Whose Face is That?

On days like today, I like to sit in my favorite coffee shop and watch the park across the street. Since I retired, I have little to occupy my day, so when the weather is nice, I walk the six blocks to the local diner and spend some time people watching. Today is one of those perfect fall days. The air has that crisp feel, the kind where you know it could turn either to the cold of winter, or warm to another day of summer with just the slightest breeze from the right direction. Across the street in the park, the usual group of people walks their dogs or runs laps. To the far left, I can see the edge of the playground where moms and nannies alike are herding children to sandboxes and slides. On the right are groups of people playing chess. Over the past few years, there have been a growing number of young people joining. Straight out to the back of the park, there is a group who looks to be wrapping up a morning exercise meeting. Probably yoga or Pilates but it might be Tai Chi. I like to sit near the window and imagine the life that these people lead, what their day will be like, where they are going to go from here: to meetings, to work, shopping or school. Since I have retired, I have nowhere to run any more, no deadlines or meetings, no one managing my schedule except for me. So I sit back, relax into my chair and enjoy my coffee. 

After a few minutes of people watching out the window, I look around the coffee shop. I have been coming here for years, as it was between here and my former office in downtown Indianapolis. I could walk from my home, stop in for a cup of coffee and then make it to my office all within ten blocks and in under twenty minutes. Not much has changed in the shop in that time. I like this place, as it has the feel of a 1950s greasy spoon with the smell of fresh brewed coffee and frying bacon. At the front is a long counter with a Formica top and gleaming chrome stools covered in light teal and pink. You can see back into the kitchen through the pass through and hear the cook calling out when orders are up, the waiters and waitresses greet regular customers by name and everyone acts as if you are all old friends. The fourth booth in the row isn’t my booth by name, but by repetition, and always seems to be open when I arrive every day at 8:30 on the dot. Today was unusual, in that someone was actually in my booth and I had to sit at the long booth at the back of the diner that faces the door. This did not offer the best opportunity to look out the side windows, so for the first time, I think ever; I am sitting with my back to the door and facing the wall. That is when I notice I must have sat at a booth that was occupied with another person. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I did not realize someone else was sitting here. Please excuse me, I will move down a seat so as not to disturb you.” Sheepishly gathering my things with a tinge of embarrassment, I move tables. I try not to look at him in the eye as I do this, as I am flooded with mortification for my distraction. After I am settled in at my new table, I look up to face the wall, only to discover the man is again sitting across from me. I am sorry to say that I think I let out a little squeak at this revelation. 

“Excuse me, but have we met before? Are you following me?” Noticing as I speak, he was also trying to speak at the same time. I pause, holding up a hand. “Sorry, you were saying.” I wait, but he says nothing. “Do we know each other, then?” Trying again to get some information out of the man. He just sits and stares at me, his face showing a slightly bewildered expression. I assume he is just as confused as I am. Maybe he does not understand English. I shrug my shoulders at the strange circumstances, gather my things again and move back to my original seat, trying to forget the encounter entirely. 

       In my original seat once more, I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders, shaken by the man at the next table. I decide that some more window watching is what I need. Across the street, a new class has started on the lawn. This one, I can tell, is definitely Tai Chi. Watching these classes has always fascinated me. The grace of the movements of each member is relaxing and helps me to calm my nerves. As I am just getting my nerves back under control, I look up into the window and catch my reflection. Standing just behind me is that man again. He seems to stare directly at me. When I turn to look over my shoulder to ask what his problem is, he vanishes. Heart racing and hands shaking, I decide that the magic of the morning has fled and I do, too. I stand and make my way to the register to pay my bill. 

“Good morning, Jason, how was your coffee?” Betty, the owner of the diner, asks. Nervously, I look over my shoulder to ensure that the man has not followed me again. “The coffee was as good as ever, but there is a man at the back who is following me. He sat across from me, moved tables when I did, and then stood over my shoulder when I watched the park across the street. Have you had anyone new to bother other clients?”

“Oh, my word! Are you okay? Do I need to call your daughter? I did not see anyone at the table except you. I apologize again because someone else was sitting at your usual booth. That couple was new to town, and it was their first time trying our little restaurant.” Betty always treats me like family and I appreciate the attention she gives me. 

“I understand. There is no reason to be upset that someone was in my usual seat. I wanted to ensure that no one else has been harassed by a stranger. Before: When I tried asking him if we’ve met, he just ignored me, although I don’t remember seeing him before. I am going to head home and rest. This encounter has really affected me today.” Betty gives me a small smile and pats the top of my hand with care and I leave, looking again to be sure that strange man is not following me. 

As I make my way down the block, I inhale the crisp fall air, trying to reclaim my state of relaxation. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year. I love the colors that the trees exhibit with the turning of the leaves, the smell of the air, the children playing in the park. When my family was younger, fall meant band competitions and soccer games. Camp fires and cook outs. Now that they are older and moved on with their own families, we see less of each other, but we still have family cookouts and an occasional soccer game to attend. But the hustle and bustle of my wife and I sharing duty driving the children from place to place no longer exists. Still fall is my favorite season. I remember this as I look in passing store windows at their fall displays as I walk the six blocks back to my home. Stopping to look at one particularly eye-catching display of camping gear, I catch another sight in the window. It is that man again. “Do I know you? Have we met before?” I ask the reflection. Again, I get no answer from the man. When I turn to look over my shoulder to confront him, he is no longer there. I don’t know what is going on. It’s as if nothing is making sense today, and I really need to get home. I hurry in that direction, knowing that when I do, all will be well again. 

I stumble into my front door, breath a little heavy sighing when the door closes behind me. “Jason, is that you? Are you home?” Rebecca, my wife, yells from the kitchen. “How was… Jason! Are you feeling alright? You look as if you rushed home in a panic. What happened?” Rubbing her hands along my cheeks and down my arms, she tries to comfort me the best she can. “I think I was being followed today. There was a man at the coffee shop that followed me from table to table, and then I saw him again on the street. I don’t know what is going on, but I had to get home before he followed me here as well.” Just as I finish explaining this, I glance up to the wall directly across from the door and catch sight of the man. He is standing directly behind my wife, if front of me. How did he get into our house? Was he here waiting for me? But how is that possible? How does he know where I live?

“Rebecca, the man is right behind you. Did you let a stranger into the house? How do we know him?” When she turns around, she does not seem shocked or scared. She just slowly turns back and forth between the man and me. Then she just looks sad. 

“Oh, Jason.” Shoulders slumping, she brings me in for a hug. “It’s okay. Everything is fine, we are fine. There is not a stranger in the house, and no one has been following you.” She then takes me by the shoulders and turns so she is standing directly next to me. I see she is also standing directly next to the stranger. “This is not a stranger, sweetness. This is you. You must have been sitting in front of the mirror at the back of the diner. The other times you saw the man were just reflections in store windows.” As she is speaking, she places her hands on the side of my face and turns my head to face her, then the stranger again. I can see the stranger’s head making the same movements. So I focus on him more closely. Around him I finally see details I had missed before. There is an outline around him. He looks as if he is standing in a golden box made of leaves and wire. Behind him is a door painted the same shade of green as mine is. Which would not make sense if he was across the room from me. I can also clearly see my wife next to him, and she was not in the diner or on the street. 

“That’s me? When did I get so old?” I ask as I hesitantly reach out a hand to meet the hand of the stranger’s. She chuckles a little, though she sounds a little choked up. “The same time I did, I suppose.” Come into the kitchen and tell me what you saw at the park today. After we can talk about how old we are, and what we plan to do with the grandkids this weekend when they come to visit. As I turn to follow her to the kitchen, I glance one more time at the mirror in the hallway. I swear as I turn to leave, the man in it gives me a wink.