A Place of Comfort
Constant use will not wear ragged the fabric of friendship. ~Dorothy Parker
“Fancy meeting you here, Moxie. Do join me! I’m headed over to Open Doors, I’ll treat you to supper.” The old lady had a kind smile on her face.
“I’m sorry I can’t join you this evening,” Moxie was surprised to see Miss Mildred at this time of evening in downtown Hopewell. As far as she knew the woman only frequented the Open Door Soup and Sandwich Shop for breakfast and lunch.
“Oh, Moxie, sweetie,” Miss Mildred pleaded “please don’t make me dine alone. I enjoy your company so. Please come. You and I are woven of the same thread, I do enjoy your company so.” The old woman had the same rebuttal every time Moxie tried to turn her down.
Despite rejecting Miss Mildred’s invitation, Moxie found herself, for the umpteenth time, sitting at one of the two tables where she and the old woman always sat.
Moxie didn’t mind returning to the same place, that wasn’t it. The service was good, there were familiar faces and the comfort food always warmed her inners. Frankly, she didn’t want to be a mooch.
Moxie liked the warm, secure feeling she got when she stepped into the diner with Miss Mildred. Shuffled from foster home to foster home throughout her life, Moxie never knew what it was like to sit at a table with the same Mom and Dad at every meal.
As they ate the two women made idle conversation. Although the chit-chat between them was mundane there was a special feeling that came with visiting with the woman. It could only be described as increasing connectedness.
“Mildred,” said Moxie, “would you excuse me for a few minutes? I need to use the ladies room.” She scooted out of the booth and as she walked through the tables she wondered why Miss Mildred kept returning to the Open Doors. From what she knew of the old woman, she could have frequented any place instead of returning to the same restaurant time and time again.
On the way back from the ladies room, Moxie saw a sign she hadn’t seen before. She stood still and took time to read it.
When she returned to the booth, Moxie sat quietly thinking about the poem. She decided the question she was going to ask Miss Mildred was immaterial.
