Mr. Thomson
The first week of fall is always a bit dry and muggy. Streets are littered with leaves, and all you can hear during the afternoon are cars whizzing by and the mid-autumn wind brushing against the trees. The sun sets a lot sooner than usual but the skies are spotted with countless stars, stranded like islands across the blanketed night. But tonight it’s altogether different. Clouds have suddenly appeared and the moon and the stars have lost their usual luster.
On the corner of 6th and 24th stands an old man leaning against side of the newly redesigned Saxman building. He’s in an old worn out gray trench coat, as patches of dirt and stain have collected around the lower brim. His hands are in his pocket shaking and his head is tilted down shielding himself from the wind. From the corner of his eye, he sees two girls slowly making their way down the street towards him. With a swift smooth motion, he moves his right hand to his head and takes off his hat, tilting his head just as they walk past. He's obviously posing. Pretending as if time has winded back and he's still in his late 20s. Smiling, these two walk by without showing the least indication of noticing. He smirks to himself thinking - I've still got it. Effortlessly, a cigarette from his inner breast pocket is lit in a swift uniform motion. By looking at his hands, one sees they’re calloused, showing years of hard work from his days at the factory and his face is lined with age. He inhales slowly and exhales breathing out the smoke into the crisp autumn air. Watching it slowly dissolve and carry into the wind. His watch says it almost half past six, and he's staring at it wondering how much longer he needs to wait. It’s already been twenty minutes and she still hasn’t come out yet. Suddenly he finds himself reminiscing of their first date. It was a night similar to this, cold and a little wet, he walked briskly alongside this young and terribly shy women dressed in a white trench coat with a red scarf wrapped around her neck. He suddenly smiles to himself, remembering what a fool he had been during dinner and how as he walked her home that night, feeling like he would never see her again. But despite all that, as they walked her arms had been clenched around his; both shivering terribly in the still cold night. How the hell did he even end up getting her? And how long has it been now... 25...30...35 years?
It's really dark now, and in the distance street lamps are beginning to flicker. She was pretty though, like really, really pretty. His friends had all wanted to get her, but somehow amidst all the awkwardness he had come out on top. Suddenly the doors beside him creak open and out infront are a pair of black flat dress shoes facing him. "Mr. Thomson, it's getting late and we’re about to close, I’m terribly sorry." He looks up and sees a beautiful young woman with long black hair staring back at him. For a moment he’s confused as he looks at her, but then his eyes widen and he realizes where he is. Without a word, he tilts his head, pulls up his jacket collar and takes another smoke. He turns around and slowly starts walking down the street with his head down facing against the wind, leaves dancing at his feet.
Who was that? – Oh that’s Mr. Thomson. We see him around here several times a month. I remember someone telling me that his wife used to work here a couple years ago, but she suddenly passed away last year..."
