Forty-One Years

  Allen walked into the coffee shop. His face bore a bit of surprise.
He came in an hour later than usual. He expected more customers. He tossed a newspaper on his favorite table. That was his usual. It was a way of marking his territory. 

Three women stood ahead of him in the line at the counter. That was not particularly unusual. 

Megan, the tattooed purple-haired barista, winked and nodded. And Allen returned the wink and nod, confirming his usual order. 

He paid the cashier and moved to the spot to pick up his Americano with a triple shot. 

“Running late?” Megan asked with a smile.

“Taking a day off,” Allen said.

“From what?” Megan joked.

“Come on, Megan,” Allen said, “I have a job.”

“That’s not a job,” Megan smiled, sliding his cup of coffee across the counter. “You go in at eight and stay until noon. That’s long enough to make everybody nervous and remind them you are the guy who signs their checks, and you leave and play golf.”

“That’s not true,” Allen said. “I don’t play golf.”

Allen grabbed his coffee. “See ya tomorrow.” 

“Try to be on time,” Megan said.

Allen walked to his table and nearly came to a stop. One of the women who was in front of him in the line sat at his table. He shrugged and picked up his paper, and scanned the room for another table.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t know that was your paper.”

“No need to apologize,” Allen said. “I walk in here thinking I own the place. It does me good to be humbled.”

“I’m sorry if it came off that way. It wasn’t my intention,” Megan said. 

“The best lessons are the ones that are unintentional,” Allen said. “But that was just my lame attempt at humor.”

She smiled. It was a familiar smile—a smile from a long forgotten memory—a good memory.

“You look familiar,” Allen said. 

“Are you Allen Walker?”

“And you are Ellie, Ellie Harden.”

“It’s Ellie Cameron, now.”

“That’s right, I heard you married Sam Cameron.”

“And what about you?” Ellie said. “Please sit.”

“Sure,” Allen said and sat across from Ellie. “I really can’t believe this is you.”

Ellie smiled, looked around, and smiled. “Do you want me to get somebody else to sit in for me?”

“I don’t think either one of us has lost our sense of humor,” Allen said. “And how long has it been?”

“Forty-one years,” Ellie said. “And… what about you?”

“You mean marriage?” Allen said.

“I married a girl from New York,” Allen said. “She was the sister of a friend.”

They began sipping their coffees.

“How many children?” Ellie said.

“Two,” Allen said. “And three grandchildren.”

“Well, good for you.”

“What about you?”

“A son and that’s it.”

“Grandchildren?” Allen asked.

“I don’t think he’ll ever get married,” Ellie said.

“He may surprise you someday.”

“So, what do you do?” Ellie asked.

“Wholesale automotive parts,” Allen said. “The Allen Company.” 

“I’ve heard of you,” Ellie said.

“Clever name, aye?” Allen said. 

“I never connected the two,” Ellie said. “That’s not to say I didn’t remember you.”

“And what do you do?”

“I became a teacher. I retired and work as a social worker now.”

“I remember you were always very kind and patient. Good traits for both careers.”

Allen sipped his coffee. A pleasant memory passed through his mind. He glanced up at Ellie. He wondered if he should say what he was thinking.

“Remember the Freshman dance?” Allen said.

“Yes,” she smiled.

“It was my first time I ever danced with a girl,” Allen said. “You weren’t the first girl I danced with, but you were the girl I danced with the most.”

“You were the only boy who danced with me that night. I remember standing in a group with my girlfriends. A slow song just started to play. You walked toward us. Everybody wondered who you were going to ask.” Her face opened into a smile. “It was me.”

“Can’t tell you how nervous I was. No confidence,” Allen said.

“I look back at some old pictures and we were all so awkward looking,” Ellie said.

“Don’t show me those pictures,” Allen chuckled. “I prefer to remember it the way I hope I looked.”

“Are you still married?” Ellie asked.

“No,” Allen forced a smile. “My wife died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“I can tell it is still fresh,” Ellie said.

“At times, as if yesterday.”

They sipped, and it became quiet between them. Only the sounds of coffee shop chatter and the shush from the coffee maker. They smiled at each other.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ellie asked.

“Probably,” Allen grinned.

“I broke your heart, didn’t I?”

“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t.”

Allen looked around the coffee shop. He felt as if this was all a scene from a play and everybody was watching. However, everyone was playing their own scenes.

“It was right after graduation,” Allen said. “We turned in our gowns, and I saw you standing in the hallway. I took a deep breath and rehearsed every word as I walked toward you. You looked up and smiled. I said to myself, ‘This is going to be easy.’ I said, “Hey, Ellie, are you seeing anyone or are you engaged or something?’”

“Those are the exact words I remember,” Ellie said. “And I said, ‘I just got engaged and he just walked behind you.’ And you never bothered to turn around. You put all you had into a congratulations, but it didn’t cover the way you felt.”

Allen smiled and patted Ellie’s hand. “I recovered.”

“So did I,” Ellie said. 

“I know what we’re thinking,” Allen said. “After a lifetime, finally returning to a first love, as if it was all meant to be. But the truth is they seldom are.”

“For us, forty-one years of sweet memories and perhaps, unrealized dreams and fantasies—shattered by reality,” Ellie turned her head aside for a moment. She did not want to see Allen’s expression. 

There was some small talk. And they finished their coffee at the same time.

“I have to go now,” she said. 

“Let me take your cup,” Allen said.

“Thank you.”

They stood.

Ellie smiled. “Perhaps we’ll meet again and share another coffee.”

“Perhaps not,” Allen said. “I’m not saying that to be unkind or rude. It’s petty, but forty-one years ago, it took me a couple of years to shake it off.”

“You’re right,” Ellie said. “That day, I wished I’d never met you or my fiancé. It was the worst day of my life. And one more thing, I would have broken your heart later.”

“Goodbye, Ellie.”

“Goodbye, Allen.”

The Button

  It was one of those nights for philosophy, speculation, and wandering thoughts. It was on Tim’s back porch, and the stars dotted the night like a distant celestial city.

“Tim, did you ever stop to think that if just one little thing in your life changed, it might alter your entire life?” Dick said.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “But it’s nothing I spend a lot of time on.”

“Like, it’s really surreal when you think about it,” Dick said.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Something as simple as a missing button.”

“What!” Dick said.

“A missing button,” Tim said.

“No,” Dick said. “Something like a major decision. You know, like, should I go to work at a factory or drive a beer truck? Come on, a missing button?”

“It happened to me, Tim said.

“A missing button?” Dick said. 

“Sure, changed my whole life,” Tim said.

“No way,” Dick said.

“It was in the first grade,” Tim said.

“A missing button in the first grade altered your life,” Dick said incredulously.

“I raised my hand when Mrs. Oliver asked who could spell ‘Cat,’” Tim said. “I knew, so I raised my hand. That’s when it happened.”

“What happened?” Dick said.

“I noticed the button was missing on the sleeve of my shirt,” Tim said. “Mrs. Oliver was about to say ‘Tim,’ but she saw my hand go down, so she called on Wayne.”

“And how did that alter your life?” Dick said. 

“I wasn’t asked to be on the spelling team,” Tim said.

“So?” Dick said.

“The rest of the class went out for recess,” Tim said. “Normally, we would have been having reading class.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Dick said.

“That’s where I met Bobby Luterbien,” Tim said.

“How did meeting Bobby Luterbien alter your life?” Dick said.

“Well, it wasn’t really Bobby Luterbien,” Tim said. “It was his pencil.”

“What about his pencil?” Dick said with a half-cocked grin.

“He dropped it,” Tim said. “And I picked it up.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dick said. “So you gave it back to him and what?”

“His class already went in from recess,” Tim said. “That’s when I found it.”

“How did you know it was his?” Dick said.

“His name was on it,” Tim said. “His parents were rich.”

“When did you return it to him?” Dick said.

“I didn’t,” Tim said.

“Where’s this taking us next?’ Dick said.

“Our class was called in from recess,” Tim said. “Sally Watkins yells out that I have Bobby Luterbien’s pencil. The teacher thinks I’m a thief. I‘m sent to the principal’s office. They take a closer look at me and decide I should be in a class for less than motivated learners.”

“And…” Dick said.

“I moved along with that class for five years,” Tim said. “They decide to introduce music therapy. I learn to play the guitar.”

“I didn’t know you played guitar,” Dick said.

“I broke a guitar string and have to go to the music supply room for another string,” Tim said. 

“What happens there?” Dick said.

“I don’t make it there,” Tim said.

“What happens?”

“I walk by a class and the teacher is screaming, ‘Can anybody please tell me what was the first capital of the United States?’” Tim said. “I stuck my head in the door and said there were actually nine different capitols, but under the current constitution, it was New York City. So impressed was the teacher with my answer, she took me to the principal’s office for another evaluation. That’s where I met my future wife.”

“She was in the principal’s office?” Dick said.

“Her mother was,” Tim said. “But we eventually met.”

“This makes absolutely no sense to me,” Dick said. “Any one of those things mean absolutely nothing to you meeting your wife.”

“Of course they don’t,” Tim said. “You have to let me finish.”

“If I’m following you, this might take the rest of the evening,” Dick said.

“More or less,” Tim said.

“Can you shorten it up?” Dick said. 

“Well, you don’t have to get so impatient,” Tim said. “You wanted an example, and I’m giving it to you. Do you have anything to compare with this?”

“What does this all have to do with where you are right now?” Dick said.

“Okay, okay,” Tim said. “Last week, it was open house at little Timmy Junior’s first-grade class. He’s in the same exact room I was in. I got my hand in my pocket, fumbling with loose change. From nowhere, Junior’s first-grade teacher comes up and introduces herself. I pull my hand out of my pocket, and the change rolls all over the floor. Junior immediately springs into action and collects all the change. I’m talking with the teacher. Junior disturbs a lot of stuff that was under the heat register. I look down. There’s a button. The button; that I lost 25 years earlier.”

“And what does that have to do with now!” Dick said.

“I bent down to pick it up, just then a bullet comes through the window and lodges in the wall. My head would have been in the direct line of that bullet. A guy next to the school was cleaning his rifle, didn’t know he had a round in the chamber, and it fired. So you see, it was the button. The button lost twenty-five years earlier. It saved my life.” Tim said.

“And you said you didn’t lie awake thinking about these things,” Dick said.

“That’s right,” Tim said. “You can’t make up stuff like this.”

The Porcelain Perambulator

  Alex held a small porcelain perambulator between his forefinger and thumb. He twisted it slowly, examining the intricacies. His eyes slowly rose and looked around the shop of porcelain figurines of all varieties. The shop had not changed in thirty years. It was full of memories. Only one figurine was of interest to him. 

  The hardwood floor creaked as before and in the identical places. The smell was as he remembered - the faint odor of lilac and cinnamon from a potpourri on a small table next to the door. His attention returned to the perambulator. For a moment, he returned to a forgotten time - an innocent and carefree time, a time long ago. A tear of longing formed in his eye. A deep sadness hovered over him like a cloak.

The shopkeeper asked politely, "Can I help you with something today, sir?"

"Yes," Alex said, quickly shaking his melancholy and replying adroitly. "I wish to purchase this. No need to wrap it."

The shopkeeper chuckled and leaned forward, propping himself with his hands against the counter. Looking over the tops of his spectacles, he said, "Oh, I'm afraid, sir, that one is not for sale. It is special, but if you're determined to purchase something, we have many others, and I think you will find something to your liking."

Alex smiled politely as he instantly took an estimate of the middle-aged shopkeeper with a broom mustache and a worn brown button sweater. "I was quite surprised that I would find this one still here. It has been thirty years, and I will pay ten times its value."

"Others have inquired of that one over the years, but it is not for sale at a thousand times its value, sir."

Alex pulled on his French cuffs from beneath the sleeves of his custom-tailored Italian suit. "Is this not a shop, and do you not earn a livelihood from selling porcelain?"

"Yes, but everything else you may purchase, except that one," the shopkeeper said, reaching over and tapping the perambulator with his finger. He picked it up. He smiled and looked at it fondly.

Alex pulled it from the shopkeeper. "If you knew how special it is to me, you would fix a price and sell it to me. You see, thirty years ago, my young wife and I bicycled to this town every Saturday. We were poor then. We came to this shop, and each time she picked up this very perambulator and admired it. We had no money for it at the time. It would mean so much to me if you would fix a price and send me on my way."

"Oh yes, I remember you two well. She was pretty, lovely, and kind. One does not easily forget beauty, loveliness, and kindness. Yes, I remember. Every Saturday at nearly two, you strolled into and out of the shop, and down the street you continued. You had tea down the way. She was very much in love with you. I could tell. I was a young lad then dusting the shop for my father, who dusted for his father, who dusted for his father."

"I remember your father, a kind man who wore a monocle. I believe the right eye." "Yes, that was him."

"Is he still with us?"

"He tends the shop on Mondays only."

"If he were here, what price would he fix upon it?"

"You should have inquired from him thirty years ago."

"Are you being flippant, sir?"

"Why should I do that, sir? I stated my case, and that is the much of it."

"Confound it, man! Sell me the perambulator."

"Sir, it is not for sale."

"It is important to me," Alex pleaded.

"When it was important to her, you would not even consider buying it. You did not even inquire about its price then. My father told me he would have given it to the young lady if only you had asked, but you had no intention or interest in it, but she did."

"Do you know who I am? I am Alexander Crowley. I have crushed corporations and banks. I've met half the Prime Ministers and heads of state in the civilized world. I could buy this shop. I could buy this town. I could buy you."

"But you can't buy that perambulator. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. I read the papers and watch TV. Your wife is dead now, isn't she, Mr. Crowley? I truly mourn your loss."

"Thank you, sir. Then you know how important this is to me."

"You see, sir, I won't sell it to you because it is important to you. Thirty years ago, you had no intentions of buying it, and she knew it. Did the years continue to be selfish ones, Mr. Crowley? You are buying this for yourself, Mr. Crowley, not for her. It will now only bring you pleasure. It will only make you feel good. Your opportunity to please her has long passed."

"I gave her everything she wanted," Alex exclaimed angrily.

The shopkeeper retorted, "Except the perambulator, sir. If you had asked, Mr. Crowley, what do you think Mrs. Crowley would have held most dear?"

Alex held the perambulator tightly in his grip. "Sell it to me, you stubborn fool." He slammed his fist to the counter, and the perambulator snapped into several pieces. Alex frightfully looked at it as it fell and crumbled from his hand. He was horrified to see blood pool like beads of sweat in his palm. He murmured slowly, "What have I done?"

The shopkeeper looked at him pathetically and handed him a tissue. "I was about to say again, Mr. Crowley, it is not for sale, but it is yours for the taking."