Standing in line with his hands in his pockets he looked like everyone else at the coffee shop. Age had been kind to him, as his posture was impressive and his face, as smooth as it was when he was perhaps twenty-five, however, he did have creases that showed up every time he smiled.
His short-sleeved red flannel shirt was tucked into his pants, which were held to his hips by a leather brown belt leaving the impression of a cowboy, the profession he might have hoped for at the age of five.
On top of his ever white gray hair, a retired military hat proudly displayed. He used to be a Marine. It was hard to miss the sense of pride that surrounded him and the emblem on his hat that matched the tattoo on his forearm. If you listened close, you could hear trumpets performing the Marines Hymn, or maybe I imagined that part. Either way, his blood pulsed to a beat of pride, unity, respect and even honor. This man reeked of stories untold.
After he got his cappuccino with extra whip cream, he turned around to face me. I smiled, he met my eyes and nodded. Once he looked back up, his shoulders went square in line with his chest while I quietly mumbled, somewhat unsure of how to even say it correctly, “Thank you for serving sir”.
I might have stuttered but I meant every word.
Not even a blink did I receive. He just quietly turned away and found his seat among the other coffeehouse guests.
Doubt and regret flooded my mind. I turned back to the counter to order my lunch before my face could turn any pinker. Thoughts flooded my mind, was I wrong? Did I sound sarcastic when in reality, I was trying to be completely sincere? Did he not hear me? Did I bring up bad memories? Should I have bought his drink? Do I have food in my teeth?
The five minutes I waited for my food was some of the longest and most awkward minutes of my life, especially after I realized he was staring at me from his corner. The embarrassed butterflies in my stomach turned into terrified elephants as I realized I had to go past his table on my way out the door.
“I’ll just walk quickly and look at my shoes,” I said to myself. “And try not to fall,” I added with a gulp. My inner monologue was shouting advice adding to the chaos that was already in my head.
Following my plan, I picked up the brown bag which contained my lunch “to go” (oh, how comforting those last two words were when my order was called) and proceeded to start walking, while looking at my shoes. So far it was going well. And then it happened.
“Miss,” said a small deep voice. “Miss.” Immediately, I looked up trying not to look startled and disappointed my plan didn’t work.
The gentleman’s hat was off and his face was more relaxed than our previous encounter. It was his eyes that caught me off guard. Filled with water, his blue eyes shown as he spoke two words and only two. “Thank you.” And with a nod, he returned to his cappuccino.
I wish I could tell you I said something. I wish I could tell you I bought his coffee for him. I wish I could say I sat down right then and there and listened to his stories about his military experience while I ate my lunch that was supposed to be to go. But none of those happened. They didn’t have to.
Our encounter was enough. More than enough. Right before I stepped out of the coffee shop I turned back around and saw the man dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief with a thoughtful look on his face. It was almost a grin, something I could tell his face hadn’t done in awhile. The grin grew a little bit larger as he picked up his cup and took a swig.
And with that I turned and walked out the door, carrying his smile with me out into the pouring rain.
