prayers for the sick

The fifty cents I spent on a newspaper to keep me company over breakfast this morning was a complete waste…not that I minded. As I walked into the diner, paper and wallet in hand, I noticed an array of familiar faces scattered around, and suspected that I would most likely not get a chance to read it, but it was just as well. Company is company, whether you pay for it or not.

I found a place at the bar and sat down, as one of my snobby liberal acquaintances slid down from his stool to join me. What’s up. Whatcha been doin, and so forth. I excused myself for a moment to go and fill my cup, and it was there that I collided with a very frail and elderly woman, who was seventy eight, to be exact. She appeared to be having some difficulty with the coffee airpots, so gentleman that I am, I leaned over to assist her, which ended up becoming a somewhat lengthy conversation.

I was treated to her life story, in a nut shell, how her husband and her traveled the country together working for Campbell’s soup, and how he was in town for heart surgery at the regional hospital. She was very worried about it, and seemed significantly disoriented in general. Her eyes were full of both concern, and pride, for her ailing husband…and as she rambled in that polite slow way the upper class elderly tend to do, I listened thoroughly, paying special heed to the numerous moments in which she would say oh bless you after I would hand her a cup, or a packet of sugar. My snobby acquaintance was still nearby, though I largely ignored him, preferring the woman’s conversation over his. Eventually it was time for her to go, and as we said our goodbyes I laid a gentle hand on her arm and reassured her that I was certain the surgery would be fine, that we have one of the best hospitals in the state, and that I’d say a prayer for her husband. She seemed to brighten a bit at that, and gave me a strange little hug before setting out, most likely never to be seen again by yours truly.

I once again found myself talking to my acquaintance, paper still untouched:

So you’re going to say a prayer for her husband, eh? A smirk on his face. Didn’t think you were the religious type…do you really think that’s going to help? Laughing now. That loathsome condescending giggle. I decided that I was done with the cafe, and left my unread paper where it lay as I rose and left, answering him without looking at him as I made my way towards the door:

"…her husband wasn’t the one I was trying to help."