Comfortable Bench About Thirty Yards

¶ … comfortable bench about thirty yards away -- and across a parking lot -- from the front doors of the building I observed. It was a cloudy, cool day, and the winds out of the north at about 8 MPH according to the weather report. The sun occasionally peeked out from between the gray clouds, warming things up for the few minutes it was in view.

Many of the cars that pulled into the parking lot had young passengers with moms. It was a Saturday, no school of course, and families were out in force. Lots of kids but many more moms than dads. Many of the cars were mini-vans and sports utility vehicles (SUVs). Mothers tried to keep their children from running across the parking lot, but didn't always succeed.

One little boy was not to be delayed; he ran fast, directly away from the Ford Windstar minivan his mom was driving. She had turned her head to make sure her little girl was getting out okay when the boy, maybe 3 years old, took off running. "James!" she shouted. He did not look back, just kept running. "JAMES! COME BACK HERE!" she shouted even louder. Meantime a pickup truck was entering the parking lot and the driver courteously stopped in plenty of time to avoid hitting James.

The driver, probably in his early thirties, waited until James' mom caught up with the boy and picked him up (grandma picked up the little girl while all this was going on) and even then the pickup truck driver did not pull fully into the parking lot. James' mom was a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties wearing low-slung jeans and a figure-flattering purple turtleneck. "Cute little boy," the driver said to the mom, who walked over to the driver side window and thanked him for being courteous.

Unless I misread the signals from the smiles and the body language, the pickup truck driver and James' mom had a brief and friendly little conversation. I was wondering if he flirted with her to the point of asking her for a date. She did not wear a wedding ring and obviously he noticed that as I did.

The grandma and little girl stood by the automatic doors to the building, which opened when they got near, closed again, and as they waited for mom to finish her conversation with the driver of the pickup -- and moved about a bit -- it opened and closed three more times, anticipating that the two would enter.

A driver behind the pickup got impatient and politely beeped his horn a couple quick times. The driver waved at the car behind him and the two said goodbye. The car behind was a Mercedes (4-door sedan) with two middle-aged women in it. They couldn't find the parking place they wanted the first time around so they went around again. Another car was leaving the parking lot so they took that one.

The smell of roasting coffee beans was heavy in the air. I couldn't see which store it was coming from, but it had a kind of burned, or singed aroma, nothing like the cup of coffee I had in my hand. Also I could smell something that smelled like cinnamon rolls. Some bakery nearby must have had an exhaust fan flowing the fresh-baked smell of sweet rolls to lure customers in. Popcorn that had spilled on the ground behind my bench had attracted sea gulls; they were not intimidated by my presence, but instead they picked the popcorn clean.

In about forty-five minutes, James, his mom, sister and grandmother emerged from the building. Mom pushed a shopping cart filled with several large bags, each packed with items that were likely to be used by the children, not the adults. Mom's right hand tightly gripped James' left hand as they made their way to the minivan. Mom glanced quickly around the parking lot, and I wondered if she was checking to see if the pickup truck had left. Though I'll never know, it's okay to conjecture that those two people were attracted and planned to get together.

An individual that influenced me was my grandfather on my dad's side. If I could speak to grandpa today I would tell him how grateful I am that he taught me to read when I was 3 years old. Grandpa was a retired schoolteacher, who came to live at our house after he retired for a few years. He would get a good book, sit me on his lap, open the book wide so I could follow along with the words while he read out loud.

That is how I learned to read, and I am so grateful, grandpa, for the time you took to help a little boy become literate before kindergarten. I can still feel your scruffy whiskers on the back of my head as you read to me. I do remember Swiss Family Robinson. The way you read the descriptive parts of the story, the adventures that their dad took them on, Jack, the third oldest of the four boys was someone I wanted to be like.

But the truth is grandpa, I also wanted to be like you. I admired my dad a lot too but he was gone a lot and you were always there. You had a full head of hair when many older men were bald! I wanted to have a lot of hair too. You influenced me to be curious, to investigate literature to see what was in those stories that might apply to me.