When I brought an elderly man I’d been helping home for dinner, I thought I was doing one small good thing on a cold night. I didn’t expect my wife to look at him once and react like the past had just walked into our kitchen.
I met Walter outside a grocery store on a Thursday night so cold it made my teeth hurt.
He was sitting near the cart return with his hands tucked under his arms, wearing a coat that looked too thin for the weather and too old to help. I noticed a faded red string tucked under his collar. A small brass key hung from it.
I stopped and said, “Have you eaten?”
That’s how I met Walter.
He looked up slowly. “Not today.”
I said, “Come inside. I’ll buy you dinner. Or at least the grocery store version of dinner.”
He gave me a small smile. “Tea too?”
“Tea too.”
That’s how I met Walter.
He told me he was 72. He spoke softly. We sat near the exit with hot tea and one of those sad chicken sandwiches that tasted better because he was freezing.
He touched the brass key gingerly.
I asked if he had family.
He stared into his cup. “Maybe once.”
