There is such a thing as real love. Really there is...
"If loneliness means loving you, dear,
Then lonely I shall be.
For there's nothing more than loving you, dear,
That means anything to me."
Whoa, where did that come from? Here, let me tell you...The other day at work I had to take the trash out to the dumpsters. This is a task that hardly anyone ever wants to do, for obvious reasons. On this day, however, I volunteered. I had been making drinks all morning, and the brisk little walk to the outside dumpsters sounded really appealing.
When I went to the backroom to collect the trash that needed to go out, I realized the mistake of my polite volunteerism. The load was huge! At the very least two trash runs, and that was only if I overstocked the trash bin. Regardless, I put on my war face and soon began to wobble my way out of the store, the bags of trash sulking off each side of the bin.
First, let me make it known that the dumpsters are quite actually a frightening place. They're behind all the other stores at the complex, and all of the baristas have their own stories of weird and creepy experiences that they've had going on a trash run. Up until yesterday, I'd never had any sort of story at all... And then I met Tony.
Approaching the dumpsters, overflowing trash bin in hand, I noticed a van parked right in front of the two recycling bins. It wasn't a sketchy van- meaning, it didn't look as though the car were there in order to prepare the driver for kidnapping the next barista to walk by. However scary it did or did not look, I still felt myself stand a little taller, you know, to brace myself for the impending doom of a 1990 Chevy van. Rather than meeting an overly fierce looking kidnapper, however, I instead found myself approaching a little, old man. He was collecting boxes from the recycling bin and packing them in his van. ( A van meant for cardboard boxes, not terrified girls in Starbucks uniform.)
As I started to unload boxes into the recycling bin, I looked over at the small, frail looking man. He was probably around my height (5'4), hispanic, and wearing a large jacket and a WWII veteran's hat. His hair was pretty gray, and he had a moustache that reached across his whole face. Based off his appearance, I assumed I was safe. I kept unloading boxes and made my way over to the other bin to unload trash. It was when I was on my way back that the old man and I met eyes, sparking a conversation that I am almost certain I willl never forget.
I began to walk back towards the store, and had just made it past the recycling bins when I heard a voice call to me:
"I hate when people don't put the recycables into the recycable bin," he stated.
"Oh... I totally agree." What else was I supposed to say?
"I guess I was just raised that way... Have respect, you know? People don't have that these days... I even do it at my little retirement mobile home."
"Wow, that's really great of you." I said, I swear in a sweet tone. "I really gotta get back into the store now. Good luck with all your boxes though." And I thought it was over.
He said goodbye, and I returned to my store. I figured by the time I got back out to the dumpsters with the other loads of trash, he'd be gone.
I figured wrong.
When I loaded up the second load (it did only take two) and headed out to the dumpsters, he was still there and this time, he didn't take as long to start the conversation. I was polite and carried on the conversation for a while, nervous about the fact that I was taking so long on the trash run. He began to tell me more about his retirement park, and about the woes of getting older and just how good the good ol' days really were, etc. I asked questions here and there, really not wanting to be rude, and listened to him as he slowly answered them. When the conversation turned towards his wife, there was (I kid you not) a whole other kind of excitement in his voice.
"I bought her a puppy for Christmas. It was a real expensive one, you know, but when I told the lady I was buying it for my wife, she gave it to me for just $50. She asked me, 'It's for your wife?' and I said, 'Yes' and she said, 'Well, for your wife I'll give you this puppy for 50. Your wife deserves it. She's such an amazing woman.' And you know what? She was right. My wife is amazing."
"Oh really?" I said.
"Oh, yes. She's half-German and half-British, but she puts any Mexican woman to shame. She knows how to cook the enchiladas and tamales and she learned Spanish just for me too. My mother told me to never lose her, and I knew she was right. We've been together for 52 years now, and I love her just as much as ever."
"Wow, that's really amazing." I wasn't lying, I was thoroughly impressed.
"I know, I know. You know, I used to be in a mariachi band when I was much younger. I used to write songs and sing songs and- you know what Mariachi is?"
"Yeah, I do... It's very good!"
"Yeah, yeah... Well, I used to be in a band and I'd write songs for the band. A lot of them were for her. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and have inspiration to write songs. I'd see her sleeping there and realize how lucky I was... Well, one night she woke up and said, 'Why are you always waking up like this?' And so I told her, you know, that I was writing songs about her. After that she always made me read them to her. She loved to hear them. She even had one patented! It went like this, I won't sing it, 'cause I don't have the voice I used to, but...:
'If loneliness means loving you, dear,
Then lonely I shall be.
For there's nothing more than loving you, dear,
That means anything to me.'
She really loved that one, it was her favorite."
By this time, in all honesty, I was a little moved. This was a man who truly and undoubtedly loved his wife. He was talking to me, a complete stranger, about how much he loved her. Unashamedly and all.
Soon, I had to interrupt his gushings to return to work. I asked him for his name, and he told me it was Tony and asked me what my name was.
"I'm Sarah." I said.
"What is it?"
"Sarah" I repeated.
He looked at me with confusion on his face.
"Sarah, you know like Sara or Sarita?"
"Oh, Sarita! Okay, well, it was nice meeting you Sarita."
When I told him that I had to leave, he offerred to bring me lemons from the trees that he and his wife had planted at the retirement village. I said I would be delighted if he and his wife could drop in to do so. And, really, I think I would be. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, but this was definitely a man who, in just the small time that I had to talk to him, will have forever changed me.
Though some of the story is missing, the point is....I've definitely experienced heartbreak before. I know rejection. I know what it's like to have love and to lose it. I know what it's like to overcome that heartbreak. However, up until yesterday I hadn't realized how bitter and opposed to love I had become.
This man showed me that there is a love worth fighting for. If you're meant to have it, you will. Don't buy in to society's shallow view of love. There is a love out there worth all the crappy loves before it. There is a love out there that defies all other kinds of hurt and pain you've ever experienced before. It is a love that is enduring and neverending. It's hard to believe, but I swear it's true. It's sappy and cheesy, but maybe things become cliche for a reason. There has to be some bit of truth behind it...
There is such a thing as real love. Really, there is.
