I started my day at the restaurant waiting on impatient little kids and stubborn adults. I strutted around, hoping I looked busy instead of bored out of my mind like I actually was. I kept looking at the clock hoping it was going to magically zoom forward and stop at my favorite time of day, 4:00.

That was the time of day that the nice old man always came around to eat his lunch, chicken sandwich and orange juice. He never gave his name out, but he was by far the sweetest person that ever lived. He always ordered the same thing, tipped the same amount, and always sat at the corner seat by the window. I was always the one to bring him his food. Sure enough, he walked into the restaurant and straight over to his favorite table.

Whenever someone walked by him he smiled a friendly smile that made your heart melt. I put on my mask of a happy person and walked right up to him and said,”Hello, I’m assuming you want a chicken sandwich and orange juice?” Then he looked up at me and with the saddest voice and said, ”Do you know why I insist on sitting here and eating the same thing all the time?”  I sat down and in front of him and said,”No.”

He looked out the window with a longing face. We stayed like that for a while, me looking at him, waiting for a response and him staring out the window in thought. Then he said,” I’ll tell you after I eat, I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.” He finished with a small smile. I could tell it was the first time he had told this and was insecure about telling it to others.

I walked to the kitchen and made the chicken sandwich, after carefully pouring the orange juice into a glass. I balanced it on a blue circle tray and made my way out to the table. I set it down on the white countertop in front of the old man, sat on the seat across and waited. As he ate, I looked out the window, into the sky, to find patterns among the clouds.

He finished his meal and looked up at me after he pushed the tray to the side of the table. I could tell that he was trying to find the right words and finally said,” My name is Scott Whiston, and my wife died a couple months ago. This was her favorite place to eat and she loved chicken sandwiches and orange juice. Today was our anniversary.” All I could manage to say was,” I’m sorry for your loss.” or, “I had no idea.” Before I could say either though, he whispered,” It’s ok, she had a very good life.”

Ever since he opened up that day, I finally felt like I had someone to relate to. We could talk to each other freely, without any judgment. Scott helped me learn how to trust. He might have been old, but he was the coolest guy I’ve ever known. Now he can be with his wife again. I folded the tear-stained speech after that, and sat back in my chair in the front row of the funeral.

The following day I went to work and didn’t even try to put on a happy face. I walked from table to table emotionless, waiting for my day to end. When I got to the corner seat, expecting it to be empty, someone was there patiently waiting and smiling to everyone who walked past.

It was an 18-year-old boy. So I walked up to him and asked him for his order. He looked up at me with familiar eyes and said, “ Hi, My name is Scott Whiston the second, my dad told me about you, then I saw you at the funeral. So I decided it was finally time for us to meet.” As I looked down at the smiling boy, I regained my happy attitude, and said in a surprisingly happy voice,”Chicken Sandwich and orange juice?” He just smiled, and I didn’t need an answer. I walked to the kitchen and wiped the last tear away. I was going to be fine.