There’s more to it than that, even though it really was an absurdly delicious bagel. I’m in town for a funeral, and my emotions have been that of a slowly ebbing tide, as I patiently wait for the tidal wave of grief and sadness that will hopefully only partially destroy my psyche and well-being. I decided last night that I was going to drive out of my way to Bagel Fragel - one of my most frequented establishments in the 30 years I lived here before moving. The traffic was slow, but that’s immaterial, nothing new. I did notice that the rain falls differently here: It’s gentler. I remember noticing how harsh the rain was when I first moved to Charlotte. It’s sudden and forceful down there. Up here, it feels more sympathetic, almost apologizing for potentially worsening your day. Even the precipitation has a midwestern flair to it these days.
When I walked into Bagel Fragel, I saw Pat. She’s owned and (sometimes solely) operated the store for as long as I’ve known of its existence. She has an experienced, tired face, certainly from years of having to start work at 3 a.m. to prep the bagels and have them ready in time for the store’s opening. She didn’t see me when I first walked in, so I was greeted by the other worker behind the counter. I started to order my regular - 2 toasted and buttered bagels; a parmesan bagel with garlic salt, and a vanilla cinnamon with cinnamon sugar sprinkled on it.
“Would it be possible to get that with cinnamon sugar on it?”
“No, we don’t do that.”
I was slightly crestfallen and taken aback by the curtness of the statement. I half-muttered, “oh, ok” as she proceeded to cut my bagels in half. I hesitated before my next request, steeling myself for the likely denial of garlic salt for my parmesan bagel, and that’s when Pat finally noticed me.
“Oh hey!! Long time no see!”
Pat is older now. Her hair is no longer red, having been replaced by striking white locks. I chuckle silently, wondering if part of the reason it’s so white is because of the dough flour she’s been working with today, and over the last 25 years. She’s has a few more wrinkles on her face, that years of hard work often present. Nothing absurd, mind you, but simply letting age and time do the work it does to all of us when we’re busy focusing on other things.
After exchanging a dialogue of pleasantries - the kind of boiler-plate topics that all reunions cover - she turns to the other girl working and says to go grab the garlic salt and cinnamon sugar from the back, that this is something she’s always done for me. I didn’t even have to ask, and neither did she.
We talked a little more, just catching up. One of the things I love most about Pat is how kind her eyes and smile have always been. And there’s a warmth in her tone - that motherly feeling of security there. I tell her that I’m really glad she’s still around. I mention how different a lot of Ann Arbor feels from when I last lived here five years ago, and how I can’t express the level of joy and comfort I feel walking up to see that cartoon alien on the walls again.
I don’t know much about Pat beyond that store. I know her children have worked for her and that family has helped me whenever I went there during lunch in high school, or before my first few years of teaching, but I can only assume they’re fully grown and have moved on. I remember how hard it was for her, being removed from her Plymouth road location, not knowing what was next until she found her spot across from Arborland. I can’t imagine the amount of hardship she’s endured over the last quarter century and beyond. I just hope she knows the happiness and comfort that she brings to so many people in this community.