I remember it like it was yesterday and I'll remember it forever. Right after collage I rented a small apartment in a little town in Connecticut. The town had a population of merely 2 maybe 3 thousand. Anyways after finding one of the cheapest apartment in the quant settlement that could barely pass as a town; I had to find a job. I was interviewed by a few people, but the jobs were just not for me. One fall afternoon, walking back from an interview I spied a petite coffee shop across the avenue from me. Juxtaposed by nicely trimmed, golden flaming, oak trees. The outlet in which the coffee shop sat looked almost movie like in the soft September light. Before my brain kicked in my feet were already on their way across the cross walk to the brick building. I walked inside and was enchanted by how cozy it was I ordered the dark roast house special and walked it over to a table pressed against the light orange wall that almost matched the trees outside. Sipping my coffee and looking around I noticed a most peculiar vault the size of a walk in closet. The vault sat behind the counter of fresh pastries, it looked like a bank vault but very old. I turned my attention back to my coffee, then to the other patrons. A middle aged couple sat at a table in the bay window on the left side of the entrance and across the room from me in a corner sitting alone sat an elderly man. Between his two wrinkly hands was an espresso resting on the table and on his face rested a pair of oversized glasses. He had thinning white hair, but his face was cleanly shaven. He looked lonely sitting there in the corner, I could tell, by how he just stared at the empty untucked chair that was opposite him. I decided in my mind that I was going to go talk to him; about something, about anything. I stood and walked over to him at an even pace. Once I reached him I said,
"Excuse me Mr.; do you have the date per chance?" Even though I could have easily checked my phone he and I needed some human interaction.
"Yes, it is Wednesday the 23rd I do believe." He replied in a croaky but clear voice. I smiled, thanked him then walked over to the counter to buy a refill of coffee to go. The man running the shop, who seemed to be the only employee, took my money and cup. He refilled my coffee then returned and handed it to me. Curiosity hit me.
"Hey, did this building use to be a bank?" I asked. He replied, smiling and clearly pleased by my interest.
"I’m glad you asked, it did indeed. You must have noticed the bank vault?"
"I did, it looks quite old." We talked on and he told me that the bank was built in 1886 and in 1963 it was decommissioned. Our conversation ended and I was about to pick up my coffee to leave when I saw the "help wanted" sign taped to the counter. Fate kicked in, I asked about the job and a week later I got it and began my shift. I was given Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays to work. That first Wednesday I noticed the old man sitting at the same table he was siting last Wednesday with his espresso staring into the opposite empty chair. I saw this again the next Wednesday and the next, the same terms each time. I asked Bill my boss and the owner about him and he told me that I shouldn't make conversation with him for he was “different”. I had been studying him every time he came and he seemed to be undisgruntled and friendly, just sad that's all. Finally after working at the coffee shop for over a month, I approached him. I asked him if it was okay if I pulled up a chair and he agreed to that. We talked a little bit, that day, I asked most of the question and he answered them; until I had to return to my post and he had to return home. We continued these talks for a couple of weeks until we became what you might call friends. Finally in late November I got the courage to ask him why he came here every Wednesday to drink espresso and stare at an empty untucked chair across from him. He replied with a chuckle "That chair isn't empty, son." Confused I questioned him further. He told me the story about how 64 years ago he met his wife at this bank and once it turned into a coffee shop they came here every Wednesday and shared an espresso. Up until 14 years ago, when she suddenly died. But still every hump day he came and sat at that table and drunk half of an espresso and stared into her eyes.
"But she's gone, you can move on." I said. He laughed again and said.
"She may be gone from your sight, but I can still see her sitting there, looking as beautiful as the day I met her." He took another sip then pushed the half full cup to the other side of the table, for her.
"Now if you excuse me it's time for us to go home." He smiled once more then stood and hobbled out the door on his way down the short walk home. I returned to the counter and the day slowly came to an end. The week passed and as it always does Wednesday came around again. But this day ended and the old man never showed up and he didn't show up the next. I began to worry and so that night when I got off my shift I walked to his house and knocked upon the door. The heavy red wooden door was opened by a woman maybe 35-40 years old with a clipboard in her hand. The nametag on her chest read “Rose; realtor agent.” I asked her where the old man was and her smile faded. She explained to me how he died last Tuesday and she was simply there to sell the house. Darkness hit me along with sadness. I slept little that night for he was on my mind. The next day I took off work and put on my best suit, then walked to the graveyard where the burial was being held. Three rows of metal chairs were set up and because I was the first one there I sat in the front. As the service prolonged I realized that I wasn't the first one there. I was the only one who showed up. The ceremony wrapped up and the pine box was lowered slowly into the cold ground and the priest left after a prayer. I slowly walked over to the headstone and read the name off of it aloud. "Thomas Bell.” So that’s his name I thought. I felt a tear in my eye and felt it fall. But when I looked up and read the name of the tomb next to his "Shannon Bell" I quickly connected the dots and sadness was washed away from me as I realized this was the woman that he loved and devoted his life and every Wednesday to. I smiled because I knew he was happy and finally after 14 years they are together again; in peace. I placed a rose between the two close graves. Then thought to myself, "Hmm, I guess love does last forever."