Scenes from the Seen

They were shy around each other, darting and dreaming, saying volumes with their eyes that their mouths dare not speak.

They were sitting on the wide, brownish marble bench that went 'round a fountain, which lept at planned intervals and looked like dolphins leaping into the air, trying to escape the hold of gravity.

He stood, and held out his hand. It was a rough thing, a working hand, not as soft as some she had held, but still warm, and it's firmness gave her comfort when she needed it.

She placed her delicate and long fingered hand in his, and he gently helped her to her feet.

"Shall we dance?" he asked.

She glanced, side-long and nervously, at the people milling about, moving most seriously on their way to work or to home. Half embarrased, she whispered, "There isn't any music."

"Then would you hold me?" he asked, softer.

She nodded, and lowered her eyes. She snuggled against his chest, feeling his solid breathing, in and out, and his heart go thump-a-thump. One of his hands went 'round her waist, and the other, still holding hers, put a gentle pressure for her to move.

He spoke tenderly into her hair, which smelled of fresh rain and lilacs. "Can you hear the music now?"

And she did.

Scenes from the Seen

"Dear Dad,

It's a lovely day. The leaves are starting to fall and although they haven't quite changed colors yet, it's still a thing that makes be breath in and feel the world all over again. It's raining just a bit. Not a lot. That sort of quiet soft rain that doesn't want to impose, you know? A polite rain. It's cool, too. Somewhere about 70 or there abouts.

You would have liked it. You would have tugged my hand and said, "Let's go for a walk!" and out the door we would have gone on adventures unknown, even if it was just around the block.

I was at a little coffee shop today. It was down in Bixby. Gone are the semi-paved streets with the bricks showing through. It's an honest to goodness town now, Dad. This little coffee shop, called Goodies, is in the old renovated Bank building. They kept the original tin ceiling.

I sat and talked to the owner of the place for quite a while. You know how I do... attracting just about anyone to come an tell me their life and hurts and happiness. She knew a lot about coffee, let me tell you! They make a heck of a Rueben, too.

You would have liked that, too. They have park benches outside where we could have sat and shared a smoke and talked about how the world has changed. Or, rather, you would have talked, and I would have listened. No more talks about physics or metaphysics and how they merge. No more talks about work and lost time and how the stresses of the days were killing you. Just you. Just me. Two old guys sitting on a park bench in front of a coffee shop, watching the children run by in their colored sweaters laughing and giggling and talking about school.

It would have been great to have you with me, there and then. We would have talked about all the things which are not at all even important to the rest of the world, but things that are ever so important to two old guys sitting on a park bench.

Anyway, I just thought I'd write you and let you know that you are still thought of, that days like this still take me back to when I was a boy, making me wish I had a father just like you.

Love as always,

Your son."