Seated in her chair, carefully placed at the end of the driveway almost as close to the road as could be, she had a warm, enthusiastic childlike smile that I just couldn’t resist returning with an added wave. For a couple of years, spring through fall, I looked forward to the smiles and waves we exchanged as I often drove by her house, using her street as a convenient shortcut to my destinations and a way to avoid traffic jams on main roads.

Often, I passed by just as she was unfolding and setting up her chair — a very methodical process involving precise placement and continual realignment until it landed in just the right spot. Then, she would plop herself down, get comfortable and eagerly wait to smile and wave to all those passing by. Some drivers totally ignored her and while I detected a very slight and brief look of disappointment, she didn’t let it dampen her spirit, enthusiastically smiling and waving at the next driver. Most people like myself, interacted, sometimes yelling a hello and have a nice day out the window. But, again, myself included, none of us stopped to chat. I regretted that in a way, but, in my own mind, I wondered about all the possibilities of who she was, what kind of life she had, what kind of family, etc. Eventually, I conjured up my own version of her story, felt a connection and thought of her as my chair lady friend.

I missed her during the winter and wondered how she was doing, if she was still around, etc., always relieved and delighted to see her perched in her chair once again come spring. The routine came to an end without explanation when a couple of springs later, she and her chair were no longer there — never to be seen again. To this day, several years later, I miss her and feel a slight stab of sadness as I pass her chairless driveway. I can still see her joyful face so, in my thoughts, I smile and wave to her.

A few years later, on another street, he caught my eye — comfortably sitting on the bench under the tree overlooking the road a little below him — casually reading a newspaper, decked out in a striped hat shaped and designed just like a railroad engineer’s cap. Unlike chair lady, he didn’t watch the traffic or take the initiative to make a connection. He sat totally relaxed, in his own little world, reading his paper, enjoying the serenity of nature around him. One day, he just happened to glance my way as I passed, so I smiled and waved. He gave a little smile and waved back. Everytime I passed after that, if I caught his attention I waved — he waved back. Like chair lady, I knew absolutely nothing about him but, once again, conjured up my own version of the story of the man under the tree. He ALWAYS wore the engineer cap, regardless of how hot it was in summer or how windy it was in fall, so I named him my engineer friend. On the few days, he wasn’t under the tree, I would say to myself, “I wonder where my little engineer friend is — maybe eating lunch, maybe napping.” Like chair lady, our waves became a ritual spring through fall. Like chair lady, I wondered how he was doing during winter’s long and cold months, happy to see him back on the bench, engineer cap and newspaper, come spring.

This year, in the midst of Covid-19, I didn’t see him and I noticed the bench was no longer under the tree. Once again, the routine came to an end without explanation. I miss him and wonder what happened. Each time I pass, in my mind, I still see him on the bench with engineer cap and newspaper and, in my thoughts, I smile and wave.

I wonder where my two friends have gone, If they have passed and are looking down from above, I hope they know I still smile and wave. I hope they know they brightened my day all those years and I hope I brightened theirs as well.

Peace,
Kathy Marie