The old man sat in the corner of a popular café shop in the middle of town. He is known by all the employees because he makes his seat here often. A pen and a cup of coffee was all that sat atop the small round table. He wore a worn out cardigan, old slacks, and dress shoes. Glasses sat upon his solemn, aged face.
The shop is decorated with pink and red all around. A middle-aged man and woman, a table away are drinking tea and talking tenderly to one another. A young couple sat at a nearby table sipping on some coffee and laughing at inside jokes. The old man peered past the couples inside and looked out the window. Everything was covered with a blanket of white. A family with small children hustled past, giggling to one another. Another couple slowly walked by. The woman beaming, holding onto a bouquet of red roses and clenching the hand of a man with a twinkle in his eye.
Love is in the air, as the saying goes, but the old man just watched it all pass by. The waitress walked up to his table and asked if he’d like a refill. He had been taken back to the day he and his wife had sat in this same café shop for their 30th Anniversary. He smiled even now remembering the way she looked that night. She had her hair done in curls and her lips were cherry red. She wore a summer dress and a white sweater. She was beautiful. The waitress had to repeat herself a little louder to get the man’s attention. He replied quietly and slowly, “Yes. Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” She gave him a sad smile, filled his mug, and walked away.
The old man slowly reached out his shaking hand, and poured a clear liquid into his cup, barely able to grasp the mug and bring it to his trembling mouth. Everything moved slower in his world now. He had lived the years of excitement and joy not too long ago. His life had been high speed and full of love, but not anymore. His wife had passed away four years ago, and after her passing their children no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. He had taken on drinking in his loneliness and his daughters didn’t want their children subjected to it.
Every sip was warm going down his throat, giving him a short relief from the constant aching he felt in his body. It felt so long ago now, since he knew what happiness felt like. Nothing seemed to bring a smile to his face except the memories that remained. With that smile was great sadness, and the reminder that she would never be returning to him. Cancer had robbed her of the joy she had, several summers ago. That day was just as crisp to him as the day it happened. She had been in hospice for a few weeks and her health was deteriorating quickly. It had been a long four years, constantly battling this disease, but she had been strong. He would watch her as she laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. Too weak to talk, smile, or even acknowledge he was there. The call came on a Sunday afternoon after he had gone home to shower and rest a while before returning to her bedside. The voice of the nurse on the other side of the line was still clear in his mind, “You need to return to the hospital, immediately.” She was calm, but there was a hint of distress and sorrow in her voice. It hit him like a brick, because he knew right in that instant, nothing would be the same.
A little girl entered the café clinging tightly to her mother’s coat. She looked up at her mother and beamed with delight. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate” the small voice repeated over and over again. They walked up to the counter and the mother ordered a coffee and a big chocolate muffin. The girl shrieked with delight when the cashier handed her the muffin. He sat and watched as the scene played out. It reminded him of all the time he had spent with his three girls. His youngest who is now just turning forty-one, and his oldest, forty-nine.
When he thought about all the time he had spent with them, and how his addiction had made it all fade away, it tore him apart. Just two years ago he was hugging all three of them and watching their faces as they opened up each Christmas present. It was a happy morning, it was before he started drinking, and before the reality of his wife never returning to him truly hit him. He thought about the way his youngest grandson beamed at him when he handed him a gift. It was exactly what he had wanted, and he giggled and ripped apart the wrapping until he revealed the blue matchbox car. They had spent the afternoon outdoors racing it down the slide. “Push me, Pop Pop! Higher, higher!” said a squeaky little blonde on the swing set. The reminder of her voice brought tears to his eyes. He knew he would never see that little angel, ever again. He cherished the memories of his sweet grandchildren.
He had started drinking not long after that Christmas. He was living alone and his daughters all lived in different states, with busy lives of their own. Depression came over him like heavy fog in the morning. The office in his home, where he had spent many of his days working, now was the home of several empty liquor bottles. He had awoken several times lying on the floor of the office with tears trickling down his wrinkled cheek.
He made himself return to the present moment when a young man walked toward him. He was slender, with dark hair, which reminded him of himself many years ago. “Is this seat taken, sir?” the young man asked as he took a seat at the table with the older man. The slender man began to talk to him like he had known him his whole life. Asking him how his week had been, if he was enjoying his coffee and whether or not he would like him to buy him a slice of pie. The older man was confused and stammered at each question. He had been taken aback by the kindness of this complete stranger.
“Pop, do you remember that Christmas about fifteen years ago that you bought me the little matchbox car?” There was great confusion on his face, ‘Pop?’ he thought to himself. Why was this man calling me pop? How did he know about that gift he had given to his grandson just a few years previous? “I… I remember, but who are you?” He stumbled over his words in great confusion.
His grandson smiled at him, and held up the little car. The man’s eyes lit up and he tried to smile. He took another sip of his coffee, and slowly sat back in his chair. “How’s your sister? Your mom? I thought she didn’t want you to see me?” The grandson could tell his grandfather was still living in the past, with his Alzheimer’s disease consuming his present. “They’re good. That was a long time ago Pop. I saw you yesterday, do you remember?” He was still trapped in the past, and failed to recall yesterday’s encounter. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember that.” His grandson gave him a sad smile and told him it was alright.
Their conversation continued for a half an hour or so more, before the grandson had to go. After he left, the old man sat at the table in a state of confusion. He was still depressed, still lonely and aching for his wife. Still hung-over from the night before, and yet still consuming more alcohol. He wanted to drown out the reminder that he would be returning to an empty house. He wanted to forget that his children had walked out of his life. He wanted forget that he kept forgetting.
He couldn’t grasp whom that man was that had just walked into the café and had a polite conversation with him. He said he was his grandson, but his grandson was only five. He looked out the window again and saw snow begin to fall. He gazed down at the pen and half empty coffee cup that sat atop the table. He reached out his aching hands and took hold of the sleek, black pen. He slowly turned it round and round between his fingers.
The thoughts that passed through his mind brought tears to his eyes. Three beautiful daughters that he no longer sees. A faithful wife who lost her battle several years ago. What reason did he have to continue? He set the pen back on the table and signaled to the waitress for his check. She set it on the table, smiled at him, and walked away.
He picked up the pen again and began to tap the table in a slow, steady rhythm. He began to write on the back of the receipt. “To whom it may concern…” He stopped. Looked out the window again, with a tear in his eye. There were people bustling all around now. Men hailing taxis with one hand, holding heart-shaped boxes in the other. School children were bundled up, trudging down the street carrying their full backpacks. Everywhere he looked he saw joy in the faces of those passing by.
The man wrote for a minute or two, stood up, took hold of his cane and walked with a limp out the café and into the snow.
The waitress dried her hands on her apron and walked over to the table where the man had been sitting for the past few hours. She knew something was different about him today, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She looked down at the receipt and noticed there was a note written on the back of it. She picked it up and began to read, “To whom it may concern…” The writing was shaky and difficult to read, but she continued. “I no longer know my reason for being here. I miss my family, I miss my wife. I hope at some point in my life I planted a seed of hope for someone, but I no longer can put myself through this. The pain in my body, and the ache in my heart is too much to bear. I want to see her again, so this is my final goodbye.” The waitress’ eyes were filled with tears, her hand was covering her mouth. The note slipped from her hand and fell to the table.