Somewhere outside Smyrna, Tennessee—several elderly people in wheelchairs sit parked on the sidewalk at a restaurant. They’ve just deboarded a nursing-home bus.
A herd of nurses in purple scrubs wheel the small army into the restaurant in wagon-train fashion.
In the dining room, the old folks take up four tables. Their wheelchairs are positioned in a long row.
One of the battleworn nurses explains, “You think this is something, you shoulda seen us rolling around the damn zoo.”
When their food arrives, everyone holds hands. An old woman in a wheelchair asks a blessing in a loud voice.
She says the same five-word prayer every old timer uses at a supper table. An ancient prayer which younger generations quit using a long time ago.
“Lord, make us truly grateful.”
I catch myself smiling. If you've never seen an old woman pray, you should.
Everyone mumbles, “Amen.”
Seated on my other side is a young couple. She is pretty, with dreadlocks pulled backward.
The man with her is wearing a fire-medic uniform—radio attached to his shoulder.
The man touches the girl’s hand and I overhear
him say, “I was thinking we could go to the lake when I get time off, and finally have our honeymoon.”
“OH REALLY?” she says. “I’d LOVE that.”
Not long into their meal, his radio makes a noise.
In the back of the restaurant, there is a group of men, also wearing radios. They receive the same transmission.
The man kisses his girl. He calls his friends from the back, they leave together.
Minutes later, I hear sirens in the distance.
An elderly couple walks through the restaurant doors, holding onto one another.
She’s small, and walks with a hunch. He is wearing jeans, suspenders, and has oiled hair.
If I ever make it to old age, God willing, I will wear jeans, suspenders, oil my hair, and utter five-word blessings at the supper table.
They…