Denizens of the Park

 

Tuesday.

"It was supposed to be a routine procedure. No-one could have predicted her aorta would rupture."

Relating his wife's death, the old man's voice was strong, his eyes dry. "Two years it's been.  Then, two weeks later my best friend went and killed himself."

Oh, wow.  I've never been good expressing condolences, especially to a stranger.  But seeing his smiling face bathed in the morning light begged a, "Good morning. Yes, isn't it a beautiful day?"  

Pleasantries.  I've discovered that's how most denizens of Village Green regard one another.

But 'Larry' seemed inclined to more than superficiality.  My fault, perhaps, for commenting on his Veteran cap.  His body language fairly shouts, "Lonely: party of one."

Easy chit-chat.
Come here often?  Now that the weather's cooling, I admit to having indulged in an extra hour's sleep ... leaving the 7 o'clock hour to those more serious about their fitness routine.

"Um, you have a blessed day, now."

"You, too, sugar."
(Good grief. I don't recall ever having been called, 'sugar.')

Another circuit.  I'm curiously happy to see Larry's engaged in conversation once more.  The woman sits alongside, leaning into his words.  Soon, they're up and walking. 

Wednesday.

Regrets.

Nearing my second mile, I spot Larry leaning on his cane.  He pats the bench, "Please sit. Tell me something good."

Mental sigh. I remove my ear buds; sit.

I ask about his late wife, how his therapy's progressing.

A talker, this one.

I don't think to filter my answers.

Growing uncomfortable.  An occasional compliment is always welcomed, but this. This is beginning to border on the Too Much.

"Well, I really gotta go."

"Well, thank you so much for sharing a little time with me."

Today? I've given myself a time-out. Enjoying a 3rd cup of coffee.

Methinks it's time I rejoin the early risers.

Y'all have a great day ... stay safe out there!

Hugs,

Myra