Frannie :: Panera Bread :: December 2004
This guy came in with a laptop and heavy stack of papers, unfailingly.
Sure, I didn’t really wait on him or anything. But I was there enough to notice things.
He always came in on a Thursday.
He mumbled to himself endlessly about prices and once I caught him swearing under his breath.
Once, right before Christmas, I asked him what kind of plans he had.
After all, he knew me by name (his was Jim) and asked about my kids.
With the way he stared at his computer and silently sipped his coffee, I wasn’t sure about him. Mysterious, I guess. The way my husband used to be before we started dating.
“Uh, just going home. Spending time with the family. My brother has a new baby. My sister just got a new job.” He seemed a little surprised I’d asked.
The next week, two days after Christmas, he came in on an unseen Wednesday.
I got him his typical broccoli cheese soup and extra french bread roll. He supplied the winning smile and asked me how my holiday was.
I didn’t answer, really. Just “nice.” But I was wondering something bigger.
“Jim, you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I mean, when I asked about your plans..”
“Not much to tell.”
Being older with grown kids and more years than I would have liked to admit filled with heartache and loss--
I had diagnosed a classic case.
Not much to tell, he said.
I thought of my husband and years that had a shadow cast over them-- the years I didn’t necessarily reminisce upon. The years where he was with someone else, where we were “just friends.”
One look at this guy, this kid..
I remembered, like a flood, why those years mattered after all.
I went home that night and kissed my husband on the cheek.
“You know, you certainly put me through a hell of a fight.”
He paused and looked me in the eye, confused.
“But I’m glad I stuck around.”
You had to get through the fight to win.
I hoped that Jim knew that, somehow.
Because it could be pretty tough to block out all the obstacles, shield all the things holding you back, move on.
But he would get there. Even if it took one hundred more bowls of broccoli cheese soup.
Author's Chapter Notes:
just a little filler in between important stuff .
