fall…
She was carefully unwrapping a pair of home-made sandwiches wrapped in cheap paper towel. Very meticulously she did the task, with utmost diligence she did it as if it was a complex scientific experiment which required precision and accuracy. She then handed one to the man beside him, and he smiled, like a small boy who got a nicely wrapped present on his 5th birthday.
They each took a bite. While the woman was slowly chewing with her gums - obviously she lacked teeth and dentures - her companion placed his meal on his lap & took out a pint of milk from an overused lunchbox he had beside him.
Shifting sight from the carton to her lady, he said, "There’s only one."
"You can have it then. I’m fine." the woman responded.
The man however did not seem to hear her reply, and out from the lunchbox he took out two straws. "But of course we’ll share", he said while putting the straws into the milk carton, then placing it in between them.
With that,I wasn’t able to help myself but look at them more intently. I guessed the couple were in their late 60’s, both having completely grey hair and immensely wrinkled faces. Their hands were scarred and calloused, perhaps brought up by too much physical toil throughout their lengthy years. I’d wager they were farmers, judging by their rustic clothing and their timid, provincial manners. Maybe they were from that little farming community south of the city, one bus ride away from the downtown terminal. There should have been some important matters they needed to attend to in one of the public offices here, for it was rare to see folks like them loitering around the city.
It turned out there was, for I heard the man tell his partner, "Happy anniversary, swee’ pea."
The elderly woman bursted out a shaky giggle - more of a shrill, actually - and said, "Happy 40th anniversary, papa bear.", then leaned on the man’s arm.
I couldn’t tell which one startled me more, the number that preceded the word "anniversary", or the terms of endearment rather cheesy for their age.
I laughed.
But not at them.
At myself.
A young man at 23, smoking on a wooden park bench, a silver Zippo lighter in his left hand and a sleek, fancy cellphone in his right. A metrosexual yuppie sporting a coat-and-tie ensemble, hair in a faux hawk style which took an hour to do, and gradeless, rimless eyeglasses worn simply to enhance the sophisticated look needed for his job.
There I was, sitting alone in the park.
There I was, young and successful me marvelling at the sight of two golden couples very much in love celebrating their nth aniversary together. My eyes were squinting, partly with sarcasm at the ongoing melodrama I’ve never been accustomed to, and partly with a contradicting sheer envy.
Then my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Yes, we’re booked for that flight Friday."
"What do you mean you can’t go?!"
"But we both planned that vacation months ago??!"
"Well, I don’t give a shit about your urgent, business trip. But hey! If you love your job THAT much, maybe you should never come home!!!"
I pressed END. my hand was shaking and my gasps for breath were rapid. i must’ve raised my voice too much, for the old couple was already looking at me. Staring, in fact. But with all courtesy, the man nodded slightly and the woman made a rather sad smile.
In perfect cue, the wind blew.
The trees gave away their dry leaves to the wanting autumn breeze.
I stood up, gathered my things, sighed, and walked away.
The falling leaves served as my curtain close, a wall which build up and took me away from the old couple and the promise of love that they were to me.
