Strangers Tune

Let me tell you a story about a man I met in passing one day at a coffee shop. He was no extraordinary man upon first glance. Instead he appeared to be a simple man, with simple clothes and an ordinary smile. He approached me, a smile on his face, and asked if he could sit down. At first I wondered if I knew him, even though I didn’t recognize his face. I motioned for him to sit

As he placed his coffee on the table I stole a glance around me and realized he wasn’t asking to join me because of our acquaintanceship, but because the other five small tables were full of busy bustling people. My table was one of the smallest, fitting only two but it was by far the calmest. He proceeded to pull out a pen and paper and began to write. I went back to reading my book.

I try to recall which book I was reading at the time, but the title illudes me. I remember reading a few lines, then gazing over the sharp-edged pages to the man across from me. He was oblivious to the commotion of the coffee shop. His mind was focused intently on the words his hand was creating with pen and paper he failed to realize he was humming softly. The song sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place where I had heard it before. I wanted to ask the man, but I also didn’t want to break his concentration. So I retired to reading my book.

I read a few more lines or maybe a page or two, I can’t remember. What I do remember is that sweet melody spreading through my mind line a vine. It traversed the chaos of my thoughts and covered everything with beautiful flowers. After just a few moments, that magical tune, that majestic melody was all I could think about. It took me a minute to realize, I was humming it along with the man, and that he not only stopped writing, but was looking directly at me, a smile still on his face.

“It is a pretty song isn’t it.” The man said. I nodded. “My wife used to sing it to me before she passed, but she could never remember the lines so she always made up new ones. I always thought she was silly because sometimes the words didn’t quite match the tune. She sang anyways though, and it always made me smile.” The man took a sip of his coffee and as he tilted his head back I saw the glimmer of gray in his blonde hair and beard. He was older than I expected.

We sat and talked about his wife and kids, my friends and family. Hours must of have passed without either of us knowing it. Our cups of coffee were empty and the droplets at the bottom had dried, but none of that mattered. Eventually we said our goodbyes and he left the small coffee shop. I went back to reading. Inside my book, between the cover and the first page was a piece a paper. I opened it and began to read the neat elegant writing. By the second line, I found myself smiling and humming the same sweet tune he had when he had written it just a few short hours before.