Coffee and French Fries

“Ed?” She remembered, and it was comforting. “Why don’t we watch It’s A Wonderful Life after supper?” He smiled, suddenly trying to calculate how many times they’d watched that movie. Gosh, it must’ve been 100 times…no, more than that.

“That’s a great idea,” he affirmed, arranging the peas on her plate so that they didn’t touch the chicken patty or the French fries. “I’m almost finished with your plate. Do you want coffee tonight, dear?”

She liked to be asked, and she hesitated, as if pondering, but she always drank coffee with supper. “I think I will have some tonight,” she decided. Ready, he poured the steaming brew into her stained gold-rimmed teacup. When she could barely read, she’d say, her dad would sneak her a teaspoon of coffee when Mom wasn’t looking, a story he still doubted, but she did love her coffee—black, just like her dad drank it. The scent of Folgers pulled her like a melody from the comfort of the sofa toward the little round table in the kitchen.

His eyes followed her uncertain shuffle. She looked so cute; she always had. He’d secretly watched her walk before she ever knew his name—walking with friends, walking to class, walking to the drugstore. Watching her then was an occasional high school rush, but now he got to watch her all the time. 

He arrived at her chair before she did, just as he always had for the last 73 years. Kids don’t do this anymore, he reminded himself, making him stand a bit taller as he slid her chair back. From behind, he guided her hip to the safety of the chair, and she leaned back into the security of his hands as she slumped into her seat. Then he bent and kissed her hair. As he settled into his chair to her left, her left hand reached for the security of his, and her other hand reached for the coffee.

Supper with her was the best part of the day. A meal, followed by a movie, with his girl. That was, after all, their first date, at the Rexall Drugstore. Come to think of it, their formica table was a lot like the one at Rexall’s. “Do you remember what you said to me that afternoon, right after I ordered?” he teased. .

“Well, it might have been something about French fries,” she played along.

“Yes, it was, little lady. I made the unthinkable mistake of ordering onion rings, and you told me you were—and I quote—a French fry girl. Remember me trying to change that order?” She had to put down her coffee for the laughter. With shoulder bouncing, she dabbed at the coffee on her chin with a napkin.

Suddenly, she stiffened, and her hand pushed his away. “Why did you grab my hand, and what are you doing in my house? You get out of here, now, before I call the police. I’m a married woman.” He saw the familiar terror in her eyes—those beautiful hazel eyes that were dancing moments before. 

“Lizbeth…it’s me… Ed… Remember, sweetheart? I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, Liz.” She scowled at him, then scooted her chair a bit further away, resigned to the fact that the stranger wasn’t going to leave, but she wouldn’t be happy about it. She ate her French fries in silence, warily eyeing him, even when he went to the percolator to refill her coffee. But she drank the coffee.

By the end of supper, Ed had returned. “I can’t believe he came right here into this house and grabbed my hand, Ed. I told him I was married, but he wouldn’t leave. He was a very bad man. He keeps coming. I only wish you had been here.” He stared into her disappointed eyes. He’d never get used to losing her for these stretches, for the moments when she didn’t feel safe with him. At least, that’s what he’d told himself, but maybe he was getting used to it. Why, he hadn’t even cried this time, though he tried. More than anything, he was afraid he’d grow weary of loving her. Dear God, maybe it’s already happening. He pressed the thought away.

“Liz, I thought we could watch It’s a Wonderful Life tonight.” Her smile said it was a great idea. She slowly raised up into her crouch, steadied herself against the table and began the journey back to the sofa.

He rinsed out her teacup and filled it with coffee halfway, placing it on a tray next to the Oreo cookies—just two, doctor’s orders. Moving into the living room, he set the tray in her lap, creating the perfect moment to kiss her forehead. Then he turned and knelt beside the VHS player. The movie was already cued. Thank goodness he’d rewound it last time, so they wouldn’t have to wait tonight. He nestled into the sofa beside her, and soon they were smiling at the lovable Jimmy Stewart. Just like they had 73 years earlier. That first date. Nobody knew then that the movie would become a classic, but Ed wouldn’t have cared anyway. It was his chance to snuggle close to that girl with the legs and maybe get a peck on the cheek. The ticket cost 32 cents that night, but tonight’s show was free. He beamed. Reliving the moment, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and felt her lean into his embrace, her frazzled white hair tickling his cheek.

Once again, they enjoyed Stewart’s boyish enthusiasm and Donna Reed’s coy maneuvering, and though they wouldn’t admit it, neither could wait for the “lasso the moon” scene. “Go on and kiss the girl,” the neighbor yelled from the T.V. And just at that moment, Liz turned her head to kiss Ed on the cheek. This time, a tear came. If only he could freeze this moment forever. But time ignored his wish. They cringed when bumbling Uncle Billy lost the $8,000, and they watched George trudge to the bank to beg Potter for help. Then, as always, Mr. Potter’s face filled the T.V. screen and sneered: “You’re worth more dead than alive, George.”

“Turn it off. Turn it off,” she shrieked, her hazel eyes awash with terror. Her body went rigid, the tray slipping off her lap, the teacup falling to the carpet. She gestured toward the T.V. “That’s the bad man. That’s the man who tried to hold my hand. He keeps coming into my house. Don’t let him get me. Don’t let him get me.”

Ed lurched forward, crawling to the VCR machine, fumbling for the stop button. He pushed. The screen went to fuzz. Turning, he crawled back to the stranger on the couch. Sitting beside her, he cradled her shaking body in his arms, locked his hands around her, pulling her close. He felt his body gradually move into a slow rocking motion. Slowly, her shoulders reluctantly let themselves be held. Time decided to slow a bit, and he thought about the couple on the sofa.

No, I wouldn’t change a thing, he thought, to no one in particular. Well, maybe the helplessness. No. Not even that. It had its own odd beauty, like patches of rust on an ancient wrought iron fence. Why? God only knows, but without it, their story would be…less. He felt her take a very long breath, and slowly exhale. Then came a mumble he could barely hear over the static of the T.V. “He’s a very bad man. Don’t let him get me…Ed.”