Crossing Paths

"Move your cart. We can't get through."

He looked up from the cookie and cracker shelf, made eye contact with the stocky blonde woman in her thirties and her burly companion with a shaved head and an unkempt beard, then frowned slightly as he moved his cart. They pushed their cart forward almost instantly, not giving him time to finish clearing the aisle; the carts collided, pushing his cart into the merchandise shelf and knocking over a few boxes of Dare Maple Creme cookies. The couple moved down the aisle toward the front of the store, never stopping; they could have gone down any other aisle with the same results.

He began picking up the cookies, still frowning slightly but saying nothing. I stopped to help him.

"I was hoping to find some fall stuff," I said. "I really like pumpkin spice--but I guess I'm too early." Casual conversation is often pretty good for cutting through stress.

He glanced at me for a minute and then smiled. "Yeah. Me, too. I guess we're too early." He adjusted his black suit jacket slightly, then centered the Windsor knot of his crimson tie. The suit, like the man who wore it, was fastidiously maintained.

"These maple cookies are okay, but they're not pumpkin." He looked at the box as if he was considering it, then put it back in place. "You never know when they're going to put the fall stuff out. Usually, it's before my birthday. Guess not this year."

"When's your birthday?"

"Sunday... next Sunday."

"The 26th?"

"August 26th, yes."

"That's my birthday, too." After decades of knowing no one who shared a birthday with me, this was the second person I'd crossed paths with this week who had an August 26th birthday.

"You're kidding." As he spoke, he pulled out his wallet and slid his driver's license up high enough to show the birthday. 8/26/1923. I did the same. 8/26/1953. He grinned. "Whaddaya know?!"

"So you doing anything for your birthday? Getting together with your family or friends?"

He smiled wistfully. "I've outlived 'em all. My youngest boy died three years ago--he was my last living child. Oldest born in '42, while I was overseas. My girl was born in '44. My youngest boy was born in '46. They all had good lives, but I outlasted them.  My wife passed a long time before that. Even my old home is gone. I've outlived all of my friends... that's the problem with being 95, I guess."

Look him over, you'd guess 75 tops. Assertive posture, articulate speech, an air of self-confidence and independence--nothing but his license said 95.

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's the down side to being 95. Even my old war buddies are gone now. I was in WWII."

"Where were you?"

"Europe. I was on a B-17 for a while."

"What position?"

"Started out as a ball turret gunner. Then we were nearly shot down, and we had to get rid of all the weight we could to try to make a crash landing back in England. They got me out of the ball turret, then one of the guys gave this big bolt assembly a solid hit and he knocked that pin out and the whole ball turret just dropped right out. That thing must have weighed a thousand pounds, maybe more with the guns and everything, and it just dropped. It was gone. And I looked at the other guys and I said, "I'm not a ball turret gunner any more. I'm a radio man. And I was the radio operator from then on. Always thought that if I'd stayed in that ball turret, I wouldn't be here now. They gave us a little parachute, but I decided I wanted a job where you got a big parachute and it took more than one big bolt to drop you out of the sky. And I never really believed that those little parachutes were going to do anyone any good, anyway..."

I could tell he was enjoying this opportunity to share the story. I think he had probably told it before, but not in a  long time.

"You said your old home was gone. Where was home?"

"Up the road a ways--Cedartown."

I grinned. "My wife's from Cedartown. So's my family. We lived there for six years after we got married."

"You're just saying that!"

"No sir! We lived on Olive Street, right off South Main."

"Heading down to the Old Mill and then to Buchanan--I know where that was!"

"Yep. My grandmother owned houses there, and we rented from her until we moved to Cobb County in '77."

"I'll be..."

"Where'd you live?"

"Like I said, it's not there any more. Whole street's been torn down and paved up now. It was called King Street. "

"You're not gonna believe this, but my wife grew up on King Street. Lived there when I first met her."

He started to say something, then just laughed in amazement.

"She lived at 103 King, just behind the little store on the corner. Where were you?

"We were at the other end of the street... 114 King. Left there after I came back from the war, though. GI Bill. bought a house off West Avenue."

"Susan wasn't born then, but her family already lived in the house by the time you moved out."

"What are the chances?... It's a small world, isn't it?"

"It is indeed..." I looked at my watch. "I've really enjoyed talking to you, but I'm afraid I have to go next door and pick up a pizza now."

He held out his hand; I took it and we shook hands firmly.

"I'm in here a lot. I don't live too far away. How about you?"

"We live about four miles from here, but I come in every couple of weeks. Sometimes more."

"If you see me, say hello, won't you? Not too many people say hello any more."

"Yes sir, I will."

I'll see him again. Sure of it. The fall stuff is coming in soon, after all...