I had
been sitting in the coffee shop for over an hour. It was one of my weekly
rituals which I had cherished ever since I moved into this small town. There
were several coffee shops in the area but I chose this one because it was the
least crowded, most secluded and the owner made the best coffee I had tasted in
years.
I
didn’t go there every day, only on weekends. I found a small table in the
corner near the window and used the spent time working out the daily crossword
from the morning paper. This task was followed by actually reading the
editorials, then a few chapters of a novel and concluded with the hand-writing
of a letter or two. My stay was much longer than it should have been but the
owner never asked me to leave, as long as I continued to order refills and
eventually a light sandwich or plate of noodles.
The
owner was really a middle-aged couple who had run the business for decades and
had gradually built up a faithful clientele of regular customers who guaranteed
a rather fixed income. They were a personable pair who took a caring interest
in their customer giving a personal touch to their service which resulted in a
sense of customer loyalty rarely seen these days in larger towns.
Although
I was absorbed in my own business I could not ignore the regular customers who
came to the place. I could tell the time by their arrival. That’s how
predictable they were. I arrived by eight in the morning and I was usually among
the first. I would stake my claim to a table, (which soon became my table) and I watch the others from
the corner of my eye.
The
coffee shop was called “Crawling Ivy”
because of the carpet of ivy which climbed outside up and along the walls. The
shop was not attached to other buildings and stood alone near the road
surrounded by flower pots and fields and a small parking lot in the back.
Within
an hour of opening customers arrived and placed orders for coffee and ‘the
usual.’ This expression was used by the regular customers who had established a
rapport with the owner. She always knew what ‘the usual” was and their loyalty
and her service was what kept the shop in business.
I
tried to bury myself in my work and for the most part I was successful having
the ability through habit to block out what didn’t interest or concern me.
Around
ten in the morning there was always a regular visitor, a woman with two
children. The woman was in her mid-thirties and the kids were still tots. They
were two boys; an older kid around three years old and his brother was about a year younger. What I remembered most about these
kids was their bad behavior. The moved into the coffee shop as though they
owned it. They sprawled over the chairs and climbed the tables. For some reason
the owner never threw them out but tolerated them beyond what was acceptable.
The
mother of these two brats seems as though she carried a bag of troubles on her
back. She always had a messy look about her and nothing about her was neat. Her
hair was uncombed and her fingernails were bitten down to the skin. She came
into the shop in the same way that a tornado descends upon a city. One could
only begin to imagine what her home might have looked like and why she found it
necessary on a Saturday morning to take her children to a coffee shop rather
than a city park.
The
owners of the shop were at a loss as to how to treat her. Her arrival came as
an annoyance to the regular customers who tolerated her presence while
suppressing a feeling of discomfort.
It was
not long that she began to focus her attention upon me an
mumbled hushed words to her children while nodding her head in my direction. I
knew I was the center of her comments and really began to dislike her
intensely.
It was
a rainy Saturday towards the end of March when I can to the coffee shop as was
my usual habit. The weather was especially raw and the rain was turning to
snow. I sat at a table close to the window and was enjoying the melancholic
intimacy of the weather as it make the hour seem later that it was and created
an awesome silence uninterrupted by the soon to follow parade of customers.
I was
certain that the woman with the monstrous children would not be out on such a
foul day. But I was wrong and my unwarranted hopes were dashed to the ground
when she entered around mid-morning. I knew that with this weather the children
would be especially ill-behaved and there was nothing I could do except to
accept the guaranteed hopelessness of the situation and leave.
My
expectation proved to be true and I was at the limit of my patience. In defeat
I packed my briefcase; stuffed it with the pencils and notepads that were the
tools of my work and got up to leave.
It was
at this point that she approached me with her children and asked me for a most
peculiar favor.
“Excuse
me, sir,” she begged. “Would it be alright I my children shook your hand?”
“What?”
I exclaimed in surprise, “Whatever for?”
“Well,
every week we notice that you are sitting there all by yourself and you must be
very lonely. My children think you are a very mean man because you never smile.
I just don’t want them to be afraid of strangers.”
I felt
her comments to be strange. If I appeared to be a mean man, then you should
tell your children to avoid me.
One of
her children, the elder of the two, approached me and put out his hand for a
handshake. I could tell that it was not a spontaneous gesture and more than
likely he was put up to do it by his mother. He kept his eyes down and appeared
to be nervous as though the mere touch of my hand would contaminate his own.
After
the awkward handshake the second boy approached. His nervousness was compounded
by fear and his hand felt cold and sweaty and clammy. After I had shaken both
their hands they retreated to another part of the coffee shop having done
something against their will.
I
wondered what sort of a mother would force her children to shake the hands of a
foreigner and whether a future request would be to sign my autograph in their
school notebooks.
She
looked absolutely pleased after I had complied with her wise and said,"
Thank you so much for shaking my children's hands. You're really not as mean as
you look."
I was
confused by her offhanded compliment and wondered what possible path towards
sanity her mind was taking a deviation.
They
stayed at the coffee shop for another hour and then left. I watched them go and
wondered if they went home to anything. Most mothers take their children to
parks and playgrounds but this one....
I
could not continue my thoughts. It exhausted me to attempt to figure out
anything beyond what I could see, touch and feel.
I
stayed a while longer and paid my bill. It was my last trip to "Crawling
Ivy." I decided never to go back.