Changing of the Guard

Changing of the guard

Some would say the coffee shop was quaint. Some would say it had charm. But to Stan it was just old. He and the shop were just old. He couldn’t remember for sure when he had become the shop’s keeper. But he remembered how it had happened. One New Year’s Eve, too late after having too much to drink, Stan appeared at the shop. His eyes met those of an old man who seemed to recognize him, clutched his chest and fell to the floor. Not having anything else to do, Stan simply took over.

An unusual place with no posted hours of business, Stan kept a room at the back of the shop and left the front door unlocked. Over the years his patrons grew accustomed to the shop always being open, fresh coffee always ready.

They were a strange mix, his customers. There were the residents of the apartments above storefronts like Stan’s. A stable group of working class types – honest, clean, hard-working sorts who came to Stan’s for gossip, news, sharing of troubles or with their only need being met by being amongst friends.

There were also a few business types from nearby office buildings, secretaries and such who enjoyed a good cup of coffee before work, a calm place for a bite of lunch, or a quiet spot to unwind at the end of a hectic day.

Another group of regulars who were seen but seldom recognized or heard by any but Stan were the indigent, those whose residences were unknown or changing and who, if truth be known, were indebted to Stan for more than a warm place to rest during their hectic days of surviving.

All of these were Stan’s congregation. He was priest, choir director and confessor. He quietly met their needs and became the head of their family. Stan accepted that role because he had no family of his own.

When New Year’s Eve arrived, there was no sign that it was any day but the ordinary. His patrons wished him a happy new year as they left the shop, but he didn’t return the greeting or acknowledge the passing of one calendar to another.

Business as usual was his only thought in the late evening after the shop had emptied. Though tired, Stan picked up the broom and slowly cleaned the well worn boards. A young man entered in the waning hours of the passing year. Stan put his broom aside and moved behind the counter to wait on the stranger.

Their eyes met and Stan was filled with a feeling of familiarity. He knew what was about to happen. With that recognition, a growing pain filled his chest. Suddenly so much needed to be said, so much to be passed on. But not a word passed his smiling lips as he slowly sank to the floor. The young man moved behind the counter and lovingly picked Stan up and carried him to the cot in the back room. He removed the apron, tied it to his own frame and went back to the shop, the broom and a new beginning.