Senior Friends—a Meet-up with Marlene

I smile as I think about one of my senior friends, Marlene, driving her car toward our favourite coffee-house. She’ll be speeding just a little—not as much as she used to, though. I’m already sitting at our favourite table, with my cup of black, no sugar, no cream, in front of me. I’ve been waiting for a few minutes, and take out my iphone to check the time. I’ve already done this twice.  It’s not like her to be late. I take my coffee to a window, and stand there, so I can see her car approach. If only she had a cell phone, I fuss, I’d phone her and know her progress. I’ve already phoned her home, and she wasn’t there.  I’ll wait a few more minutes and then leave, I decide, assuming she has forgotten. My mind wanders back to the last time I saw her.  She was wearing a new blue summer jacket, I remember. It looked good on her. Summer, I realize with a jolt—it’s been months since we met up for coffee!

Just then, I see her big old Cadillac swing into view and slow down as she looks for a parking spot. When she appears on the sidewalk, bundled against the wind, huge handbag clutched to her side, I allow myself a little sigh of relief.  As usual, she times her entrance so that someone can open the door for her, and when a young man does just that, I see her engage him in a few words. Just like Marlene, I smile, never one to be ignored.  As always, she goes right into the lineup to buy her medium black, no sugar, three cream. I stand up to hug her, and we are finally settled down for our visit.

“Marlene, it’s so wonderful to see you!”  I say, and I mean it.

“You too, Diane. I was so happy to get your call. You know, you can call me anytime. I can always rearrange my coffee dates around you. I know you are busier than any of us.”

“Yes, I am busy. But there’s no reason to leave it so long. I just get carried away, and before I know it, weeks have gone by! But how are you? You look so good.”

I see the love in her eyes, as she touches my arm, “I’m okay. My health is good. But I’ve been sad.”

She pauses to compose herself, and I wait, a lump in my throat. It must be bad, for Marlene to admit this—sadness, of all things.

“Its Betsy,” she finally says, “She died.” Betsy is her sister, I know, and her only remaining relative. I can’t find the right words. the lump in my throat settles in, and I get up and move my chair so we are sitting side by side. We stay there for a while, taking up the choice chairs in the premier corner, not caring as the other customers swirl around us and settle in irritation for the center tables and the counter.

“There’s nothing I can do or say to make you feel better,”  I say. “You just have to let time pass. It might take months, or longer, maybe.”

“I know,” she says, “Time will heal this. It usually does.”

I move closer, and put my arm around her shoulder. We sit some more. Finally she makes a move to collect her handbag, and gets up. As we both move toward the door, she stops and looks me square in my face.

“Don’t think it didn’t help,” she says. “To see you, I mean. Just to hear you say what I already know—that I have to let time pass. It helped. It helped me a lot.”

I walk her to her car and see her inside. I never do this. Usually she rushes to her car and tears off in a hurry to her next appointment or meet-up.

“Call me,” she says, “Any time you have a minute. I’ll come to a coffee shop closer to your condo if you don’t feel like driving all the way here.”

“I will,” I say, and I really mean it.

“But just a minute,” I stop her, as she places the key in the ignition, “I have a quick question. What did you say to the young man who opened the door for you when you came in?”

“I told him he had the nicest blue eyes I ever saw.” she answers, and we both laugh, just like old times.