Last Sunday night about 10:30, Jesse and I went to Eat-N-Park, an all night greasy spoon restaurant just around the corner from where we live. We were the only ones there, with the exception of one very aged, hunched over, little old lady. We were seated at the booth right in front of hers, so I was facing her and Jesse was facing me with his back to her. As we sat there, talking and ordering our food, I found that my gaze kept returning to this lady. She was in her eighties, I guessed, and she had this pinkish blonde hair pulled back from her face into some impossible array... I think it must have been a wig. She had a little rhinestone headband - with several missing stones - stuck down into her hair. She wore an ill-fitting poinsettia-red dress of a typical old-lady type, and a tarnished brassy wedding set on her left hand.
This lady kept looking through a stack of photos on the table in front of her. As I watched, she carefully lined them up, side by side. She peered into each of them like she was looking into a mirror, holding one up now and then to get a closer view. Then she stacked them neatly back together, placing them first into a worn envelope and then into her purse. She withdrew another envelope, this one a faded lavendar one with scribbled writing on the front, and set it on the table in front of her. She finished her salad, pushed her plate to the side, took a sip of her water, and opened the envelope. The entire time, I couldn't stop watching her.
"She's all alone," I whispered to Jesse. "What if she has no one? It's late at night, and she's sitting here looking through old pictures! I bet her husband is dead; I bet she's lonely, and has no one to talk to, and no one to look at her pictures... I'm going to cry," I told him. Indeed, seeing this creature sitting there all alone, looking through the precious memories of her life at 11:00pm in a deserted fast food chain, struck a chord in me. I'm not sure why, but I could not contain myself.
I had to talk to her. I kept looking at her until she finally glanced up and caught my eye, and I asked, "Are those pictures of your grandchildren?" She smiled and said, "Some of them." I said, "May I see them? I love looking at pictures!" She invited me over, and I slid into the booth next to her. Her name was "Miss Betty," and she was 82 years old. As she slowly went through her pictures with me, the story of her life unfolded. She was married when she was just 17 to a man named John, whom she loved with a "young, special love". They were only together for four years when he was shipped overseas to "one of those wars, the one during 1942." I was touched to realize that this woman had lived through so many wars during her lifetime that The War, the Great War, had just become another war to her. She told me that John was killed in the South Pacific, and she had been widowed at the age of 21.
John had a brother, George. George was also overseas at the time that his older brother was killed. When the war was over and he returned to the States, he and Betty got together to mourn their loss and to plan their futures. As time went on, they realized that they shared more than a common bond through John. Eventually, they fell in love, got married, and had 5 children together. Their marriage lasted over 60 years.
"I lost George 2 months ago," she told me. "He was such a good man, a really good guy. And do you know, when he was in the hospital bed, he motioned for me to come over and when I did, he said to me, 'I have really enjoyed our time together. It has been a really good life with you. I wish we could just have a few more years together, even one or two. But I'll take what we had anyday.' I thought that was so nice of him to say. We had our ups and downs, but we really loved each other."
She showed me pictures of George with their grandson (one of sixteen grandchildren), the two of them at one of their anniversary parties, their little dogs, their garden in the backyard, Christmases and birthdays, weddings and births and funerals. I couldn't believe that she was letting me witness this extraordinary life - me, a complete stranger from a different world and a different time - in a green vinyl booth in the middle of the night.
I told her about my life, about Jesse and Sadie and Josie, and about my own grandparents - how he had been in that same war, how they had been married over 50 years, and how Grandpa died just 2 years ago. I told her how hard it has been for my Grandma, and she said, "Oh, does she live around here? Maybe we could get together to talk...." I could only wish. I wish that I could get the two of them together; I know they'd be fast friends and maybe, somehow, they could be a balm for eachother's soul.
As it is, I'll probably never see this lady, this "Miss Betty," ever again. But as Jesse was paying the check and I was getting up to leave, she put her hand on my arm, stared directly into my eyes and she said, "Everything is going to work out for you. Everything is going to be good for you, just like it was for me.
I can just tell. You believe me... you believe me."
And I did.
