I noticed, over Samantha‘s shoulder, that an old man was trying to catch my eye. I returned his stare with a noncommital nod and stayed with my conversation.
Eventually he walked over to our table and interupted us, “You look just like my nephew.” He was wearing a baseball cap with redundant USAs stitched into the front and the bill.
My answer was, “Okay.”
He wanted me to verify that I wasn’t his nephew. He asked for my age instead of my name, but my answer left him undecided.
“Do you have an Uncle Jim?”
“No. But I can call you Uncle Jim if you want.”
“I’m sorry to bother you guys. You should know that you have a twin. I’m sorry to bother you.”
He returned to his table and sat down, facing away from us this time. Another customer rushed past him on his way out, but was sidetracked into a short exchange with Jim.
Samantha and I continued talking, until Jim wandered over again and leaned over us. He had something on his mind. “Sorry to interrupt again. I just wanted to let you know, I wrote . . .” and he froze there with his mouth open on wrote.
I prompted him, “You wrote . . . ?”
“I wrote a novel. It’s called Free Range, and Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall made a movie from it.”
“It’s a good movie. You should see it.”
“It sounds good. I’ll watch for your name in the credits.”
He hesitated, “. . . it’ll say ‘James Rogers’.”
He looked at Samantha, “Sorry to interrupt you guys,” then he looked at me, “You have a twin.” He gave us the thumbs up and sauntered off.