Love Short Story – The Park Bench
Photo credit: dmscs from morguefile.com
I was in a dilemma.
Orchids or dahlias?
It all came down to choosing between the two. I had been standing at the florist’s for almost an hour now, deciding what it was that I wanted. I brushed past the roses– they are overrated– and the pansies. The lavenders were beautiful but I could not bore her with the same flowers everyday. Besides, the curtains of her room were already the same color.
“The orchids are beautiful, but the dahlias…. are pleasant,” I mumbled to myself.
“The chrysanthemums are beautiful too. So are the magnolias today,” said the florist.
“You’d say that.”
I thought for a while and realised that I was going to get nowhere. I went away, assuring the man I would be back. I decided to take a walk. I would not be meeting with my wife for another hour or so. Today was special. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was knee-deep in useless ideas to please her. I always tried to hard, or a tad too less. But she always smiled. She laughed at my craziness and obsession with being perfect.
I smiled to myself. The walk took me to the park where I frequently found myself fascinating about life. That I would be happy someday, with a few children of my own, running around playing fetch with the family dog. And then I noticed an old couple. Cute as they were, I was jealous of them. They sat there, holding hands and laughing. I formed an image in my mind– they were here like everyday. Their children were now married and there were grandchildren on the way. They would go home and she would make him a cup of tea; he’d spill it and she would yell. And then he would tell her he was sorry and they would make up. That was their life– simple and cherished. They’ve lived their lives, together.
I went back to the florist. And I can tell you, he was a very happy man.
“Don’t ask me what color they are. I know, I went a little overboard. I am sorry,” I said to my wife. She was sleeping. “It is funny, you know I met an old couple today. Well, not met exactly, but I…”
I went ahead and bought every flower the florist had.
My wife always looked extremely beautiful when she slept. Not like me, I would awake as a rotten egg, grumpy and lazy. But not her. She always awoke like a fresh daisy.
And I was still waiting for it.
My wife is dreaming a beautiful dream, I know. She has been, for the past three months. She has been comatose. A simple bump to her head drifted her into a deep, very deep slumber. I used to bump her in the head, with kisses. She is dreaming now, and I can tell you, she is dreaming about me.
And about our life, I still hope. I hope that just the next second till I tell you about her, she will awake and tell me she’d like a sip of water. She will wake up and tell me that she had this beautiful dream about her and me and our cute little children and our family dog. She will tell me. And then we will go home and talk about our children and the noisy old neighbours. We’ll watch the old home video tapes and laugh about how stupid I look in a plaid jacket.
We’ll laugh and cry about our old gray hair and decide how to spend our pension money. We have those years ahead of us, I know it.
Though things are difficult now and she does not even know I am thinking these things, I know she thinks the same.
We will become the old couple sitting on a bench. Trust me.
__END__
