| (c) Breeze Vincinz
It rained that day. A horrific celestial cry whose sense of purpose was made all the more ethereal by the fact that the sun shone proud, unashamed, knowing it’s presence brightened curiosity surrounding an otherwise perfectly gloomy day. While infants inside the metro train, only months outside of their mothers’ liquid, were quieted by the rhythmic fluid pounding, adult commuters with an aching for a couple of minutes peace before work were thrown alert and awake as wet midst slithered past the city outside their windows. There were a few, however, who imitated the babes, transformed the metal cubicle into a sort of embryonic sack, let memories of childhood summer storms with virginal mothers, proud fathers and strawberry Jell-O lull them into easy singsong sleep. An elderly gentleman in a long, beige trench coat stared sorrowfully at one such individual. His eyes, filled to the brim with tears without spilling, stared at the face of the other whose mouth transfigured itself into various forms of innocent joy to subtle sensual ecstasy. The sleeping young man’s eyes rapidly flickered behind closed lids while his right hand involuntarily covered a growing unconscious erection. A sudden thud stopped the commute before it reached Slauson Ave. and drearily awoke the young executive’s enraptured sleep. As he slowly regained consciousness and his composure, he noticed the overwhelming sadness of the aged follow sitting across from him whose own storm seemed to compare to the rustle outside. “Are you okay?” the younger man asked, more so out of convenience than concern. The older gentleman did not give a verbal answer, only grabbed a handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his suit, wiped his eyes and nodded. Awake and far away from any conscious or immediate ecstasy, he settled himself into his seat and prepared for the long commute ahead. But there again he noticed, the melancholy, the sadness, the pure hopelessness that seemed so full of glum that it’s voicelessness rendered itself overbearing. He tried his best to avoid the old man but soon realized what his mother told him as a youth was indeed true; that it takes more effort to look away at something than it does to stare straight it. “What?!” he demanded of the old man. “I’m sorry.” was the wobbly voiced reply. As the young executive began to prepare to relocate to a less emotional section of the train car, the older gentleman offered, “You look like somebody I know, that’s all. I didn’t mean to stare.” “It’s o.k. You were creeping me out though.” The older gentleman wiped his nose with the handkerchief. “Who was he? The guy I look like.” “An old friend. It was a very long time ago. Just a friend. Never you mind.” “Well, I’m sorry for, what ever happened or, what ever happened to him.” He began see the old man carefully recoil into his shell. Before, he appeared empty and desperate for emotional substance; suddenly he seemed desperate for absolution for crying in public on a city train. “Looks like it’s clearing up now.” the younger man said in hopes that changing the subject would give the older the absolution he wanted. “Yes, yes it is. I rather prefer the rain though. Doesn’t rain nearly enough here.” “Says you!” the younger man joked. “Clears the air. Are you getting off at Rosa Parks, getting on the green line?” “Yes.” “I’m getting off there too. I’ll show you.” The two men stood on the elevated train platform which gave extraordinary panoramic views of the city; buildings, houses, street and urban vegetation delicately interwoven as intricate as lace. “Look out in the distance, out to the horizon.” requested the old man. “What horizon?” asked the younger, unable to discover a one through thick low hanging clouds that formed in the far parts of the city. “My point exactly,” declared the elderly gentleman. “Tomorrow, you’ll be able to see the Hollywood sign.” “Get out of here!” “It clears the air.” “I live over there. It’s 30 miles away.” “Mark my words.” “If you say so.” “I say so.” The two men stood in silence, staring at the distant haze, pondering the statistical probability of its presence the next day. “Harold.” uttered the old man, suddenly reclaiming his melancholy state. “What?” “His name was Harold. The young man you remind me of.” “Did he die?” “No. No. Not quite. Lost. Lost.” The young businessman noticed a vacant look slide across the elderly gentleman’s face as slick and consuming as oil. His eyes transfigured onto an unseen distant horizon which played the perfect backdrop for a distant movie unseen by all, except the elderly gentleman, and played out by unknown people who, though looked like the executive, he assumed were light years away from his own gratifyingly modern disposition in life. The young executive began to feel uncomfortable at the elderly gentleman’s lapse into such a dreamlike state. He wondered if the elderly gentleman had flown off so far into his memories, that he indeed forgot that he was standing next to him on the platform and not with his doppelganger in some far off land facing some far off challenges in a time far off from where they were. Even more disturbing for the executive was a side query that brought up his responsibility for the elderly gentleman’s current state of docility. “But never you mind that,” the elderly gentleman finally said, awakening himself from his trancelike state, and offering the young businessman a sad, toothless grin. Those tears in his eyes finally remembered their purpose and flowed hungrily down his leathery skin. “Buddy, I’m sorry. Are you o.k.? Is there anything I can do? Where are you going?” “Are you married? Have kids?” “No. Divorced.” “Wasn’t that easy back in my day. I loved my wife.... as much as I could.” The young businessman noticed the train coming from the west in the distance. “The train is coming. You going to Redondo Beach?” “Have you ever been thirsty? Really thirsty? But you don’t know for what? And you don’t want Coke or Pepsi or 7up or Crown Royal or coffee or tea or Jim Beam or Southern Comfort or Cutty Sark or milk or orange juice or apple juice or lemonade?” “The train is coming buddy.” “Or Orange Crush, or Dr. Pepper, or, what do you young people call it nowadays, Snapple? You drink it all and you are still thirsty. Then you realize, all you really truly wanted, was water. Just water. A big, clear glass filled with ice cubes and simple cold water. That’s what you needed. Harold. Harold was water. I love my wife. Harold was water.” The train barreled onto the platform. “I have to go buddy. Hey, If I see you tomorrow, maybe we can get a cup of coffee of something. Okay?” “That would be good. I look forward it.” The young executive alighted the train and stared back at his curious new friend who offered him, “You should always have something to look forward to. Someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to. Even in the end.” “What?” replied the young executive as the doors of the train closed and sped away. But not before he noticed the space beneath the elderly gentleman’s trench coat. Instead of finding the bottom portion of cuffed slacks and maybe perhaps a distinguished pair of oxfords, the young executive’s last image of the elderly gentleman was of bare calves, dark bony ankles, thin slippers. Hospital issue. It didn’t rain the next day. Even the children in the metro car were aware that its absence wore more profound than its presence. There was no delusional play of tropical rainforests, biblical floods or distant seas. This day was simply a sunny day. Unbrillant, uninteresting, uncomforting. The young executive sat sober, straight and erect in his seat. His eyes, tired of scanning the metro car for any signs of his peculiar new friend without any recognition, began to scan the speeding landscape outside his window. Everyone within the car seemed to return to their cyclic routine of commuting without the interference of weather; and in the case of the young businessman, the elderly gentleman. Both slowly became points of contention for him as the morning wore on. Especially when he arrived at the top of the green line platform to behold a view of the Hollywood sign so clear and obvious that he imagined he could reach out and retrieve it from the mountain it sat on. “Clears the air.” he thought to himself, convinced that the brilliant view was a fitting epilogue to any story that could be mused regarding his short, almost insignificant, relationship with the old man. And in certain aspects it was. But there did come a time when his brief acquaintanceship with the old man began to shift agendas in his memory; much like one can see the silhouette of two heads facing each other from the illustration of a candle flame, the old man’s presence seemed less like folly and more lake fate. The young businessman grew into a handsome father, a dedicated grandfather, then a widely respected great grandfather. And as each of his follicles lost it’s color, he retained the memory of his curious friend with the questionable past. He had a passing acquiantance who had found himself in an escapable fit of melancholy, a neighbor whose cordial pleasantries fully exhausted the boundaries of their relationship. Hearing the coarse texture of his voice when returning a morning greeting from retrieving his mail, prompted him to ask his neighbor to sit for a spell, perhaps for a cup of tea with a little bourbon maybe. “Water. I’m really in the mood for just plain old water.” “I understand the inclination.” “We have never really met, and I thank you for your kindness. We are both around the same age you and I. Sometimes... it gets... so... hard. This life, you would think it would thin out after all this time, but it’s still so difficult to exist in this world. It can be so... overwhelming sometimes.” “I understand that inclination too. An acquaintance, whom I never really met, was kind to me a long time ago. I didn’t really understand him then but I think I got the gist of what he was saying,” “What did he say?” The young businessman turned respected great grandfather felt a glint in his eye and smiled a crooked grin while looking upon the curious expression on his new found friend’s face. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |