A Lunch Story

“When I was teaching, I used to get up at 5:08, and I’d go out to walk the dog.  Every day, Tom would get up and make my lunch.”

Eileen was sitting at her dining room table, a chocolate chip cookie in her hand.  She looked a little glassy-eyed, but she was smiling.  I could tell a funny memory was coming, and I was glad. 

“So I’d come back with the dog, and Tom would hand me my lunch, and off to school I’d go.”  Eileen taught high school English for over 40 years.  She continued, “So most days, I’d eat at a table in my room, and some of the kids would be in there to get extra help or talk about a paper.  We’d all be eating our lunch together.”

She was suppressing a smile at this point, but I couldn’t tell why.  “Well, on this one day, I was taking my lunch out of the bag.  Tom usually made me a sandwich or a salad, and he’d give me seltzer or a soda.  Sometimes, if I was lucky, a diet Coke.”

Not seeing the humor yet, but I was hopeful.  “Well, on this particular day, I wasn’t really looking as I pulled my lunch out of my bag.  I guess I was paying attention to whichever student was talking to me.  But as I was listening, I noticed a kind of funny look on the face of the kid sitting across from me.  I had one hand on the soda can and I was pulling the sandwich out with my other hand.  I looked at him.  ‘What’s the matter?’  He just sort of smiled nervously. ‘What’s so funny?’  These kids often had inside jokes about things.  He just sort of tilted his head toward the hand that had the soda can.  At that moment, I noticed that it sort of felt a little different in my hand.  I looked over, and what do you think was in my hand?”

She waited a beat.  “It was a beer.  Tom had put a beer in my lunch.  ‘Ms. D., are you having a beer for lunch today?’ the kid said.  Well I was so embarrassed.  I don’t know if Tom was playing a joke on me or if he was just so sleepy at 5:30 in the morning and he didn’t notice.  As you can imagine, those kids never let me forget that day.  Every time they passed me in the hall, it was ‘Hey, Ms. D. how was the beer for lunch today?’  I’m pretty sure that story came home to their parents that night, but I never had a parent ask me about it.”  You can bet Tom never heard the end of that.

We lived across the street from Eileen and Tom for 20 years.  They’d been in that same house for over 50 years, but had moved north two years ago when Tom couldn’t manage stairs anymore.  They’d been married for 64 years. 

Tom died three weeks ago. He was almost 90. To add to the sadness of his passing, though, was the fact that no stories were told at his memorial service.

When Nancy and I drove up to see Eileen this weekend, we weren’t sure how we’d find her.  She was alone for the first time in over 60 years.  She was hours from the town where she’d grown up and lived for her entire adult life.  I was afraid of how she’d be. 

Though she was on the verge of tears several times over those few hours that we sat together over lunch,  I was heartened to find that the stories had started to flow.