By Joe Greco

It was Friday evening, I was hungry, and I felt like punching somebody in the nose. Our plumber had failed to show, as he’d promised, to fix the spouting fountain that was our kitchen faucet. The traffic on the way to the seafood restaurant moved like almost-frozen molasses. And when the maddeningly slow flow finally accelerated, a blonde, twenty-something man-child in a red Ferrari convertible cut in front of our car and almost caused a wreck.

Now I stood in line at the host’s podium in the restaurant’s lobby. When it finally was my turn to speak to him, he continued looking down at a sheet of paper, not in any hurry to acknowledge my existence. The lobby buzzed with people sitting on wooden benches like obedient refugees waiting for their turn to be admitted into the victual promised land. One of the hopefuls was my wife, Claire, who was rehabilitating from knee surgery, not in the best of moods, and growing even more prickly as the wait lengthened. 

I looked around at the walls adorned with old photos of sunburned fishermen proudly displaying their vanquished catches. I placed my left hand on the podium and leaned forward. “Hello,” I said, drawing out the “o” to show my displeasure at being ignored. 

The host glanced up with heavy eyelids and a slight, drooping frown, looking more bored with me than annoyed. “Yes?”

“You said it was going to be a twenty-five-minute wait. That was thirty-five minutes ago.” I held up the round electronic device that was supposed to buzz and light up when our table was ready. “How much longer?”

 “Name?”

“Kay, party of two.”

He ran his pen down the list in front of him, then shrugged. “Probably another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Depends on how fast the tables turn over.”

“Jesus,” I hissed. It had been decades since I’d been in a boxing ring, but on days like this I fantasized about throwing a strong left hook against the likes of the AWOL plumber, Ferrari boy, and this irritating gatekeeper. I took a deep breath and turned back toward Claire.

To my surprise, a man had taken my seat next to her. Really? As I approached, I saw that she was chatting with him.

“Kay,” she said. “This is Billy.” 

Billy looked to be in his sixties, clean shaven, with neatly combed gray hair. He stood and shook my hand. “Pleasure. Claire told me that Kay’s your nickname, short for KO from your boxing days in the Army.” He held up both hands. “Hey, I don’t want to mess with you, especially since you’re probably frustrated with the wait for a table.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I was a decent fighter back then. But I can’t resurrect those skills to get us a table any sooner.”

He moved over and sat. “Well, first, thank you for your service, sir.” He shook his head. “I’ve been waiting almost an hour. But we should count our blessings. I volunteer at the homeless shelter on Elm Street. We’re lucky to afford dinner here.”

“You’re right,” Claire said. “And that’s good of you.” 

Billy pointed at Claire’s knee brace, then patted his right knee. “I had this one operated on two years ago. Recovery is so painful, right?”

Claire nodded, smiled.

“Tell you what. Let’s trade these buzzer things because mine should go off any second now. You take my place in line.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Claire said.

“I insist. I’ve got no place to go tonight.”

Claire and I smiled at each other. “Thanks, Billy,” I said.

Billy grinned, but then said, “Uh oh.” He pulled his mobile from his pants pocket. “Looks like I do have somewhere to go. I’ve been caring for my sister who’s battling cancer. She fell, and she thinks she broke her wrist. Looks like a trip to the emergency room.”

Claire gasped. “Oh no. How awful.”

Billy rose and faced me. “That’s life. But I could sure use a hug, my friend.”

I stood, and we warmly embraced. As he slowly slid his arms off me, I said, “Billy, you may just be the nicest guy in the world.”

He looked into my eyes, his face warm and serene. “Goodbye, folks,” he said, turned, and quickly walked away.

I held Claire’s hand, and we talked about how one good person could make such a difference in the world and how we perceive it. We agreed to keep our cynicism about humanity in check. Kind, trustworthy, and respectful people might seem harder to find nowadays, but they existed. Billy proved that.

After ten minutes had passed, I looked down at the two silent orbs on the bench between us, then glanced at my watch. “I thought we’d be called by now,” I said, but without the simmering angst I’d experienced earlier. Suddenly, one of the devices began to buzz and blink green lights. But it wasn’t Billy’s; it was ours.

I furrowed my brow. “Strange. But it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” I grabbed Claire’s walking cane and helped her get up. We walked slowly to the podium.

“Kay,” I said, handing our device to the host.

He made a check mark on his paper. “Yes, your table’s ready.” 

“And there was a gentleman who gave us this one,” I said, handing him Billy’s device. “But he had an emergency and had to leave.”

The host took the device, turned it over in his hands, and frowned. “It’s not one of ours. Or maybe it’s an old one.”

“What? But there’s a Billy on your list, right?”

He looked down, running his pen along the list of names. “Nope. No Billy, or Bill or William.” 

Claire and I looked at each other, and our eyes widened. I jerked my right arm behind me and frantically slapped my pants pocket, feeling for my wallet. But it was gone. I felt my hands balling into fists, tighter and tighter and tighter than ever before.