"Parting Gifts"
She was no different than any of the
other passengers. She wore the same beleaguered business suit. She
carried the same rumpled bag and when the announcer confirmed the
half-hour delay, she wilted with the same frustration as the rest of
the other people around her.
But to him, she was the world.
He followed her with his eyes as the
crowd burst apart and she slunk quickly down onto a nearby bench. As
soon as the people cleared a path, he shuffled toward her as fast as
his eighty-years would allow.
“Pardon me, I hate to disturb you but
… is this seat taken,” he said over the repeat announcement. She
glanced up and shook her head, busy with her phone and updating her
statuses on three different social media outlets. He twisted and
eased himself onto the bench next to her before speaking again. “The
trains are all getting delayed this afternoon. It's because of the
snow storm, I'll bet you anything.”
“I don't care what it is. I'm ready to
get home,” she smiled, her features glowing with the light from her
phone.
He seized the moment and offered his
smooth, cool palm.
“I'm Herbert. Today is my birthday.”
“I'm Amanda. Happy Birthday, Herbert.”
“Well, it's very nice to meet you,
Amanda. A young woman your age shouldn't be traveling alone. I hope
you don't have to go very far.”
She burped with a small laugh, “My
age? I'll be twenty-two in June.”
“I'm eighty years old today!”
“That's amazing. You don't look it.”
“Well, that's very kind of you to
say,” Herbert smiled and gazed off across the beehive of activity
around them.
Commuters filled the lobby for clusters
of time. Each of them patiently waiting for the signal from the
announcer to tell them which platform to descend to. They rose and
fell on weary feet, their shoulders bowed with bundles, their eyes
all sunken and grey. They watched the LCD screen like hungry orphans
and saw nothing of the world around them.
Amanda kept her eyes on her phone to
avoid any further awkward conversation. Even though Herbert came off
as a demure, fragile old man – he could be a psychotic,
organ-harvesting necrophiliac. She wasn't stupid.
Amanda never missed an episode of CSI.
She knew how things were in the big
city.
The past year of growing acclimated to
life in the city had done nothing to lower her guard around
strangers. Herbert sensed none of this suspicion brewing in the young
woman as he stared across the lobby at the hectic Dunkin' Donuts
kiosk.
“I don't feel it,” Herbert blurted
out of nowhere. “I don't feel it a bit.”
“You don't feel what?”
“Eighty. I expected it to feel
different, you know what I mean? You wait and wait and wait and wait
and then it's there – bam! Eighty years old. Jesus Christ.”
“Mm-hmm,” Amanda pulled her phone a
little closer to her nose as Herbert continued, unaware.
“Eighty years is a long time. You live
each day of those eighty years saying things like, 'When I'm
eighty, I'll be surrounded by grandchildren on my front porch in
blah,' or 'If I live to be eighty, I won't have to stress and
worry over blah,' … well, here it is all up on me and it
doesn't feel a bit different. It's a bit of a disappointment to tell
the truth.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Amanda
squirmed and tucked the phone deep inside her purse.
Herbert waved her off like a silly gnat,
“What would you know? You're still so young and beautiful. You've
got your whole life ahead of you. I'm over here ranting like a crazy
person. I'm sorry.”
“I'm twenty-one! I'm not that
young!”
“Is that all? Honey – not to sound
crude or anything, but I have things clinging to the inside of my
intestines older than that. Twenty-one is just a baby.”
Amanda laughed at his salty humor and
added, “I wish I felt like a baby. These shoes this new job
makes me wear are killing me.”
“Oh? Let's see!”
Herbert leaned over to inspect as Amanda
explained, “I just finished my seventy-hour work week and my dogs
are barking. They insist that we wear at least a one inch heel even
though I spend most of the day with my feet under a desk. Makes no
sense to me but I need the work. It took me four months to even find
this job. I can't lose it … so my feet have to suffer.”
“What kind of work do you do, if you
don't mind my asking?”
Amanda grunted, “Just a temp job. It's
what I could get. It's not what I want to do. I really want to be a
photographer. The company I work for now is a financial place that
publish a magazine I can't even understand. I enter data and answer
calls in their sales department. It's brainless work but one day …
I'll make a living with my pictures.”
“Why wouldn't you be taking pictures
now?” Herbert turned with a curious frown and waited to understand.
“If that's what you love doing – it doesn't make sense to me that
you'd be wasting a day entering … whatever you just said you did.”
“I have bills to pay. I don't have
time to take anymore classes for my photography degree and no one
will hire me without one. It's a slow road – so in the meantime, I
crunch data.”
Herbert shook his head and turned back
to the room full of buzzing people. Amanda sought around inside her
purse and pulled out a small digital camera.
“What's that,” Herbert nodded toward
the tiny device in her palm.
She passed it to him and smiled.
“That's my camera. Just a little dinky
one right now but it's the best I could afford. One day, I'm going to
get one of those big fancy professional jobs. I'm saving up.”
“It's so tiny. In my day – cameras
were a lot bigger. Seems to me if you had a camera that small, you
could be taking pictures of … everything! It's just so convenient!”
Amanda looked flummoxed for a moment
then said, “Can I take your picture? I can Photoshop it, add
some nice effects and add it to my portfolio.”
“My
picture? What in the world would you want my picture
for? I'm just an old, ugly man.”
Amanda said, “You have a really
interesting face, Herbert. It's soft, and kind … and besides, it's
your birthday! I could send you a copy of it as a gift! How's
that sound?”
Herbert thought for a moment then
answered, “If it will help you with your picture taking work, then
… yes. How would you like me to pose? I've never been photographed
by a professional. Tell me what to do!”
“Just sit like you were sitting a
moment ago – looking out over that way,” Amanda pointed off
across the lobby and the bustling hive of men and women rushing for
their trains. “Pretend I'm not even here, like you're lost in
thought and all that.”
Herbert did as he was told and a sudden
flash made him jump. “Goodness! That was bright!”
Amanda flipped the power off and tossed
her camera back inside her purse. She lifted her phone out, opened
the notepad app and said, “I can send you a copy if you'll just
give me your email.”
“What's that?”
“Email? Oh,” Amanda realized
Herbert's age and rephrased. “I can mail you a copy! Just give me
your home address and I can get it printed and send it to you
sometime this week! I work late most nights, so it'll have to wait
until the weekend. I'll definitely mail you a copy, though! Where do
you live?”
“That's not necessary, Amanda. You
just keep it to remember me by,” Herbert chuckled. “I don't want
another picture of my old, wrinkled face around. It'll just kill my
plants and they're about the only ones around willing to keep me
company anymore.”
That awkward, uncomfortable feeling of
an elderly person openly addressing the solitude and isolation of his
existence washed over youthful Amanda.
She wrinkled her mouth and struggled to
find an appropriate response and only came up with, “Happy
Birthday, just the same!”
After a
moment, Herbert broke the silence with, “If I were you, I wouldn't
look forward to eighty like I did. If I were you, I'd be taking
pictures and doing everything I could to follow my heart right here
today. You shouldn't
wait.”
Amanda stretched her legs and said, “Not
everyone can afford to follow their hearts in this day and age. If I
could make a living with my pictures, trust me – I'd be doing it.”
“You
won't know unless you try. Sounds to me like you wasted seventy hours
this week doing something that brought you no joy when you could have
spent all that time doing something that was rewarding.”
Amanda thought for a moment and agreed,
“You're right. I should take more photos. During my lunch break and
on my way to work. You're right. I see a lot of things I could work
with and that's why I moved here from Ohio in the first place. I just
got so caught up in trying to keep the lights on, I forgot what I was
here to do!”
“There you go! Seize every second you
can while you're still young enough to endure it. Don't wait around
like I did. I was always looking toward the future. I had one of
those mentalities. I kept looking toward tomorrow until all my
tomorrows were used up and here I sit, eighty years old and can't
even afford a decent dinner. It's not what I imagined. It's not at
all what I imagined … but then again – nothing ever is.”
Amanda produced a single bill from her
pocket and handed it to Herbert with a smile. “I'm sorry. It's only
a twenty. It's all I have on me. It's not very much, but it's enough
for some fast food.”
“Thank you,” he said as the bill
vanished with a blur inside his coat pocket. Herbert leaned back
against the bench and added. “Eighty years old and here I am. At
least I got to spend time with a such a sweet young woman like you,
Amanda. I'm awfully glad your train was delayed, if you don't mind my
saying so. It's a blessing to meet someone with such a kind, generous
heart in this day and age – and especially on my birthday.”
“No problem,” she jostled on the
bench as the announcer read off another series of departures. At the
end of the announcement was the one Amanda had been pining for and
she quickly collected her belongings, turned to Herbert and said,
“Say … what time is your train?”
Herbert stood from the bench by bracing
himself on his cane with one shaking arm. “I'm not taking the
train, honey.”
“You're not? I thought you were
delayed like me! How much longer until you leave this God forsaken
station and go home to celebrate your birthday?”
Herbert pet the young woman's shoulder
with a familiar touch and said, “I am home, honey. I live here.”
Amanda looked down at her feet and
pulled her purse close over her shoulder.
The tide of people pushed her toward the
steel framed door and she struggled to catch sight of Herbert who
stood motionless, propped on his single cane with a weary smile
bleeding across his face.
She stepped out of the current and
called over the metallic voice of the next round of announcements,
“I'll see you around, Herbert! I come through here every afternoon
about this same time! I'm sure we'll see each other again!”
“That'll be nice, Amanda. I'll look
forward to it,” Herbert struggled to yell. The sign above the door
leading down to platform nine began to flash, Herbert nodded toward
it and urged, “You better go. You don't want to miss this one.”
Amanda glanced up and yelped.
She grappled her bag and as she stepped
onto the escalators leading down into the sultry subterranean
corridor, she called back over her shoulder as she rode away, “Happy
Birthday, Herbert! I hope you have a good one!”
As Amanda rode downward on steady
tracks, she pulled her camera out of her purse and smiled down at the
newest photo in her collection. Herbert's statuesque lines revealed
each week of the man's life. His tired eyes wept with longing and
Amanda knew this would only be the first in a series of character
studies she could work on to keep the spark alive.
Her spirits renewed, Amanda faced the
maddening crowd with a renewed faith in herself, her abilities and a
restored will to seize every moment as a fresh, promising
opportunity.
Herbert waited until she vanished and
then he turned to face the milling crowd once more.
Blank faces stared up at the LCD screen
awaiting the cue to bolt into motion. Passengers stood like pillars,
with their necks craned back; baby birds awaiting food.
One jarring disturbance caught Herbert's
eye and he followed it as it eased its way out of the crowd and knelt
down by the wall.
The flustered mother pushed the stroller
next to the bench he'd just abandoned and plopped down, her cheeks
bursting with color. Under a plastic screen came the shriek of an
unhappy infant and the woman tore through her shoulder bag in search
of something to silence the wailing as she waited for the
announcement. Herbert slid across the polished tile floor without
drawing an eye.
Herbert stepped up to the woman, cleared
his throat and asked, “Pardon me, I hate to disturb you but … is
this seat taken?”
by R.W. Webb
(c) 2013 All Rights Reserved.
This and many other fabulous tales can be found in The Collected Tales, Volume One or if you fancy your stories a bit meatier, try one of the novellas available on my Amazon Author Page.
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