My life in a donut shop.

Twice a day for the past 12 years on my way to and back from work I would make a quick little stop at Big O’s donuts. I’d walk in and greet Olaf, the most towering man in town and get my usual order of a turkey sub to go. Like everyone else, I was too intimated to ever strike up a conversation with him, in-fact in the first six months I went there I had only ever given him my order and bolted out the second I paid. “The man can make a sandwich but he’s got to change that glare of his” I’d think.

On a random day as I was going in for lunch and psyching myself out to interact with him, I saw something I hadn’t seen before. There was Olaf, a giant brooding man, bending down on his knees feeding a collection of kitties. He had a smile big enough to carve into a mountain plastered on his face and an energy I could only describe as unyieldingly warm. That day, I had gone in and given my order as well as made a friend with whom id share my cat stories. After that day, Olaf and I would fill in the time it took for my sub with the most mundane banter there could be. Two young men talking about the day they had, the women they didn’t sleep with and the change they were going to make. I told him that if his face was always as inviting as it is when he’s around cats, he’d have a lot more business than a shoddy accountant and maybe some friends too. The next day, I walked into pictures of cats plastered around the inside and little play area for the local strays. “Europeans.” I thought to myself.

Those brief moments in his shop had turned into the breaths of fresh air into an otherwise mundane life. The food I used to go for took a backseat, to the life I’d find inside. Olaf with his kittens, the people playing with cats and eventually the love of my life, ordering the same thing as me on a fateful summer day. It was pure happenstance that she was there, pure coincidence that I struck up a conversation, but it felt like sheer destiny that she had walked into my life. A few years on from there, we were reading our wedding vows to each other and who else but Olaf of Big O’s would we trust to make the food. A few more years after that, it was in the same idyllic donut shop where my daughter had her first birthday. She adored that place more than anyone in the world and I adored her with all my heart. Soon after she had turned four, I had gotten a better job all the way across the country. It was an opportunity of a lifetime; a chance to finally make the change me and Olaf had always talked about. Though he didn’t know it, little by little he had made that change in his life, and it was time I did too. I had gone with my family to Big O’s one last time, saying our goodbyes and parting ways. It was the last time I ever saw him and the last time I ever ate that turkey sub.

“That’s nice and all mister Hendrick, but what does that have to do with why you always sit outside the subway. I mean I’ve walked by here for a week and every time you’re just on the bench looking at it!”. I took a minute’s pause, wondering why an old man like me was reminiscing about simpler times to a boy who asked a simpler question. “Well young man, this is where the shop used to be. Every now and then I like to sit here and reminisce”, I answered. “Ohhh, then why’s there’s a subway here now?” he asked. “I wish I knew son; all we can do is mourn what used to be” I answered. “Well mister Hendricks, if you like turkey so much you should come to my dad’s shop! It’s a block from here and everyone says the sandwiches he makes are the best! If you ask me though, no sandwich should have pickles, blegh.” He went on about pickles for a while after that, but he reminded me of my own grandson so I would sit and listen to his rambles with utmost attention. “Well, I guess I can come with you. Lead the way to for this old man young’n” I said while laughing. “I’m not young! I’m already seven years old now!” he yelled. I was shocked, not by his yelling but over the fact that he was seven. “Well, what do you know, I thought you were eleven or twelve! You’re quite tall for a seven-year-old!” I said, giving him a pat on the back.

We made our way to the store, it was a short walk away, but the town had changed much from back when I lived here as a young man. I reminisced about all the places that used to be, and how I wished my wife were still here with me to visit them one last time. It was for her funeral we were back. She always wanted to be buried in the place she called home. Though it was no longer the home she remembered. Everywhere I looked, it was chain store after chain store. A supermarket for every block. That was until we made it to the shop. “Here we are mister Hendricks!” the boy said. I walked in and was welcomed by the aroma coming from the front. It was nostalgic. I know it wasn’t the same place, but I couldn’t help but feel like I had spent my life here.

“DADDDYYYY!”, the young boy had run behind the counter and leapt into his fathers’ arms. “This is mister Hendricks; he loves turkey so can you give him the sandwich you make? The one with the pickles”. The young man looked over to me, slightly confused. “I’m sorry if my son has bothered you sir, he tends to have an overactive imagination” he said with a hint of worry. “Oh not at all! The boy just gives this old man company while I sit outside feeding the birds” I said with a chuckle. “We were talking about sandwiches today, so I thought I’d bring him here" he said. “I see! Well in that case, what would you like mister…. I’m terribly sorry what was it? “. “Hendricks, Jonathan Hendricks.” I answered. “No kidding! We have a sandwich called the Jonah H. here haha, what a coincidence. In-fact it’s the turkey sub my son was talking about” the young man said. I took a minute and laughed It off, pure happenstance I thought. “I guess I just have one of those names” I replied. “Probably haha, the names for all the dishes here are hand me downs. It was my wife’s father who came up with most of the recipes! Speaking of, Olaf can you call your mother for me?” he said, holding his son. Olaf.

I was silent for the next few minutes. I looked over at the boy as he ran to bring his mother. She was a tall woman. The resemblance was uncanny. I paid for my sandwich with a look of bewilderment on my face and made my way outside. There was a bench right out front. I sat down and unwrapped my order. The smell washing over me. The exact same turkey sub, with the same ingredients. I took a bite. And then another and another and another. Midway it started to taste saltier then I remembered. It was when I noticed I was sobbing. Whether they were tears of grief or tears of joy I do not know, but they would not stop until the sandwich was gone. I finished my meal and looked up at the shop. I saw families walking in, couples walking out. Young men with dreams and children filled with gleeful joy. I knew now that my tears were those of remembrance. That the life I lived here and the time I spent with a dear friend is not a distant memory, but a place that lives on in spreading warmth and love to all those who come by it. That my friend remembered me as a part oh his life, enough to immortalize me in the joy he brought to the world. That the memories I have of a little donut shop, haven’t been lost to the sands of time.