An older woman walks into the café and approaches the bar. She is well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and hands almost exactly like my partner’s. Dressed up nice for a night out on the town – black dress, red lipstick, high heels. I can tell her feet are killing her from the way she walks. Her hands and arms are shaking and I can’t tell if she’s nervous or tired or if it might be a symptom of parkinsons. She orders a glass of red wine. When we try to speak to each other I realize she can’t hear me very well, even though the classical guitar music in the background is quiet.
Her painted nails are pretty. I try to tell her this as she’s walking away but she doesn’t hear me.
I write it down on a napkin instead. When she sees the note, I can’t tell for sure but I think it makes her smile. She gets up from the table, walks to the next room, and doesn’t return to her seat for several minutes.
Later on, on her way out the door, she thanks me three times and tells me to have a nice weekend.
I tell her goodbye with a salute.