I heard from my friend, Lori, today.
Lori is one of those people who you feel like could find a reason to smile through a war. She’s tough but kind, and she’s a savvy businesswoman.
Getting an email from her today made me think of the first time I met her. I don’t remember why or how we struck up a friendship — I think I needed a place that wasn’t home to write. I remember her bringing me coffee in what is now “my” mug, and that she mostly left me alone seeing I was writing.
The thing I remember most, though, was that she had a keen sense for when I was almost out of coffee, and just kept refilling me at the perfect time.
I kept going back to her coffee shop. And then, at some point, I started going even when I didn’t need or want to write, just to stop in and say hello.
One of those first days I was getting to first know her, she looked upset.
I took my usual spot in the corner against the front window. She brought me my coffee. I looked at her as she poured it, and knew I had to find out what was wrong. But knowing even just a little bit about Lori, if I asked her the question, I knew she’d answer “oh, honey, it’s just been one of THOSE days” or something like that.
So, instead of asking her what was wrong, I asked her “Lori? When was the last someone poured you coffee?”
She smiled. Then sat down.
“It has been a long time,” she said. “Tell me what you’re writing.”
So I told her.
She asked me who has read it.
“Actually,” I said, “there is one person who has read the parts that matter most, but no one has read the whole thing yet. Mostly because I’m not done.”
Lori smiled and stood up.
“We all have people we would always pour coffee for no matter how tired we are, don’t we,” she said.