It was a cold winter
night. I felt the chilly wind on my exposed palms, reminding me that I should
have worn gloves. The atmosphere smelled of pines and frozen vegetation, with a
tinge metallic scent added to the mix. I sat on a park bench with my elbow
resting on the iron arm rest, engaged deep in aimless thought. Behind me, a melody
of children’s voices sang through the air, as they skid to and fro in the
skating rink. I could hear a faint sound of carols nearby, perhaps seeking
donations for a good cause. It was a time of celebration. Happiness reigned
supreme. I felt at peace, my senses imbibing the joy from all around.
I
often sat at this bench late in the evening. My constant companion, an old pine
tree, stood by my side, unflinching. I wondered whether it experienced this
joyful atmosphere or was it unaffected. Did it perhaps live through each
freezing winter only in anticipation of the next Christmas cheer or was it
unaware of the festival altogether? A fleeting thought. It was of little
consequence, but it did help me feel closer to my companion.
After
about forty-five minutes with my own musings, I felt it was time to leave. As I was about to rise, a most magnificent scent pervaded my nostrils. It was a carefully crafted combination of cinnamon and sandalwood,
most likely a designer perfume. Definitely feminine, I could tell.
“Hello there!” I said to the
woman who had just joined me on the bench.
“Hello.” She responded, rather
plainly. I wasn’t a man to force a conversation, but a response so plain in an
atmosphere so joyful seemed very much out of place. I felt a strong need for
justification.
“Why such a gloomy response? It’s
Christmas time!” I probed, half expecting a rude retort.
“I’m sorry. I would like to be left
alone.” She countered, bringing any hope of further conversation to an
unequivocal halt.
“My apologies madam. I simply
fail to understand how one can be so low-spirited on a joyous occasion such as
this.” I yearned for a justification. “If something’s the matter,
it’s easier to talk to a stranger about it, or so I have heard.”
“My husband and I, we used to come
skate here.” Came her response, unexpectedly.
Immediately, I understood the
situation, and felt it inappropriate to probe any further. I thought it right
to leave however, her scent urged me to remain.
Another thirty minutes went by.
Neither of us spoke a word. I felt her presence akin to my constant companion,
the pine tree, but somehow different still. The presence of another heartbeat
on the same bench lent me more contentment than the company of just the nearby vegetation.
Human beings are social animals. We have been a social species even before the
advent of intelligence or language. Nothing convinced me of the fact more than
my half hour silence simply being in the presence of this magnificently scented
woman.
“I lost him a few years ago… my
husband. Car crash.” Said the woman, pulling me out of the depths of my own
musings. “We came down here each year to skate and sing Christmas carols. It
was our favorite time of the year.” She continued, as I listened intently.
The human mind is terribly
complex. It baffled me how the mind could take the atmosphere of happiness and
cheer, and associate it with death and melancholy. Two people may look at the
same event but experience completely contrasting emotions. It dawned on me that
it was our mind that designed our reality. No matter how joyous the external
stimuli, it was our mind that governed how we felt.
“I hadn’t seen this place in
years. I was too afraid to face it. I couldn’t bring myself to step in here.” She
said, her voice heavy, trying to hold back her tears.
“I understand what you might be
feeling. I’m sorry.” I said, because that was what people said in these
situations. Did I fully comprehend what she was going through? Not in the
slightest. I had never experienced such grief. However, an illusion of empathy
for another human being tends to provide a very real sense of comfort.
“I’m sorry if this… this is
asking a lot b-b… but could I please hold your hand? I was wrong to think I
could endure this all by myself. I just want to feel the warmth for a few
minutes.” She said, her voice letting through a few sniffs and sobs
intermittently.
I obliged and she squeezed my
palm tightly. The surface of her palm felt cold and wet. She had probably wiped
a tear or two with it. The sounds of skaters behind us had died down. The only
sounds that remained were carols being sung somewhere in the distance and
the rustling of the pine tree, my constant companion. My palm was as cold as
hers, but a few minutes later, both our palms felt warmer. Our social roots
express themselves in the strangest of ways. The simple touch of our palms created
a warming effect, indicating that the contact was welcome.
I felt a slight sense of guilt,
as my mind found it appropriate to muse at the woman’s grief. I gripped her
palm tighter, wordlessly assuring her that she could count on me for support. “I
can sit with you for as long as you need me to.”
“Thank you.” Her response was
simple. Yet, as the two words left the tip of her lips, they fell onto my ears
bearing an overwhelming amount of gratitude.
We sat for another hour and a
half, maybe more. My palm still rested firmly in hers, radiating warmth. We sat
there, two strangers in a big city, unconnected in any way, but who found comfort
in the palms of one another on this cold winter night.
“Will we ever see each other
again?” she asked with anticipation.
“You might madam, but I certainly
won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well madam, I am blind.”
I felt her palm grip mine even
tighter.
“I understand.” She said, neither
with sympathy nor pity. This time I could tell, it was genuine empathy.
The car crash that took her
husband from her, took something more.
