The Man at the Corner Booth

The man with jet black hair sat alone in the corner booth of the diner. No one came to visit him. No friends or business associates. He ordered a coffee, black with two sugars. Nothing more. He looked lonely, sitting there stirring his coffee endlessly. His brilliant green eyes were melancholy, as if he was remembering a lost one. It broke my heart to see such a charming face so twisted in sad contemplation. I had an inappropriate urge to scoop him in my arms and tell him it would all be okay.

I resisted the urge.

Peeling my eyes from him was a different story, altogether. There he sat, all the weight of the world on his shoulders. I was held captive by the intensity in the man's eyes, unable to break free from his gravitational pull. So, here I am; like a fly on the wall watching him time after time struggle against unknown burdens and unseen demons.

Every day he returns to this diner and sits at that lonesome booth, glassy eyes glazed as he stares unerringly into the murk of the unlit morning.

He arrives at the same time, a quarter before 5 am. Without fail he orders his usual. He doesn't engage me in conversation, nor will he reciprocate if I try. He isn't rude about it, just preoccupied, as if his mind is light years away.

He pays with a crisp $10 bill, and lets me keep the change. His manners are impeccable and he's always polite. He's distant, yet, not in a cruel way. His shoulders are slumped as if a weight pulled on him. He remains sitting there for an hour, then he hurries away as if he is late for an appointment.

His visit was as certain as the rising of the sun; his departure like the going down of the same. In fact it was so exact, one could set a clock to it. Once I did this very thing.

For this reason, when the man didn't leave after the customary hour, my curiosity peaked. I watched him intently. I must confess, I may have temporarily forsaken my other tables for a better view.

To my dismay, I looked to see a single tear streaking down the man's face. It welled up in the corner of those green eyes, and rolled unchecked across a lean, strong cheek. The urge to go to him was nearly overwhelming, but I held fast. I felt a tinge of guilt about looking in on this man's moment of vulnerability.

I must admit my curiosity got the best of me.

I remained staring, even as I saw the man fish into his pocket. I saw a metallic twinkle as the light gleamed off of a shiny object. Then, he placed the small sphere there on the windowsill. Without hesitation, he reached into his back pocket retrieving his wallet. He laid his money on the table, scribbled something on the check, and got up and left.

Without a backwards glance, he made his way out of the door and out of my life. That was the last time I saw him in person. Sometimes I still see that sole tear rolling down his cheek in the loneliest of my dreams. I long to look up and see him sitting in his booth endlessly stirring his black coffee. Yet, every time I glance in that direction I see a metallic glint lying on the untouched windowsill.

On that fateful morning, it took me a few moments to muster the courage to walk and collect the man's bill. I knew something momentous had happened. For better or worse, I witnessed a change. A metamorphosis of some sorts. The man in the corner booth no longer was the man in the corner booth. He had elevated, evolved into something or someone more. And there I was, glancing at the empty booth unable to face the truth.

Finally, the task couldn't be put off any longer. I had to collect payment, and clean the table. As I approached my eyes looked instinctively at the windowsill. I wasn't surprised to see the little gold ring lying forgotten on the dusty mantle. Sadness that complete; could only come from one source, love lost.

The makeshift note made my heart break.

It read:

Dear Rebecca,

I've come unerringly into your diner everyday for three years, and never once have you failed to serve me well. Your smile was the only ray of light breaking through the clouds. I regret not being able to engage you in conversation, but I was incapable.

You see, it was that curb outside the window that my wife passed. She went on an early morning run before work. A drunk driver swerved off the road and struck her. She died a few moments before the sun rose, alone on the hard concrete. This is the only place I can still feel her, even though it is darkened by loss. I was unwilling to let her go. So here I was, day after day unable to say goodbye. Filled with guilt and shame and unable to move on.

Yet, time after time I saw the way you smiled. The way you laughed. Light radiated off of you, and I began to think. Maybe I could be happy once more. Maybe I could live without the shadow. So, I thought after three long years, you should know the truth. In the midst of my darkest moment, you've been the brightest spot since the passing of my wife.

I ask only this, let my ring remain in the spot I placed it. Let it be a memorial for the woman lost. I owe you a debt I can never repay. Even still, I must leave and not come back. I've sought to outrun the shadow, so with great sadness I say farewell for good. Out this door I shall walk in the joy of life lived, and I owe this all to you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Sincerely,

The man at the corner booth.