"Do I know you?" I inquired,
as his thin arms pulled me into an
embrace; an embrace unfamiliar,
but an embrace I didn't think I disliked.
Embarrassed, he rescinded his arms back to his sides.
His aged eyes grew sullen,
my reaction robbed him of the cheer that was there just seconds before.
Nervous apologies spewed from his thin lips.
"It's okay," I said,
startled by the sudden burst of affection,
I couldn't think of the right thing to say
to assuage his embarrassment.
I got back in line and waited for my coffee.
I couldn't stop thinking about the old man
who thought he knew me.
Who was this person he mistook for me?
What was she like?
I noticed, out of the corner of my eye,
he was ashamed. He felt all eyes
on his back, I'm sure.
His face and the back of his neck were getting hot,
his glasses fogging up.
He looked downward, his hands folded,
the only way to keep it together.
"Carol!" he had exclaimed, "so good to see ya!
How have you been?"
But I was not Carol.
I was sorry for not being Carol.
Deep down, I knew Carol is a real sweetheart--
a genuine, nurturing person--I was sure she would've know
exactly what to say in this situation.
And at this moment, waiting for my coffee, I wanted more than anything to be Carol.
As I left, I bid him good day--the only thing I had to offer
him as an apology.
The old man still embraced me just the same,
as if to say,
it's okay,
I love you anyway.
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