there you have it!

So the following is my prologue, which I suppose can double as the prologue to our new month together.

Regarding the following prologue, some good folk have been dismayed with the town's reaction to Dr. Jenson. One must keep in mind that the events took place during the Ford Administration before the public was more open-minded. Additionally, Dr. Jenson fled on his own accord.

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THE NIGHT THE MOON CRIED
By Irene Bean
Prologue

Before you read the long story, there's a short one.

When Lucey was little (she's thirty years old now), Dr. Gerry Jenson was one of the most respected people in town. He was so loved that more than one newborn in Fallbrook honored him as a namesake, though he didn't even bring them into the world. There is Jenson Carl Smith and Gerry Louise Monroe. Both still live in town.

Fallbrook was a smaller town back then, so everyone pretty much went to the same doctor--which was Dr. Jenson. He was a short, wiry man whose efficient steps were brisk and important. Every morning he pumped his legs down the sidewalk toward his office with his newspaper tucked under his arm. For all his hurrying, Dr. Jenson was always generous, timewise, with his patients. He carefully doctored them to good health and gently counseled their bashful concerns--children could even ask Dr. Jenson questions about their growing bodies that they never would have asked their parents, for the sheer embarrassment of their nature.

His wife, Gladys, was the sweetest person one could ever hope to meet. Every week she foisted her homemade banana nut bread with chocolate chips on everyone in town. She would put her hands up to her round face and say with a twittery laugh, "You'd think Dr. Jenson and I were monkeys with all the bananas I buy." She always called her husband Dr. Jenson, which seemed like an odd formality since the First Lady of the United States of America, which was Betty Ford, didn't even call her husband Mr. President. Then Gladys would form her mouth in a perfect O-shape, fluted with red lipstick, and exclaim, "OOOOO my, after all these years and I still buy too many bananas and just don't know what to do with them." Well, she knew exactly what to do all right and that was to make batches of banana nut bread. The chocolate chips were the best part.

But back to Dr. Jenson, who was just about everybody's doctor in town. One day as he was in his big hurry to get to his office with his newspaper tucked under his arm, he collapsed right there on the sidewalk and had to be taken to the hospital. He survived just fine--well, not really. When he was taken to the emergency room and his clothes were cut off, the attendants found him wearing frilly underclothing like some women wear to look sexy and make men drool with eager desire. There he was, smack dab in the middle of Fallbrook Hospital wearing women's underwear. Well, the nurses themselves almost had a heart attack, which is exactly what had just happened to Dr. Jenson.

Dr. Jenson and his wife packed up and left Fallbrook after he recovered. They slipped away as quietly as the silky rustle of his lace panties.

As much fun as everyone made of Gladys' banana nut bread, they missed it and her O-shaped mouth. They missed Dr. Jenson, too. He was the one who made sure everyone didn't get measles and told them every year at their annual check-up before school started how tall they were and how much they weighed. He was a good doctor with a big secret in a small town.

And that's the whole point of telling you about Dr. and Mrs. Jenson. One never knows what secrets lie deep or shallow in a family--and usually nothing is as it seems.

That's how Lucey's family was for the most part. Like Dr. Jenson, her family had secrets lurking just below the veneer of its public face. The long story will reveal the ones worth telling.

Now that you know about Dr. Jenson and Gladys, you can forget them, their names, and his namesakes' names because they will never be mentioned again.

But no one ever forgot Dr. Jenson's goodness or Gladys' banana nut bread with chocolate chips.