This Really is a True Story

Not long ago I stopped into a fast food establishment for an almost drinkable cup of coffee. The place hadn’t filled with the normal grab a bite lunch timers. There were some teens at one table, seniors at others, and a construction crew back in the corner. At one table sat an elderly woman in a wheelchair, nursing a cold cup of coffee. A partially filled helium balloon sagged from one of the grips.

I watched the lady for awhile. She looked at everyone walking by her with hopeful anticipation. Sometimes people looked back. Some nodded in her direction. Most did not. I don’t know how she got there, alone in the chair. But, there she was.

Then the boys arrived. I knew they were coming. I could hear the Harleys three blocks away. Four guys dressed in Levis and leather with badges and patches and rockers on their back. You know the type. What surprised me was that they actually stopped for fast food. This wasn’t a pub. When they walked in, everyone paid attention. As they came through the door like gangbusters they looked around, much like a cop on a bar check. Check out the scene. Identify the problem before it is a problem. They placed and received their orders, got their soft drinks and went to a quiet corner away from people, but near enough where people could stare at them.
One didn’t. He took his tray and approached the old lady in the wheelchair. I could only hear one side of the conversation. The lady spoke so softly. I will let you put in the body language. It went something like this:

“Hi. How are you doin’? Hey, look, it is kinda crowded in here today, would you mind if I shared your table?

“So how are you? You don’t mind if I talk to you, do you? I don’t know anyone around here and get a little lonesome.

“Yep! Sure do. Ride a Harley Davidson.

“You and your husband used to ride? Wow! I sure would like to get my hands on one of those. Here, share some of my fries. I can’t finish them.” The biker ate maybe three fries total.

As he sipped his Coke, I watched the old lady transform into an animated individual, excited to talk about her memories. The biker would throw out a few open ended questions and let her talk.

“Oh, man. Look at that. They gave me a chicken sandwich instead of a cheeseburger. I hate chicken. Do you want it.” pushing the ordered sandwich toward her.

“That is quite the rig you have there. Bet you get great gas mileage.

This went on for however long it took his buddies to finish their meals. When they left, he made his excuses to the lady and joined his friends outside.

As the thunder roared off down the street I studied the old lady. For awhile she sat smiling. Someone had paid attention to her. Then as the clock ticked she went back to her solitary life, hoping for someone else to notice her. Like the sagging balloon with life gone out of it.

Me? I rode down the street to the nursing home to visit my mother.