It’s Never Too Late

“Why did you have to open the auto dealer and the scrap yard, Grandpa? For crying out loud, you are already eighty-three.” Dennis Brown peeks over his newspaper, a small smile hiding behind the paper.

“Really, Anthony? It’s not as if I had retired and then decided to go back to work.” His grandson slams the pot on the table.

“That’s the problem, Grandpa! You are old! It’s time for you to retire! Not time to start up new businesses!” Sighing, the old man lies down the paper, folds his worn hands over each other, and commands Anthony to a standstill with a quick cough.

“For twenty long years, I worked my fingers to the bone to provide for your grandmother and your father. I always had to consider both of them. And then, I finally was able to start my own business. When your grandmother got sick, I had to throw everything away in order to pay for her medication. And then she left me alone on this earth. Your father and mother followed her shortly after.” He picks up his cup and takes a sip, licking his lips afterwards.

“Gramps, I know the story.” The young man sighs, taking a seat at the table.

“Please don’t interrupt me...When I brought you here, I had to throw my dreams out of the door again. I had to consider raising you, your education, and any money you would need for your future. Now, you -”

“Grandpa, please stop! Listen to me, you are too old for this nonsense! Two new businesses! That’s like asking for a heart attack!”

"You interrupted me once again." Dennis Brown struggles to his feet. "You are thirty years old, boy. I have taken you as far as I could. It's time for you to march alone now."

"What does that have to do with you, Gramps?"

"Me? Well, I am free from obligations now. I am free to follow my dreams." He starts shuffling to the door.

"But, Gramps! You're too old for this!" Anthony scrapes his chair back and stands up. "You're eighty-three!! It's too late for you to do this!" His grandfather stops at the kitchen door, takes his hat from the hook, grabs his cane, and then faces his grandon again.

"Son, it's never too late. Never! I'm old, yes; thank you for reminding me about it throughout the whole of this conversation. But, I'm not dead yet. And until you place me in that cold, dark hole, I'm going to keep on working. I don't want to retire; I want to work. And for as long as I live, I want to follow my dream. This is my dream, Anthony." He shuffles out the door, gingerly closing it behind him.

"That grumpy, stubborn, old soul." The young man mumbles underneath his breath. He then smiles. You gotta give it to Gramps; he never gives up. It's the best thing about him...

Amalie smiles brightly as Mr. Brown enters the office. His whole face breaks into wrinkles as he smiles back at her.

"And how's my favorite employer doing today?" She chirps, rushing to the coffee machine.

"You're favorite? And here I thought I was the only one." He chuckles, but then ends up coughing. She glances at him, a frown taking place on her usually smiling face. He finishes his couging fit and then grins at Amalie again. "I'm fine, kiddo. Just old. As my grandson plainly told me this morning, I'm 'too old for this'." He takes place behind his desk. She giggles and quickly places the cup down for him.

"Well, I hope you put him back in his place, Mr. Brown. You are very spry for your age, and I think you are at the perfect time in your life for being the owner of three businesses." She winks at him and starts out the door. "Gotta fix Ms. Smith's car now! Oh, and..." She bites her lip, taking a step back. "Um, Steven has requested the late Mr. Downey's wreck." The old man sighs and waves her out of the room.

Well...another problem to fix. He lifts the cup to his lips, taking a sip. He starts choking and has to slam the cup down on the table. The coffee spews over his lips and out onto the paperwork. Wheezing, he leans over the table.

"Mr. Brown? You all right, sir?" Steven comes to a halt in the doorway. His employer can only nod as he tries to catch his breath.

"Fine." He wheezes out. "Come in."

Hesitantly, Steven enters and takes place on the edge of the desk. For a moment, the two just sit there quietly, Mr. Brown collecting himself and Steven getting lost in his thoughts again.

"Amalie told me you want to keep George's wreck. Why?" Steven shifts uncomfortably.

"Just...I just thought that I would like to try and fix it..." Mr. Brown sighs and leans back in the chair.

"We can't live with the dead and the lost, Steven. I really am sorry about your wife, but you are not going to get her back with this attitude of yours."

"What do you want me to do?! She literally walked out of my life and house. She broke all contact with me. She said she won't divorce me, but that always follows a broken marriage! I allowed my marriage to crumble, and now it's too late! I didn't realize what I had, until it was leaving me!" Sympathetically, the old man nods. "I don't know why I am telling you this...You never had these kinds of problems. You and your wife had thirty years of a happy marriage. Not a problem; you glided through that stage in your life."

"That is not true, Steven." He interrupts. "Please, sit down in that chair. I don't want to talk to your back." Steven obeys his boss, and finally they are looking at each other face to face. "I almost lost my wife once, Steven. She wanted to walk out on me and our son. Why? Because I was trying hard to get my own business, and Samuel was a difficult kid that brought me and her many troubles."

"But...You always looked so happy! I remember seeing you two together. I was still a kid back then. It was before the two of you even knew about her sickness. You two were always so close! And forgive me for saying this, but even...lovey-dovey...for your age..." The old man sighs and closes his eyes, while a small smile takes a hold of his lips.

"Yes, son. We were...When she wanted to walk out, I was willing to put myself aside to be there for her. You see, it's never too late. It wasn't for me...Because I didn't allow it to be." He coughs briefly, before continuing.

"Find what speaks to the heart of your wife, and...speak to her heart. And never stop speaking. A woman is fragile. No matter how strong she really might be, she just wants someone that she can go to, and there she can be weak. Frail. Delicate. A piece of porcelain, and not an iron bar having to force her way through life." Another coughing fit takes a hold of the aged man. A drop of blood splatters. As soon as he spots it, he folds his hand into a fist, and hides it underneath the table.

"Thanks, Mr. Brown..." Steven slowly rises. "I'll think about what you said...It's never too late...Well, you have a point, I guess! We're not divorced yet!" He adds with a smile, before rushing out the door, his mind whirling with ideas.

"Exactly! You're not divorced yet..." The old man smiles and closes his eyes.