John took a sip of his latte and leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth filter down through his body. He had had always been sensitive to the winter temperatures – he had become more so since he entered his eighties – but the frigid air outside was nothing compared to the cold he had felt lately from other people.
He watched as a young woman in turquoise yoga pants took the seat next to him. She draped her North Face over her chair and set a laptop on the table next to her coffee. She had just settled in when she stood back up and moved her belongings to a cushioned chair against the wall about twenty feet away.
I hope it wasn’t something I said, John thought to himself.
He lifted his cup to his lips again as the seat next to him became occupied again. It was a young man this time (Who am I kidding? Everyone is younger than me these days). John watched, entranced, as the young man set up his own laptop, as well as a smartphone and an older looking flip-phone.
“You young people amaze me,” John said. “You’ve got three devices there and I can’t even figure out my one phone most of the time.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the newcomer said with a smile. “We have all these devices and we know how to use them but that doesn’t mean we’re all that good at managing our time with them. Two of these are just mine for work, and I’m hoping they stay silent while I’m sitting here.
“Plus, you might be older than me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t figure this stuff out.”
John eyed the young man with a raised brow. Herman had always cautioned him about being too skeptical of today’s youth. “They understand more than you think, John,” he’d say. John was sure that, if Herman had been there, he’d have immediately pointed out the young man’s encouragement and chided John for hesitating.
John decided to take Herman’s advice for once.
“That’s very nice of you to say,” he began. “But I’ll let you in on a secret too – I’m older than you, your parents and, probably, even your grandparents. I’m older than dirt, though you were very nice not to point that out.”
“Well, I would certainly never say that,” the young man answered with a chuckle. He turned his attention back to his laptop but the hint of his smile remained on his face.
John took a bite of his croissant and considered the young man for a moment. He knew he had bothered his new companion too much already but he couldn’t help wondering if there was a reason this particular person had sat down next to him. He adjusted his multicolored scarf – the one Herman always said could have matched Joseph’s coat – and finally worked up the courage to speak.
“If you don’t mind, can I ask you one last question? I promise I’ll set you free from my bothersome presence after that.”
The younger man looked up from the screen and turned to John again. “Of course,” he said, his smile returning. “And it’s not a bother at all.”
“You mentioned that two of those devices were yours for work,” John began, emboldened by the other’s welcoming words. “What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a social worker,” came the reply.
John coughed slightly. Careful, he told himself. It’s not this one’s fault that you’ve had so much trouble with the social workers at the nursing homes. Herman would tell you to watch your mouth.
“Ah,” John said simply. He took another sip of his coffee and watched the social worker click through emails. Then he decided that he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ve unfortunately had some negative experiences with the social workers I’ve been speaking with recently,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the younger man said. He looked up from the screen again and turned to face John fully this time. “What’s been going on?”
John’s story of his husband’s descent into dementia began tumbling out. He started with Herman’s gradual lack of recognition of his surroundings. He spoke about the frustrating bureaucracies of insurance companies, health care and nursing homes. He brought up the nursing home intake worker who had gotten upset with him for pointing out her misleading statements (“Really, I know I’m old but you can give me a little credit here”) and the number of times he had pleaded with the staff to include a banana with Herman’s breakfast (“The man is ninety-one years old and he likes a banana with his breakfast; just give him a fucking banana”). He described the evening when he lost his temper with Herman for getting dementia and the crippling sadness at his husband not realizing who he was.
John poured his broken heart out onto the wooden, coffee-stained table while the man next to him watched and listened, never once looking back to his computer screen.
John brushed a stray tear from his heavily stubbled cheek and let out a deep sigh.
“I’m getting the sense,” the man offered softly, “that not too many people have listened to you lately.”
John blew his nose into a handkerchief and shook his head slightly.
“Well,” the man continued, “that just means those other social workers weren’t doing it right. Listening is the most important part of the job.”
John looked up. The man’s smile seemed to be warmer than the espresso and certainly more filling. He was leaning forward, fully engaged in John’s retelling, eyes twinkling behind his glasses’ dark frames.
“Do you mind telling me your name?” John asked.
“Aaron,” the man said, extending his hand.
“Aaron,” John repeated, returning the smile. “A good, traditional name. My name is John, with an ‘h.’ I still haven’t decided if it was my parents’ sense of humor or lack thereof that made them give their Jewish son a Christian name.”
John leaned on the table and rose gingerly. He replaced the scarf around his neck, careful not to snag his silver earrings and picked up his belongings.
“I should tell you,” John said, “if there is a test for social workers about listening to crotchety old men, you certainly passed this morning.”
“I’m glad,” Aaron said, laughing.
“Honestly, you’ve made my day. Thanks so much for sitting with me.”
“Honestly, it was my pleasure. I know things aren’t going to get ‘better’ but I do hope they become somewhat easier to deal with. And please tell Herman I hope he enjoys his banana.”
John smiled again as he opened the door to leave the coffee shop.
He barely noticed the cold air around him.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
