The Good Barista
A little kindness.
“Room for cream,” was the preference the elderly couple shared with the barista who took their order.
The barista watched as the elderly man shuffled over to a chair while his wife paid for two drip coffees. He spoke clearly and remembered their conversations from day to day. However, his body no longer kept pace with his mind. He was broken by aging.
His wife was more expressive. She used her hands as well as her facial expressions to engage others. As they ordered their drip coffee, the woman pointed at the canister of fresh roasted beans that they chose. Everyday they chose the house blend but her theatrical production of ordering never changed.
“When did you two meet?” the barista asked.
“Oh,” the woman looked back at her husband who sat still at the café table. “We’re high school sweethearts.”
“Wow!” In her late twenties, the barista’s wedding finger was still bare. “Congratulations.”
“Sixty years married but sweethearts for sixty-five.”
The barista turned away to draw two cups of drip coffee. The woman’s hands were shaking as she reached for the coffee mugs. The barista thought the shaking was a new issue.
Rather than handing the mugs to the woman, she said, “Let me help you.”
The business man waiting in line scorned the barista who brought the couple’s coffee to the condiment bar to add creamer.
“I can do that,” the elderly woman smiled with relief as she protested.
“I know you can, but I want to help.”
The barista put just enough cream in each cup and carried the drinks over to the table. The elderly man looked relived and said, “Thank you, just last week she spilled the coffee on me.”
“Don’t tell stories on me,” the wife responded.
“Never hesitate to ask us for help.”
“We don’t want to be a bother,” the woman explained.
The line was getting longer at the register. The barista nodded and returned to helping others.
Days passed. The elderly couple who had been daily regulars didn’t return.
A week later, a younger version of the woman led the elder into the coffee shop.
The barista noted that the regular woman had aged. Her expressive limbs now shook with instability as her companion placed her in a chair.
The younger woman approached the barista at the register. “My parents always come here.”
“Yes. House blend drip coffees with room for cream.”
The daughter looked distant for a moment, “That will be fine. I want to thank you.”
“Me?”
“For months now, my parents talked about this coffee shop and the good barista who always helped them.” She fumbled to pull her plastic credit from a wallet. The woman’s lower lip trembled and her eyes teared up.
"What happened?” The barista waited for a response as the daughter tapped her card for payment.
“After they visited last time, a week ago, Mom and Dad got home. Dad sat down to watch something on TV.” She paused.
“Is he okay?”
“Mom thought he must be taking a nap. But he had passed. You were the last person he saw other than my mother.” The woman shook off her emotions. “Well, that’s a lot to put on you.”
“Thank you for telling me. Your parents are my favorite customers.” The barista looked at the elderly woman who was sitting still in the same chair where her husband sat the previous week.
“Sixty-five years, two sweethearts, so beautiful.”
Her daughter carried the coffee mugs to the table. The elderly woman looked towards the barista. For a moment a distant joy sparkled in her eyes. Without acknowledging the barista, she turned towards her daughter.