Who's face is that?

On days like today, I like to sit in my favorite coffee shop and watch the park across the street. Since I retired, I have little to occupy my day, so when the weather is nice, I walk the six blocks to the local cafe and spend some time people-watching. Today is one of those perfect fall days. The air has that crisp feel, where you know it could turn either to the cold of winter or warm to another day of summer with just the slightest breeze from the right direction. Across the street in the park, the usual group of people are walking their dogs or running laps. To the far left, I can see the edge of the playground where moms and nannies are herding children to sandboxes and slides. On the right are groups of people playing chess. In recent years, more and more young people have joined. Straight out to the back of the park, a group looked to be wrapping up a morning exercise meeting. It might be yoga or pilates, but it might be Tai Chi. I like to sit near the window and imagine how these people lead their day and where they will go from here: to meetings, to work, shopping, or to school. Since I have retired, I have nowhere to run anymore, no deadlines or meetings, and no one managing my schedule except me. So I sit back, relax, and enjoy my coffee.

After a few minutes of people watching out the window, I look around the coffee shop. I have been coming here for years, as it was between here and my former office in downtown Indianapolis. I could walk from home, stop in for a cup of coffee, and then make it to my office, all within ten blocks and in under twenty minutes. Not much changed in the shop‌. I like this place, as it resembles a 1950s greasy spoon with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon. At the front is a long counter with a Formica top and gleaming chrome stools covered in light teal and pink. You can see back into the kitchen through the pass-through and hear the cook calling out when orders are up. The waiters and waitresses greet regular customers by name, and everyone acts like they are old friends. The fourth booth in the row isn’t my booth by name but by repetition, and it always seems open when I arrive every day at 8:30 on the dot. Today was unusual in that someone was in my booth, and I had to sit at the long booth facing the door at the back of the diner. This did not offer the best opportunity to look out the side windows, so for the first time, I think ever, I am sitting with my back to the door and facing the wall. That is when I noticed that I must have sat at a booth that was occupied by another person.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not realize someone else was sitting here. Please excuse me, I will move down a seat so as not to disturb you.” Sheepishly gathering my things with a tinge of embarrassment, I move tables. I try not to look ‌him in the eye as I do this, as I am flooded with mortification from my distraction. After I am settled in at my new table, I look up to face the wall, only to discover the man is again sitting across from me. I am sorry to say that I think I let out a little squeak at this revelation.

“Excuse me, but have we met before?” Are you following me? As I spoke, I noticed he was also trying to talk simultaneously. I pause, holding up a hand. “Sorry, you were saying.’ I wait, but he says nothing. “Do we know each other then? Trying again to get some information from the man. He sits and stares at me, his expression slightly bewildered. Maybe he does not understand English. I shrug my shoulders at the strange circumstances, gather my things again, and return to my original seat, trying to forget the encounter entirely.

In my original seat once more, I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders, shaken by the man at the following table. I decided I needed to watch some more windows. Across the street, a new class has started on the lawn. I can tell that this one is Tai Chi. I've always found these classes fascinating to watch. The grace of the movements of each member is relaxing and helps me to calm my nerves. As I regain my nerves control, I look up into the window and catch my reflection. Standing just behind me is that man again. He seems to stare directly at me. When I turn to look over my shoulder to ask what his problem is, he vanishes. Heart racing and hands shaking, I decide that the magic of the morning has fled, and I do, too. I stand and make my way to the register to pay my bill.

“Good morning, Jason; how was your coffee?” Betty, the owner of the diner, asks. I look over my shoulder to ensure the man has not followed me again. “The coffee was as good as ever, but a man at the back was following me. He sat across from me, moved tables when I did, and stood over my shoulder while I watched the park across the street. Have you had anyone new to bother other clients?”

“Oh, my word! Are you okay? Do I need to call your daughter? I did not see anyone at the table except you. I apologize again that someone else was sitting in your usual booth. That couple was new to town, and it was their first time trying our little restaurant.” Betty always treats me like family, and I appreciate her attention.

“I understand; there is no reason to be upset that someone was in my usual seat. I just wanted to be sure that a stranger has harassed no one else. I don’t remember seeing him before, but he ignored me when I tried asking him if we’d met. I will head home and rest. This encounter has affected me today.” Betty gives me a small smile and pats the top of my hand with care, and I leave, looking again to be sure that strange man is not following me.

As I make my way down the block, I inhale the crisp autumn air, trying to reclaim my state of relaxation. Fall has always been my favorite time of ‌year. I love the colors the trees exhibit: the leaves turning, the smell of the air, and the children playing in the park. When my family was younger, fall meant band competitions and soccer games. Campfires and cookouts. Now that they are older and have moved on with their own families, we see less of each other, but we still have family cookouts and an occasional soccer game to attend. But the hustle and bustle of my wife and I sharing duty driving the children from place to place no longer exists. Still, fall is my favorite season. I remember this as I looked in passing store windows at their fall displays and walked the six blocks back to my home. Stopping to look at one particularly eye-catching display of camping gear, I catch another sight in the window. It is that man again. “Who are you? Have we met before? I ask the reflection. Again, I get no answer from the man. I turn to look over my shoulder to confront him, but he is gone. I don’t know what is going on, I feel as if nothing is making sense today, and I need to get home. I hurry in that direction, knowing that all will be well again when I do.

I stumble into my front door and sigh heavily when the door closes behind me. “Jason, is that you? Are you home?” Rebecca, my wife, yells from the kitchen. “How was… “Jason! Are you feeling all right? You look like you rushed home in a panic; what happened?” Rubbing her hands along my cheeks and down my arms, she tries to comfort me the best she could. “I think I was being followed today. A man at the coffee shop followed me from table to table, and then I saw him again on the street. I don’t know what is happening, but I had to get home before he followed me here, too.” Just as I finish explaining this, I glance up to the wall directly across from the door and catch sight of the man. He is standing directly behind my wife if front of me. How did he get into our house? Was he here waiting for me? But how is that possible? How does he know where I live?

“Rebecca, the man is right behind you. Did you let a stranger into the house? How do we know him?” When she turns around, she does not seem shocked or scared. She just slowly turns back and forth between the man and me. Then she just looks sad.

“Oh, Jason.” Shoulders slumping, she brings me in for a hug. “It's okay. Everything is fine; we are fine. No stranger is in the house, and no one has been following you.” She then takes me by the shoulders and turns to stand directly next to me. I see she is also standing directly next to the stranger. “This is not a stranger, sweetness. This is you. You must have been sitting in front of the mirror at the back of the diner. The other times you saw the man were reflections in store windows.” As she speaks, she places her hands on the side of my face and turns my head to face her, then the stranger again. I can see the stranger’s head making the same movements. So, I focus on him more closely. Around him, I finally saw details I had missed before. There is an outline around him. He looks like standing in a golden box of leaves and wire. Behind him is a door painted the same shade of green as mine, which would not make sense if he was across the room from me. I can also clearly see my wife next to him; she was not in the diner or the street.

“That’s me? When did I get so old?” I ask as I hesitantly reach out a hand to meet the hand of the stranger. She chuckles a little, though she sounds a little choked up. “The same time I did, I suppose.” Come into the kitchen and tell me what you saw at the park today. Afterward, we can talk about how old we are and what we plan to do with the grandkids this weekend when they visit. As I turn to follow her to the kitchen, I glance again at the mirror in the hallway. As I turn to leave, the man in it gives me a wink.