by Eric Shoars
I email Lisbeth once the laptop powers up and logs on to the hotel’s Wi-Fi. My British songwriter is mostly likely in blissful slumber as it’s nearing 4:30 Sunday morning across the Atlantic. A long note is composed to my composer as my song notes are communicated with background information on the context. My goal is to have Lis write eight songs. It’s a nod to the era of albums when eight songs was the norm on an album – four songs on each side.
Send button is hit. Laptop and notebook are closed and put away. It’s almost 11 and time to turn in. Picking up the remote I turn off the television. Not sure when the last episode of Big Bang played and I have no idea what show came on after it. Oh well.
Best shower ever.
***
The next morning finds me at the Smokey Row Coffee Company in Downtown Pella. SUV is packed and ready for the three and a half hour drive home that will come after Lorelei and I finish our coffee date. I’m purposely early to get settled in and get the lay of the land. This is Lorelei’s town and she is used to these surroundings. I want to make sure I have a level of comfort before she arrives.
Smokey Row Coffee is a confirmation as to why there is a “no chain” rule when traveling. This coffee shop has personality all over it. The coffee shop is the lower floor of a two-story brick building on the corner of Franklin Street. The corner of the roof is a small dome that reminds me of a bank from the 1800s.
The coffee house inside is a deep rectangle with long brick walls at the sides, a smaller one at the back, glass windows, and door at the front. Julie would love this place.
An antique shelf of bagged coffees, accessories, and store t-shirts invites patrons to purchase them upon entry. Then it’s the long counter. Everything in the place is long and narrow out of necessity.
There are traditional small tables – one might call them intimate – with booths along one wall. Calling them booths is being kind. They are extra intimate allowing one person to sit on each side of the table top. The booths have vinyl covering the bench seats and my back has final vote on where to sit and the booths win.
I position my back to the back so Lorelei’s entrance cannot be missed. The booth I’ve selected is close enough to the front to see me but far enough from the counter which runs almost the entire length of the opposite wall so that customer commerce doesn’t get in the way of reunion.
The sun shines brightly outside the building. It is a beautiful Sunday in the Midwest. No more so than when the tiny bell on the door announces a new customer is entering. The light of the sun behind her overpowers the indoor light before her, giving Lorelei an almost angelic aura. At least I hope it’s her. I’m fairly confident based on the pictures on Facebook.
Standing, I raise a piece of paper lengthways with LORELEI written so large the letters take up the entire page. Since we don’t know each other I was trying to think of a way to decrease any uneasiness by playing on the theme of picking up a stranger at the airport. It is my hope Lorelei is amused by it and my playful icebreaker is received well. If not...I’ll leave this part out when I tell Julie and the girls about today.
Lorelei sees her name in large letters immediately and it stops her in her tracks a few steps inside the door. She hesitates. A squadron of butterflies takes off in my stomach. She begins giggling. Her head moves around to let her eyes survey the surroundings.
“Is this the coffee shop or the airport?” she asks. Lorelei makes eye contact with me again and says, “That. Is. Hilarious.” She makes her way toward me with a smile. The squadron of butterflies returns to the hangar. We’re off to an admirable start.
After navigating the velvet ropes separating the traditional tables from the counter - creating a natural corridor for people ordering - she stands before me. We both smile though I’m not sure if it’s for the same reason. We freeze for an instant before Lorelei makes the first move and throws her arms open.
“Hey, Eric, bring it in,” Lorelei beckons. We embrace long enough for a greeting but not so long as to feel weird.
Lorelei has a friendly, easy-going demeanor instantly putting me at ease. Since I’m the instigator of these coffee meetings I play host and feel an extra burden to make everyone else feel comfortable. Lorelei immediately communicates no burden and no host duties are necessary. Hug ends and we are seated. Lorelei first. Host duties may not be necessary but manners are always in play.
I start to take her in upon taking my seat. She looks fantastic. Her brown hair is as brown as it was way back when. Her blue eyes have lost a little of their sparkle but whose haven’t? Life has a way of doing that to us. We all yearn to be free from school and to be full-fledged adults but - in the midst of responsibilities and obligations that are part and parcel of adulthood - we recognize too late we traded simplicity for complexity and that genie is never going back in the bottle.
Lorelei is dressed casually as am I. She has on a pair of blue jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt that is tucked in. A pair of black flats completes her look. Because I’m a guy and I notice this stuff, she wears no ring.
“Lorelei, you look fabulous,” are my next words to her. It’s true. Women half her age would be jealous of how flawless her skin is.
“Thanks, Eric,” she says, dipping her chin a bit as to convey a bit of self-consciousness. “You’re very kind. I mean, look at you. Have you aged at all?”
Now my chin dips and I have this stupid thought wondering if I’ve dressed too casually in my alma mater’s pullover, jeans, and black shoes. Then I realize how ludicrous the notion is and get over myself.
“Oh, come now,” I reply as I playfully bat her compliment out of the air, “I’ve aged at least five years.” We both smile. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“I’m happy to,” she says. Even when she’s not smiling it’s like she’s smiling. How does she do that? “As you can imagine,” she continues, “I don’t see a lot of the old gang...any old gang. I don’t think I’ve seen anybody from the old school, like, ever.”
“That’s why I was afraid you might not come. It’s been almost 40 years since we’ve seen each other.” Seemingly I’m now giving Lorelei reasons not to be here.
“Yeah, I know. If you hadn’t reached out on Facebook I probably wouldn’t have. Social media has a way of bridging gaps. And I’m kinda curious. Wanted to find out what happened to the kids I went to elementary school with.”
“I can definitely help you with that.” The thought announces itself that we are people in a coffee shop with no coffee. “Hang on. We should be ordering something, shouldn’t we?”
Lorelei chuckles. “I suppose we should, yes.”
Our attention turns to the large board behind the counter. “What’s your pleasure?” I inquire. “It’s on me.”
“What? No. You drove all this way to see me I should be buying you coffee. Seriously. I insist.”
“Okay,” I defer. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” A few seconds pass and then the option appears. “I’ll have an Iced Americano, please.”
“Aces,” Lorelei nods. “I’m going to have the Red Eye.”
“The Red Eye? Coffee with shots of espresso? You are hard core.”
“This bubbly personality doesn’t fuel itself,” she replies with a smirk. “I’ll be right back.” She gets up and takes her place in line. Two people are ahead of her so it shouldn’t be a long wait.
Giddiness threatens to overtake me and I fight it. Have to keep my head but it is tough. Nothing of substance has been discussed but we both seem to be at ease out of the gate. No awkwardness. Yet, anyway. How is it she’s not married I wonder. Lorelei’s return snaps me out of my internal musings.
“Here you go, one Iced Americano.” She hands me a 20-ounce clear, plastic cup with the magic brown liquid and ice plus the straw that goes with it. The straw is removed from the wrapper and jabbed through the cup lid. The first sip of my iced drink lands strong, the
impact of the bitter and the energy of the caffeine hitting instantaneously.
“Ah, my morning cup of giddyup. Thank you, Lorelei.”
She chuckles after taking her first sip. “Didn’t you write a lot of stories in school?” she wonders aloud. “Yeah. I remember now. Anytime we got a writing assignment in class you were always the one who had the longest and the best story. Guess that way with words never left you, huh?”
Lorelei sees a smile from me. “Excellent memory. Yes, I like to say the English language is my playground. That has never left me.” If only Lorelei knew the story I’m working on. But that truly is a story for another day.
“I have to admit I was a little suspicious as to why you’d be reaching out after all these years. The Facebook thing was fine but a face-to-face meeting made me nervous,” Lorelei confides. Leaning in closer she whispers, “This isn’t going to turn into a Criminal Minds episode with my naked body full of stab wounds being found in a ditch, is it?”
She hits that last sentence as I’m taking a sip and it comes back at her. The Iced Americano sails over Lorelei’s left shoulder barely missing her. She sits up in triumph. “Probably should have warned you about the wicked sense of humor.”
Dabbing my lip buys me time to compose myself to the point I can share in the mirth. “Whew. Did not see that twist coming. You’re a live wire, aren’t you? Well done.” Then I lean in and whisper, “Not sure yet. We’ll see how this goes.”
Lorelei beams. “Love it when people play along.” She takes another sip and we begin catching up in earnest. “Tell me about yourself, Eric. What have I missed the past 40 years?”
The thought that I’m being interviewed walks itself across my mind. “You know, a friend of mine says all my stories begin with the phrase, ‘It all started back in second grade’. I guess this one would start, ‘It all started after fifth grade’.”
“Yes. After I moved away. Well done,” Lorelei approves.
“The Readers Digest version of the story is that I didn’t move and graduated from the school district. Graduated college with a degree in marketing. My wife Julie and I met in college. Married a few years after graduation. I started my own marketing consulting business. Sole proprietor. She’s an Elementary school teacher.” Pause to take another sip.
“We have two daughters, Nicole and Ashley. Nicole is putting herself on a path to become a makeup tutorial YouTube sensation while Ashley works as a personal care giver for the elderly who still live at home.”
“Whew, that is the Readers Digest version,” Lorelei marvels. “Sounds like a very nice life. What do you like to do when you’re not working?”
“I like to write still. Need something to express my creativity. I also do some distance running. I’ve run twenty half marathons and a couple full marathons,” I share.
“Whoa! That’s extraordinary. Have you always run?”
“Nooo, I hated running for a long time. I’d run as a workout when I was in my 20s but never more than eight miles. I figured anything longer than eight miles, I’m driving...”
“That’s funny,” Lorelei interjects.
“...but then in my early 40s a dear friend of mine challenged herself to run a half marathon – she wasn’t a runner either – and asked me if I’d run it with her. I said yes. Figured if I hated it I just wouldn’t do it again. After finishing the first race I realized it was fun so I kept on running.”
“Impressive...especially since you started something like that in your 40s. Does your wife run too?”
“Briefly. Julie watched my friend and I finish the first half marathon and she decided to try it. She ran a few races but found her knees couldn’t take the pounding. My daughter Ashley is a runner so we have raced a few times. Run races, I mean.”
“That’s outstanding when you can share something you enjoy with others...especially your kids. What about your other daughter?”
“Nicole isn’t into physical exertion, hence, the internet income dreams. We share musical tastes, you know, Disturbed, System of A Down, Slipknot, Five Finger Death Punch...”
Lorelei almost has her Red Eye fire out of her nose. “Are you for real? I would never picture you liking that kind of music.”
“No one ever does. That’s just an added perk.” I grin. “That’s my life story. I’m curious to know yours.”
Lorelei takes a sip in confidence there is no danger of a nostril exit. “Hmm. Well, my parents moved us to Springfield, Illinois, after fifth grade. Stayed in that school district the rest of the way. Went to college at Southern Illinois, majored in Business and Administration. Met my husband there. He was a Supply Chain Management major. We got married before our senior year. We graduated and he accepted an offer from Pella Windows so we moved here.” She pauses to take another sip.
“He was vice-president of Supply Chain Management and I’m in the logistics division. When orders come in I coordinate with the plant to manufacture the windows, schedule the trucks for pickup, shipment, and delivery, and with the client to receive product,” Lorelei finishes her thought.
I decide it wouldn’t be rude to ask a question. “Your husband no longer works for Pella?”
Lorelei finishes her sip and stares into her coffee cup for a moment. Her hesitation is that of someone searching for the appropriate words. Lori’s head comes up and her eyes meet mine. “He died.”
My stomach drops and I’m not sure when it will stop. “Oh, Lorelei, I’m so sorry. That’s...that’s such a shame.”
A hint of a smile of acknowledgment shows on her face. “Thanks. I’m okay. It’s been a few years. Talking about it is perfectly fine. Took a long time but I can do it now. Cancer. Long, slow, and painful. For all of us.”
For someone who is supposed to be so masterful with words I’m at a loss to find any as I look across the table. As has probably happened more times than she cares to count, Lorelei recognizes my struggles and keeps on going to break the quiet.
“Not kidding. It’s okay to talk about. I have twin daughters – Hope and Faith – who are 28. It was devastating for us. Dominic was the finest man I ever knew. He was a wonderful husband and terrific father. He loved those girls and they thought he was perfect. The three of us were lost without him for a long time,” she stops briefly to take another sip.
“Eventually we came out the other side and we’re stronger for it but there has been an additional aspect of adjustment for me. The girls are out and on their own having lost a dad. I’m on my own and this was the time of my life when Dominic and I were supposed to be living the next phase of our lives.”
Then she says it.
“But what happens when your happily ever after dies?”
A pin is stuck through a mental note in the corner of my mind that reads, “There’s a theme for you”. That note can stay put till the drive back home.
“I’m still plugging away at Pella. My job and my friends are such a treasure and, since Dominic died, have given my life the stability I need. Things were not normal for years while he fought cancer so it has been nice to have some normal. I’m still active with my friends but...I’m not sure why I’m telling you this...there’s still this giant hole in my life.”
Another sip. Another question. “Hole in what way?”
“Hole as in I’m not sure the direction my life should take. Dom and I had mapped out our lives but it was a plan for two, not a plan for a widow. I have a satisfying job, phenomenal friends, and two daughters I adore. But that’s all outside stuff.” She stops to find the word that should come next.
“Purpose,” Lorelei blurts out. “I guess what I’m looking for is purpose…purpose as in destiny and intentionality. My life feels like I’m floating on the plank left over from a ship that sank and each day of my life is going through the motions but not being intentional about it.”
My fear of meeting with Lorelei is that our conversati
on would be superficial. This might be the most real of any of my caffeine chats. Words continue to fail me.
“Eric, go ahead and talk. You’re not going to hurt or offend me. Trust me. I’ve heard it all.”
“First, I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this. I can’t imagine what I’d do without Julie. I am so in awe of how you’ve been able to deal with such a tragedy. Without being ‘one of those people’ are you talking with anyone?” The pace of my words does not hide my hesitancy to speak them even though Lorelei has given me the go ahead.
“Counseling? Yeah. The grief counselors at the hospital plugged me in to a group of women and men who lost spouses. Plus, the funeral home hosts a monthly grief support group. Both have been a tremendous help but it feels like I’ve been walking this path alone. I’ve found my way back to emotional and mental health but there still is no answer on the purpose front.” Lorelei’s candor is striking.
“You’re remarkable. I’m so glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
“I may not run long distance but I work out.” Lorelei brings up her right arm, pulling up the long sleeve as far as she can to execute a biceps flex pose. The point of her flexing wasn’t to display her physical prowess but to lighten the mood.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I came here for coffee. I didn’t realize there was going to be a gun show,” I return the playfulness.
Has she always been so natural at putting others at ease? The last of my Iced Americano comes up through my straw while Lorelei polishes off her Red Eye. “Refill?” Lorelei asks.
“You bet,” I answer enthusiastically. “Next round is on me.”
“Fair enough.”
I stand and reach for Lorelei’s ceramic cup removing it from the table. I walk past the garbage/bussing area using my left hand to toss my plastic container in the trash while my right carefully places the cup amongst the graveyard of tableware. Then I’m up at the counter to order round two. It’s all of three minutes until I return to the booth.
“One more Red Eye for the lady...” I announce, handing Lorelei her cup.