She Said, “I Like You”

She said, “I like you.” His face can hardly contain the smile and his eye are as bright as the sun. He’s a lonely old guy that I’ve known for a long time, never married, never been in a relationship, never really been anywhere or done much of anything. One of those simple souls who doesn’t seem to need or expect much from life, which is a good thing because life has been rather miserly in its offerings. But last time I saw him he told me he had big news, that he wanted to talk to me. Which is why we find ourselves across the table at a Tim Hortons clutching bad coffees on a blustery spring day.

I’m not sure what I expected the “big news” to be. Cancer? Bankruptcy? Some other crisis? I didn’t expect it to be good, because this is not the kind of person to whom good things tend to happen. I certainly didn’t expect him to lead with, “She said, I like you.” I stared at him blankly. “Who?” I finally managed to get out. “A woman at the hardware store,” he said, still smiling dumbly. “I see her whenever I go in, but I don’t talk to her. She said it as I was walking out the door. And I said, “I like you, too.”

I smiled, awkwardly. Inspected my unimpressive coffee. Pondered this unlikely scene and what I could possibly say. My friend clearly had visions of romance in his mind, which seemed speculative, to put it mildly. “What’s her name?” I asked. He had no idea. “How old is she?” Maybe late twenties or early thirties. I coughed up some of my unimpressive coffee. The age gap wasn’t technically criminal, but it might have been criminal-adjacent. Cringy, at the very least. Not that I imagined anything would be happening, but still…

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know if you’re looking for advice, but I would say, ‘take it really slow, maybe ask her what her name is for a start.’” And then I tried to change the subject. The thought of this poor lonely old man investing so much emotional energy on a hardware store clerk young enough to be his granddaughter saying, “I like you” was more than I could bear to think about. Who knows, he may not have even heard correctly (his hearing isn’t exactly great). And you know, changing the subject when things are awkward is such a great strategy.

“So, what else is going on in your life?”

“Not much,” he said. He looked out the window and then back at me. “You know, I couldn’t sleep last night. It felt like my heart was going to pound out of my chest. All I could see was her face.”

The subject would not be changed after all.

His persistence should not have surprised me. Who cares about doctor’s appointments or what’s on TV or the supper menu when love is in the air? And what else do any of us want—from the fabulously wealthy and well-connected to lonely old men who have almost nothing and no one—than to have someone look at us and approve? For someone to see us and say, in some sense, “yes?” For someone to not look past us, to not ignore us, to see us and see something special, something that merits a second glance, something worth commenting on. For some evidence from another human being that we are seen, that we matter, that there is something unrepeatable, significant, and pleasing about us. As far as human longings go, they don’t come much deeper than this one.

In the first chapter of Genesis, the constant refrain echoes out after each stage of God’s creation of the world. And God saw that it was good. After the creation of human beings, a “very” is attached to the “good.” Ah, a human being. Very good. God in a sense, looks at us and says, “I like you. It’s good that you are. Whatever verdicts the world may crudely and cruelly render about your merits, I see you. You make me smile. I like you.” Cold comfort, you may say, for a lonely old man investing disproportionate hope in the prospects of a most unlikely companion. Perhaps. But I also believe that our longing to be seen and known and loved goes beyond what any human being can fully and finally meet. The God-shaped hole and all that.

My friend and I finished our coffees and went out into the rest of our days. I thought about him often throughout the day. I wished I could simply will a companion into his life to ease his loneliness. But I can’t. Obviously. I can have a cup of coffee, I can listen. I can nod along stupidly and with all the best intentions. I can also pray. And so, I prayed that my friend would be met with, if not with a torrid late-life romance, then with simple kindness somewhere along his way. Some small act or word or gesture that says, “It’s good that you are.”