For July in DC it was, what? “Like New Hampshire,” John said to himself as a stiff breeze swept across the outside cafe in Foggy Bottom. He’d been here with Sandra almost four decades. Still not used to the blanket of heat and humidity that pitched its tent in June and finally pulled up stakes in October.

An old black dude had stopped next to his table and asked him for some change. “Don’t have any change, man.” The guy was about to turn away when John said, “Will five bucks work?” “Damn straight,” he croaked as he stretched for the bill. The two were fist bumping and cackling when John noticed her standing next to him with a tray.

“You gonna be a gentleman and let that young lady sit down?” said the old man as he showed a toothless smile and shambled off.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but there are no other seats available. It’s just too nice to sit inside.” She was blonde and looked like so many of the slender girls he’d grown up with in New England. John knew she was married and probably a mom before he spotted the wedding band.

“Please,” he said as he stood and drew out the chair next to him. “My buddy there was right to remind me of my manners.”

“You mean Charles?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Charles. He’s a regular at the soup kitchen where I work.”

“So … “

“No, he didn’t need the money.”

“And he didn’t say hello to you because …?”

“He knows I disapprove of his panhandling. We have regular chats about that. Charles is more charming and manipulative than my five year old. If that’s possible.”

He smiled, shook, his head, and chuckled.

“Are you worse than Charles and my son?”

“Yup.”

****************

In the next ten minutes or so they covered a lot of ground. Her name was Noel. John was about her father’s age. Both were from Connecticut. They had attended snooty private colleges in New York State. His parents had been cool and distant. Hers were warm and nurturing. Both were WASPS who’d married Brooklyn Jews. They hated the Tea Party, liked, Obama, but were sorry Hilary had lost and couldn’t wait for her to get elected and start kicking ass.

“Are you still working, John?”

“Kind of.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I spend a lot of time screwing off hitting tennis balls in the middle of the day with people like me who work for themselves.”

“So what’s the work?”

“Oy … I always struggle with how to explain it so I don’t put people to sleep.”

“Try me.”

So he did. And she listened with an intensity he rarely saw, especially when describing the statistical stuff that had been his passion for all those decades. As he wrapped it up, she seemed on the verge of tears. He reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

“What’s going on?”

“Give me a minute,” she said as she pinched away some of the tears on the bridge of her nose. He nodded. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“They moved my desk.” He smiled and twisted his head and furrowed his brow.

“I was so bad in algebra in the ninth grade that they moved my desk.”

“Like segregation? Like having to use the ‘colored’ water fountain?”

“Yeah, like that.”

He got up and walked around the table and kissed her on the top of the head. People were starting to stare. And he couldn’t have cared less.

****************