It’s not at all what spring should have looked like. A blinding snow squall greeted him as he stepped off the city bus and onto the paved trail of that park. It was blustery and cold. He shielded his eyes as he peered into the whiteness — seeking his bench.
Hordes of tiny ice crystals stung his face like crushed shards of glass. He drew a woollen tuque over tufts of gray hair and down over his ears, hunched his shoulders, and slowly trudged along that snowy path. Frozen hands filled his pockets; thick gloves lay forgotten on the kitchen table. When he finally arrived, he was surprised to find someone already sitting on his bench.
It was a woman bundled up warmly, perhaps his age. He brushed away the snow, sat down, and blew long breaths into his cupped hands. He turned and nodded, and she nodded back, acknowledging his plight, then gazed ahead. Neither of them spoke as they sat. Snow swirled between and around them… to confirm their silence.
In the distance, the dull rumble of city traffic murmured; eerie wails of police sirens echoed. The wind whistled through leafless trees… and filled the chorus. They watched as a car dangerously sped along that icy road up in front of them. It passed a large old maple tree, swerved its way around the bend, and disappeared down the hill.
Minutes passed. As if choreographed, they both stood up at the same time. He turned towards her hesitantly and mumbled the obvious; “Miserable weather, isn’t it?”
“It’s our typical spring,” she chimed, then pointed with a mitted hand. “There’s a café down that road. Would you like to join me? I could use one and it looks like you sure could,” she smiled.
“You’re right about that. I sure could.”
One year later — to the day — he walked out of that bus once again. The weather hadn’t changed much from the previous spring; it was cold and windy. There was one difference this time. He waited and reached for her hand as SHE stepped off the bus. They both ambled up that path together, her hands locked around his arm as he held them firm.
Before long, they’d found their bench and sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he pulled her close and shielded her from the howling wind. Tears had welled up in her eyes as she looked up into his. She exhaled as if to clear her throat then choked back a sob. He tenderly kissed her forehead as tears spilled down his cheeks. Twelve months ago, ‘fate’ had brokered a chance meeting between them on that bench, and they’d fallen in love. Happiness had been a rare companion in their lives. But they’d managed to salvage a part of their broken hearts, and sooth fissured dreams.
It had been fourteen years since she’d lost her son, and he lost his daughter; their cars had collided up there by that old maple tree.
As they hugged, the wind suddenly stopped blowing. Only the sound of falling snowflakes… filled the air around their bench. They held each other as tightly as they could, afraid to let go.
.
* … this tale always gets to me, and I wrote the thing… *