coffee with a friend

had coffee with a friend today...
laughed, listened
felt loved
and loved in return

As I sat at the table of a Main Street diner across from a man called "Java" during his 25 years in jail, I had just one moment of wonder... this man is my friend, and I am honoured to be his.

The last time we had coffee together, a crazy guy walked up to us and started ranting about the state of Canada. At one point he said, "Don't you worry, sir, about your....... daughter?" (You could tell he was a little confused about the state of our relationship.)

"Friend," I answered without missing a beat. And firmly. (And I hate adverbs!)

I guess maybe it is odd that we've decided to have coffee once a week. That this man who robbed banks and did time in just about every province would have something in common with me--twenty five years younger and scarcely a parking ticket. But I like him.

And he likes me.

And we laughed and he blocked my view when "Big Bill" came in for breakfast. Only Linda will know exactly what I'm talking about when I say that I wanted to hide from Big Bill--another Harvest friend... just more demanding than Java, and more crude, and more smelly...

I never call him Java, and I never use "secret" blog names, but I sure hope that some of you, some day, will meet my friend, and I would like to let him tell people his story, his own way and in his own time.

I remember when he first told me... We were working at Winnipeg Harvest together... I was running the warehouse, he was one of my most reliable truck drivers. There was always some mystery about him. He was able to chat, but somehow managed to avoid references to family and his past without seeming secretive.

I thought that maybe he was a wealthy man who had taken a vow of poverty, or perhaps his wife had died and he was in mourning... I felt I had to respect his silent request and I kept my curiousity in check.

(and I am oh so curious)

One morning he said that he needed to talk to me. "That's good," I said, "because I need to talk to you, too." He was an early riser and there were days when he was waiting at 7 am at the door for me. I had convinced the powers-that-be to give him a key and "code" him for the building and wanted to let him know.

When he told me that he had spent most of his adult life in, escaping from, or trying to stay out of places like Stony Mountain, I think I said something like, "Well, that's in your past, right? It's not your present, and where you've come from makes no difference to me." We talked more about that and then he asked me what I had wanted to talk to him about.

I told him I was hoping to key and code him for the building.

I never realized what an impact that made. Years later when the former head warden of Stony Mountain became a volunteer, Java had the pleasure of showing him the ropes, and told him the story... "I told them I was an ex-con, and they gave me a key to the joint."

Maybe Java helps me be aware of the fact that I, too, am an "ex." My own fallenness is no different from his, and while my past has not been spent in penitentiaries, there are many things for which I am penitant. And many things that I am not yet aware of, for which I will be penitant.

had coffee with a friend today...
laughed, listened
felt loved
and loved in return