Semicolon savior II

It was a busy lunch already and it was just after 11:00, 11:11 to be exact. The space was all a mix of locals, lawyers and defendants. Some were talking over the people in line now extending past the door entrance. Others were checking in with family or passing time on social media. And the rest were eagerly waiting to make eye contact with me to place their order and to find a nearby table or park bench. Robert was busy outside talking with potential buyers and seemed to really be enjoying all this new exposure. His current piece was morphing into a restaurant at the edge of a galaxy, and almost every passerby stopped to admirer the hourly changes. The sun was shining and we were jumpin’. These days were the new norm now that Custer Coffee had been in business for over 5 years and had become the local “spot.” Consignment art pieces ranging from painted skateboards to homemade jewelry lined the walls and shelves, while the music ranged daily to whatever Pandora radio station we picked. It was a family owned spot where the owners kids were strung about the tables mingling with their regulars, or helping with dishes in the back. How far had it come in such a short time. Everyone seemed to know each other and if you were new to the area, you wouldn’t stay “new” for long.

He was waiting in line just like the others, but I noticed his attire was bright and almost futuristic. Not robotic or seemingly noticed by anyone else, but I was known to pay attention to the smaller details. His hair was cut like a 90’s Prince of Bel-air fade and he had a fanny pack around his waist. This collaboration of wardrobe choices seemed from the past and future all in one statement. When he approached the counter, his order of a sandwich and a side of pasta salad was common enough, but the request for extra black olives was a new one. Walking back to the kitchen I quietly made the request to Gage. “He is asking for more black olives?” Knowing that we would have to open up an entire fresh can, I could sense the annoyance on Gage’s face and turned back to the counter. When I got back up to the register he had in sequential order, the largest wad of cash I had ever seen. “You shouldn’t be walking around with all that money” I discretely said to him. He looked at me sideways replying that it wasn’t even that much. During the rest of the rush I noticed him walking around admiring the art pieces and smelling the local soaps. A look of calm appreciation radiated on his face. Upon his departure a note written on a napkin was slid across the order counter over to me. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, was all he said with a smile and away he went. I didn’t have a chance to read the note right way for the sink was piled high with baskets and tables needed to be bussed, so I folded it and placed it in my back pocket.

They were always long yet fulfilling days owning that cafe and turning the key from open to closed at night, felt just as satisfying. The sun was beginning to set, and I drove home with windows down and the music off. The peaceful calm was a short 10 minute jaunt through all the back roads of town. Gage had the early shift so he was home already after picking up the kids from school. We worked and flowed together as business partners and husband and wife like a melody. We were aware of how rare it was and it was expressed on the regular how some people “couldn’t work with their spouses.” We thought the exact opposite. How nice it was to talk about the days end and to know exactly what the other was talking about. Plus our opposite shifts allowed us to still be home with our kids at night. We were madly in love and loving our life.

Once dinner was cooked (or carried out) because let’s be honest, we love eating out, we retreat to our back yard oasis. We have the standard plot size of land for a large populated town, but we enjoyed every inch of that space. From our deck the huge Maple covered most of the yard and that was perfect to shade the 3 chickens we came to call “suburb farming.” The new gazebo we put up right next to our garden enclosed a hammock that I lounged in on the regular. This was my favorite space. Being in our backyard, with the door open, listening to light playing music and my kids laughing. “Babe, will you grab me a cigar?!” I yell inside while setting up my daughter and I’s painting supplies. We had come to enjoy this hobby together and although I still hadn’t kicked the terrible habit, I thoroughly enjoyed having a gar in one hand and a paint brush in the other. I had also almost forgot about the note left from that humble patron today, leaning to the side, I carefully slid the folded napkin from my jeans pocket.