Turning his swivel chair completely to the
left, he moved his hands from the counter and said to her, “Hello! My
name is Gabriel. I prefer to be called Gabe. I’m eighty-six
years young. I was born in Brooklyn, New York, but I’ve lived here my
entire life except for a brief, and may I add, a mutually unhappy interlude in
the Army. I sold sump pumps my entire life. I don’t see well but I
still drive, it makes even the shortest ride interesting for me and everyone
else on the road at the same time. I’m in here a lot, because in my
house, dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off and besides, eating here
comes close to not eating alone. I sit in this same spot every time I’m
here and I have seen you in here before and considering how much we have in
common, I thought we should talk.”
She had tilted her head in
amusement and the slightest of smiles grew across her face.
“And what do we have in common?”
she asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, “for
starters, we’re both older than dirt.”
She rolled her head back in a
silent laugh. “True,” she said, “true.”
Although she had never seen this
man before, there was something that allowed him to say things like that and
not offend. He had a kind of child-like happiness about him.
She could hear a young
woman and an older man sitting a few feet away in a booth, engrossed in a
conversation about literature.
His eyes narrowed and he
tilted an ear towards the main dining room.
“Listen,” he whispered.
“Perry Como. Boy, I’ll tell you, I just loved Perry Como. You know this
song?”
He softly
sang out a verse.
“Till the end of time, long as stars are in
the blue,
Long as there's a Spring of birds to sing I'll
go on loving you.”
She joined him on the
second verse.
“Till the end of time, long as roses bloom in
May,
My love for you will grow deeper with every
passing day.”
When the song ended,
she extended her fragile hand and said, “I’m Gretta. What was your name again?”
He paused for dramatic effect and
said, “What’s my name? Wait , I know this one. Gabe. Gabe
Juventas.”
“Gabe,” she said graciously, “I’m
Gretta. Gretta Geras. ”
“Gretta,” he said with a smile
and a nod, “that’s a pretty name. Gretta. That’s a good name.
I guess you’re not supposed to say womanly things are pretty anymore.”
“Tell me I’m pretty Gabe,” she
said, “all day long if you like. It’s nice to meet you.”
He stretched out his hand to her
but she was three seats away, so he stood from his chair and sat next to her.
“Eighty-six year old bones are
not for stretching,” he said. “May I sit here?”
“Please do,” she said with a wave
that was near majestic.
He sat with a long sigh and said,
“If I acted my age, I’d be dead.” And then turning full around to face
her he asked happily, “So, what shall we talk about?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “it is a
momentous day for me,” and she nodded as she sipped her tea.
“It’s your birthday?” he asked.
“No,” she replied with a
smile. “I have decided to sell my home of fifty years.”
“Fifty years,” he said. “Wow, you
are old, aren’t you?”
She chuckled and added,
“The home where my child was raised, the home where so much else in my life has
happened.”
She paused and gave him a
side-glance. He thought her eyes were beautiful. They showed her
soul and her kindness. He considered saying something, anything, but
thought it better to say nothing because he sensed that she wanted to be
heard.
“It’s such a big house,”
she continued as she guided her gaze back to her teacup.
“Especially when you’re all
alone. I know I should have left years ago, but I couldn’t. So much
of me is there.”
Her attention returned to him and
the dinner and she seemed surprised. For lack of anything else to do, she
perused a menu.
“I guess I should have a salad,”
she said more for her benefit then his. “It’s healthier.”
“Healthy Smelty,” he said with a
wave of his hand. “Enjoy life. My Ida would say….”
“Is Ida your wife?” she asked
interrupting him.
“She was. She is.
Forty-five years married,” he replied. “She’s passed on now. It’s been
seven years.”
“I’m sorry Gabe,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“Remarried?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said loudly. “Not that
I’m opposed to it. It’s tough to meet people when you’re my age, you
know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, these young gals are all over me, I
beat em off with a stick. Now, my back goes out more than I do.”
“Children?” she asked.
“No, but thank you,” he said.
“I’m too old.”
“Do you have children?” she asked
and then realized he was joking.
“No,” he answered with a vague
sadness. “Never did. It was just the two of us. And you?”
“A daughter,” she answered.
“Is she local,” he asked.
“Waterbury,” she said.
“It must be nice,” he said, “you know,
to have someone.”
“We don’t speak,” she said
suddenly arching her back straight up in the chair. The words surprised
her. They seemed to flow out of her on their own.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really
am.”
“I’m sorry to burden you…..” she
said, embarrassed that she had brought up the subject.
Sensing she needed to unload that burden, he
said, “Let’s talk about it.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said cautiously.
“Don’t know what?” he shrugged.
“Look, you need to get this off your chest, pardon my…what do you say…choice of
words….and frankly, I’m bored. I’ll listen to anything, so go
ahead. I insist.”
She took a deep breath and
released it and said, “I’ve reached out to her of course.” She continued, “I’m
her mother and I didn’t have to reach out to her, but I did.”
“She didn’t respond?” he asked
sympathetically.
“She said she needed time,” she
answered quickly and he could see the jaw grow tense.
“I gave her forty five years of
my time. How much more time does she need? Because for me, time is
becoming a precious commodity. If her father was here, oh boy, would he
straighten her out in a quick hurry, I’ll tell you that. I’d like her to
feel what I feel. Then she would know….oh boy then she would know…..”
She stopped talking and realized
she had gripped her tea mug so hard the blood had left her long thin
fingers. From the side, she realized he was staring at her and without
turning to him she said, “I’m sorry. You’re in an awkward position.”
“Mothers and daughters,” he said
with a shrug. “It’s a complex relationship.”
They fell silent for a few seconds, but it was
a good silence, a comfortable silence.
“You know,” he said slowly,
“anger is an emotion. Not the best one, but it’s an emotion. On its
flip side is calm and peace…..let her be angry. Sometimes all that people
need is a little room to vent. Time heals all things.”
She sighed heavily, “Maybe it was me…I don’t
know. I’ve blundered so many things in my life.”
“You know,” Gabe said, “if I had
my life to live over again, I would have more actual troubles and fewer
imaginary ones. I believe the biggest mistake you can make in this life
is always fearing you will make a mistake. To do that is a …uh….well it’s
a mistake…. if you want to test your memory, try to recall what you were
worrying about one year ago today. I stopped worrying years ago.
When I go to bed at night, I leave my troubles with God. He’s gonna be up
all night anyway.”
“You’re right. Maybe I
should go to Mass,” she said. “Talk to God about it. Are you a
religious man, Gaberiel?”
“Call me Gabe,” he said. “I
guess I’m religious, but I don’t attend. Going to service doesn't make
you spiritual any more than going to a garage makes you a car.”
“I’m thinking about taking up
golf, “she said. “Do you exercise?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I figure
that if God wanted me to touch my toes, he would have put them on my
knees. Do you work in the area?”
“Oh heavens no,” she said looking
around the room. “I don’t work anymore. The last job I had was as a
temp. The man asked me if I knew how to copy a computer disk and I said,
“of course I know how to copy a computer disk. Where is the Xerox machine?
That’s when they let me go. So I don’t work anymore.”
“Coffee?” the waitress asked.
“No dear, it makes me gassy,”
Gretta said with squinted eyes.
The waitress turned to Gabe
and lifted the coffee pot.
“Me? Naw,” he said
with a wave. “After two cups, I have to move the bed into the bathroom.”
Filled with a lifetime of more
information than she wanted to know about Gretta and Gabe, the waitress
returned to her station.
“If you want to get rid of young
people fast,” Gabe said looking over at the departing waitress, “talk about
bodily functions. They flee in seconds.”
They smiled at each other.
“You are easy to talk to,” Gretta told
him.
“Thank you Gretta,” he said with
a slight bow. “It’s hard to meet new people. I was married to the girl
I dated in high school. Fifty-two years we were together. I’m proud
of that.”
“Do you miss her?” Gretta
asked. “Often? Do you miss her often?”
He tilted his head to the
side and pondered the question. “I don’t know if this answers the question,”
he said slowly, “but I miss the moments. What I mean is being alone, I’ve
had time to think, and what I think is that the important moments in life
aren’t one thing. They are a lot of moments rolled together. You
need perspective. You need to become old to understand that, to truly
understand it. I often fear that my moments…the good moments are over.”
He turned and looked at their
reflections in the mirror and saw Gretta and him as they were fifty years
before. He spoke to the young man in the mirror and he said, “I used to
think, when I was younger, that one day I would wake up and I would be in old
age. But there is no old age, or middle age or even youth, there’s
just………….you.”
Fearing that he had gone on too long, he
turned to Gretta and smiled and said, “Still, I’m proud that in dog years, I
should be dead. But you do grow old.”
“I know what you mean,” she said.
“My idea of a big night out is sitting on the patio.”
“I’m so old,” he said, “the
candles on my birthday cake cost more than the cake.”
He put his elbow on
the counter and resting his head in his hand he said, “So, Gretta, I have bared
my soul to you, now it’s your turn…talk to me.”
“Well,” she said slowly, “I
understand what you mean about the moments, the good moments. It’s my
fear as well, that they’re all gone. I think often that if I had a person
in my life, you know, a special person…. Now this may sound horrible to
you and you’ll think I’m just a gosh awful person, but I’m not looking for a
great romance. I had that, with my husband, one of the finest men who
ever lived. I would just like some companionship. And I know that’s
just awful, but…..just not…. to be alone at a restaurant. Someone to
watch TV with. I had the true love of my life. Now I need to have
another sort of true love. A person who understands me as I am now.
When I was very young, I believed that true love meant holding hands, now I
think it consists of holding hearts.”
He was smiling at her and said
softly, “Well said.”
She looked into the mirror
and saw her husband lying in the hospital and she said,
“I had a good man. He was
such a good man. A tough, gentle man. The last time I saw my Bill,
he was dying of cancer. Those goddamned cigarettes. Those goddamned
cigarettes. He had tubes running… into every part of his little body and
he was so gaunt and colorless. I kissed him on his forehead and then a
while later he died. He just died. Well, for the longest time, that
was all I had to remember him by, my husband, my love, that dear, strong,
gentle man, in that hospital bed with all those tubes.”
Gabe fought to hold back his
tears but he couldn’t and said, “You asked me if I missed her often. It is an
odd thing that when you see people in your life looking ridiculous or in pain
that you realize how much you love them. Now, with some distance behind
me, I don’t think that’s important any more. That day and the horrible
picture it left me of my bride. It’s not important. I don’t think
the way we say goodbye is important. The time we spend together on this
earth, and how we spent that time, sharing the difficulties and the joys of
this life, that’s important.”
They sat in silence for a minute
and Gretta said, “You were saying about age, that you’re as old as you
feel. I really haven’t changed, I mean fundamentally changed, in seventy
years. Your body changes, but you don't change. You’re still
you. We’re always the same age, inside. I think….I think we grow
old by deserting our ideals.”
“I agree,” Gabe said
firmly, “and that’s why I will always be an anarchist.”
She raised her teacup and saluted
him. “Power to the people!” she said.
He raised his coffee cup and
said, “Ah, screw the people, think of yourself.”
“Gabe,” she asked, “do you like Scrabble,
the parlor game?”
“Do I like Scrabble?” he said
loudly. “My middle name is Scrabble.”
And so they talked and the rain
fell and the great, important moments of life went on.