We meet on a university campus path. Me, walking. Him, in one of those little golf carts they use for hauling stuff and getting from here to there. I jump off the path, thinking he wants to drive through but instead he stops and gets out to tend to empty a trash can. Don’t worry he says, I only run over people on weekdays. It’s Saturday.
He’s a Black man, around my age, late 40’s, skinny as a broom handle. We make pleasantries about the weather, about the weekend and how good life is in general.
I see him later, in a building on the other side of campus. He is gathering trash from the cans inside the building. You have to listen to this, he says, handing me one of his ear buds. I bring it to my ear, the unmistakable sound of Miles plays, strong and clear in my ear. I let the music stay with me for a while. It’s a gift he wants to give me, so I take it.
I’m going back to school in the New Year, he tells me. He’s going to study business, theology and take a foreign language. These are all the things he has wanted to learn. Now he can. This job will pay for the classes.
We talk about how good it is to be challenged, to learn new things, even at our age.
I learn his name. As his hands are gloved for the task at hand, we knock elbows to say goodbye—to mark the moment.
***
I check my bag at the airport. The young plump woman at the counter notices I am very early for my flight. I was in the hotel lobby and someone offered me a ride, so I took it, I tell her with a shrug. She makes a few suggestions on how to entertain myself for the next few hours. I tell her I have a slack of books to keep me busy in my carry-on. Which ones, she asks.
I tell her about the two books of poetry I picked up at the conference and a novel about a Dante-themed amusement park which I am reading for a Zoom literature class.
What’s the name of that one? She asks.
Dante’s Indiana
She pulls out her phone and creates a voice memo to remind herself to order the book.
I love Dante, she says and I think to myself, she is more than meets the eye. I don’t even like Dante. I’m just reading it.
We too, engage names and a handshake and wish each other a good day.
***
In the security line, an older man, perhaps in his mid 70’s and I watch as a young couple manage a 9-month-old. It’s good they are traveling with her now, I say, makes it easier when they get older. The older man agrees. My wife and I loved to travel all over the world, he says. He tells me they went on the exactly same cruise 4 times because they had such a great time. Once they turned a corner to find his brother and his wife were on the cruise. Neither of them had mentioned it to each other. That was the best trip of all. His eyes crinkle when he remembers this.
She died in January, he tells me quickly, matter of factly. I am so sorry, I say. Yep, she had cancer, he says as if answering a question.
He lives in Oregon. In the same house they moved to after he retired from the police department. 37 years on the force. Then he worked security for a politician. Didn’t work for the figure but the office. Didn’t matter who was elected. We came with the furniture, he tells me with a twinkle in his eye.
Now that he mentions it, I see how he holds himself like someone in the military. His back is strong and straight. Even though he is older, he holds his duffel bag easily and firmly at his side.
We exchange names and a handshake and wish each other well.
Oh, I wish I was doing that Zoom course. I loved the Graham Greene one we were both in. Not enough time for all the reading and all the Zoom course possibilities out there--a rare, good side effect of the pandemic.
This is inspiring.