Same Time Next Fair

The Mom looked around.  She was balancing 2 giant lemonades filled to the brim, a ridiculous camera with the lens extended almost to her knees, and 7 and 8 year old girls with bright pink punch mustaches.  The Mom thought the yellow would be a nice addition to the pink that was already there.  Every table had at least one person sitting there, hmm, which to pick.  The guy at the far end made eye contact and did not seem to be wishing they would sit somewhere else.

“Can we sit here?”

“Please do.” said the man.

The woman sat and smiled to realize how welcoming a hard picnic bench and some shade can be after walking the state fair for a few hours.  Especially the Texas State Fair where everything being bigger isn’t always a good thing.   One of the girls started clapping the syllables out to le-mon-ade, clap clap clap.  Crun-chy ice, clap clap clap.  She made up a hand game that she coerced her Mom into playing.  Her sister was too busy drinking lemonade like a fish to be bothered with this silliness.  And it was silly and obnoxious, so the woman apologized to the poor man who was probably regretting sharing the table.

The man looked at her with amazingly blue eyes.  He had the look of almost every man she had seen as a child in west Texas; the men who would tip their cowboy hats at her and wink.  She winced a little, thinking how these men were a dying breed. So, she lingered a little longer in this man’s company than she normally would have.  In fact she was in no hurry at all to scurry her children off to the next crowded fair activity.

The 7 year old who could be shy whispered to her mom while looking at the man.  “She likes your hat,” said the woman.

“I wish I could give it to her.  I would rather wear my navy hat but some person in charge of things decided we should all wear the same thing.  52 different food businesses out here but we all have to wear the same thing.  All because this guy was a big shot at Six Flags so he thinks that is what we should do.  It confuses people.  They all think we work for the fair but we don’t. “ 

“Do you like working out her?” asks the woman.

“Been doing it for 25 years,” he says.

“Wow, have things changed much?”

“Yes they have.  Use to stay open until 2am and beer was served until closing.  It was only two weeks long…….it was just different.”  The woman could see him looking back.  She understood.  She wasn’t a young Mom.  She remembered how things were 25 years ago.  There were no bag searches and body wands.  25 years ago there had been the cool police riding on horseback smiling down and waving.  Now, there were serious police with reflective sunglasses every ten feet on high alert.  25 years ago had been a freer time. 

The man looked at the children and smiled.  “I took some breaks on and off during the 25 years.  I had my own business.  I had a massive heart attack.  I had a heart transplant.  My heart is only 31 years old, I just wish my 67 year old body could keep up with this young heart. “

The woman looked at him and thought he seemed younger and older than his 67 years.  Of course, someone who goes through that would have a worn face and young eyes. 

“Can you do everything you could do before?  Are there any problems or limitations with a new heart?  I guess if everything is working as it should you can do more.”

He shrugs, “Doesn’t seem to function any different.  I feel different, but that is because I am grateful.  I am grateful for everything.”  He says this with a depth that resonates like a note held indefinitely on a cello.   “Right now I am at 11 years.  I get to know 5 grandkids.  I got to see the oldest graduate from high school.  Of all five grandkids only the oldest girl will ride with me on my Harley.  The rest always say, ‘Not this time’, but with her, I never have to ask twice.  She has to wear pants.  I don’t allow shorts on there, too much chance of a leg burn.” 

The woman takes all this in.  It is a lot.  It is not often that life leads you to a picnic table with an easy going stranger who shares life’s core.  “It must be wonderful to ride around with your Granddaughter on your Harley.”  He nods.  They sit for a minute.  “My husband wants a motorcycle.  I told him if he can make 75 disappear he can have a Motorcycle.”

The man chuckles.  “Yeah, I am never that worried for some reason in traffic.  I get in my own zone and stay there.” 

“I am sure your zone is pretty safe but I don’t think there is a safe zone against texters,” says the woman.  For the first time since they started talking the man’s face goes dark.  Apparently he was run off the road by a woman texting.  She never knew she did it either.  He was too shaken in the ditch to catch up to her and have words.

The conversation lightens back up when they start complaining about Dallas traffic.  “I moved here from Houston.  I thought Houston traffic was bad until I drove to McKinney.  My daughter lives in McKinney.  I complained about this to her.  ‘Father, she says..’ when she calls me Father, I have crossed a line.  Rest of the time I am Dad, Daddy, but when I get Father, I have done it.  ‘Father, you are 200 miles closer than you use to be.  You can endure 30 miles of traffic.” 

The woman loves the amused twinkle he gets relaying his daughter’s frustration with him.  They sit for a moment more, but the kids are getting antsy and it is time to move on.

“Thank you for sharing your table with us.”

“Of course,” he says, “Lets get together for lunch.”  The woman, who is a bit devoid of wit looks at him confused. 

“Same spot next year?” he grins.

“Absolutely!” the woman beams, the light finally going on.   She hopes her smile conveys that nothing would make her happier.