They met, by happenstance, in one of the most mundane ways possible. There they stood one day, in a line at the local post office. It had been several minutes since their separate arrivals. Folks who had been patiently waiting began to shift their body weight from side to side. Much sighing could be heard. There was one, lone clerk to deal with everyone coming through. It wasn't their fault the office was understaffed, but that was of little comfort to the people who wanted to get in, get out, and get on with their lives.
George contemplated his youngest son -- now twenty-seven -- and his tedious, parting words before the father had left to run his errand. "You know you can do this online, right, dad? You don't have to actually go to the post office." George knew -- or did he? Now sixty-six-years-old, he'd grown accustomed to doing things in-person. He could use the computer if necessary, but preferred face-to-face contact. Alas, he lamented that such interactions seemed to be going the way of the dinosaur.
Deedra knew it had been a mistake to physically come to the post office the moment she'd pulled into the parking lot. The sea of cars, along with the bustle of people coming in and out of the front doors, signaled a potentially longer visit than she'd imagined. Still, like the stranger who stood in front of her in line -- the man who she didn't know, yet -- Deedra preferred going places as opposed to logging-in to an antiseptic web site and conducting her business online. Perhaps it was a product of her age? She didn't give it much thought. Now retired, she had nowhere in particular to be, aside from where she was.
"Well, this is this sure is something," George said, seeming to startle the stranger behind him.
"Yes," Deedra replied, regaining her composure after daydreaming. "They really should have somebody else working."
It was a passing conversation, somewhat random, and very straightforward. Thinking it over, Deedra found herself mildly surprised when the man in front of her continued speaking. "At least it's nice weather we're having," he remarked, smiling, though seeming somewhat nervous.
The weather, she thought. Uh huh. In her sixty-five-years on this earth, Deedra had been come on to by the best of them. This man, as mild as he seemed, was not the best of them. Still, she thought, he appeared to be nice enough, and there was nothing else to do. So, they chatted. They were in line another fifteen minutes, and during that time found themselves diving in and out of some of the most unexpected (for strangers) topics, while managing to keep it all at surface-level.
Finally, George found himself facing the beleaguered clerk at the counter, and was forced to conduct the business he'd come for, seemingly eons ago. Once done, he stepped aside, turned and smiled awkwardly at Deedra -- the woman whose name he now knew -- and took a few steps before stopping. Briefly biting his lip, the man spun round and, sheepishly, said, "You know, I really enjoyed talking with you." Awkward pause. "Anyway, so... would you like my phone number?" Another awkward pause. He began speaking more quickly now. "You don't have to give me yours. I'll give you mine, and if you decide you never want to call me, that's okay."
Deedra stood there, measuring-up this near-stranger who'd chatted her up in the line. She was, if she were being honest, flattered. That didn't stop all of the practical thoughts from occurring to her, however: thoughts of who this man was, if he were dangerous, had he been truthful during their conversation? All of the thoughts. And yet...
"Alright, what's your number?" Deedra's back stiffened, her lips pursed. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a small notepad and pen, and scribbled-down the digits that George provided, a smile of relief breaking across his face.
"Thank you!" George exclaimed. "I hope to hear from you soon."
Deedra nodded, their business, for a time, concluded.
*
She did indeed call the man. Plans were made. They agreed to initially meet at a public location, where there could be assurance of a decent amount of foot traffic, thus reducing the anxiety of anything nefarious occurring. Winter Park (named after a prominent, deceased parks commissioner) was selected as the meeting point. They both drove there, even though Deedra lived just three blocks away. Best not to give away that fact just yet, she thought.
George was already on-site, a little before the agreed upon time, sitting on a park bench, his hands clasped in front of him, his brow furrowed in anxious anticipation. He heard a car door slam, and saw Deedra alighting from her tan vehicle, large sunglasses covering the top half of her face, her hair covered by a wide-brimmed hat. She was, he thought, quite beautiful, her skin the color of honey, her face creased with years of living, striking in its angularity.
She saw him waiting on a park bench, hunched over and looking nervous. She hoped she was hiding her butterflies better than he was. 'At least he put on something better than a t-shirt,' she thought, noticing that he wore a (somewhat disheveled) button-up top. He could stand to lose a few pounds, and didn't dress in such a way that hid that fact very well. He was, in her most critical view, a bit of a schlub. Still -- and she knew it was cliched to even think this -- his personality made him seem more... attractive? Whatever. They'd been talking on the phone off-and-on for a week -- she'd meet him at the park, see how things felt, then go from there.
*
Their first meeting began slowly, like waking-up on a rainy day, the gloom keeping you from moving too quickly. Then, eventually, before their hour or so together was up, the conversation began to flow more freely. Unspoken was the desire on both their parts for the duration to continue, but they'd already gone on longer than the half-hour agreed upon beforehand, and neither wanted to betray too much excitement to the other. They parted company on a good note, agreeing to meet again a week later, same day, time and place.
Meet again they did. And again. In fact, the weekly meetings in the park stretched-on for months. They were fortunate to live in a part of the country that saw very mild winters, so, when the cooler months arrived, all that was often needed was a jacket. Not much got in their way of keeping to the arrangement. They rarely spoke on the phone, choosing instead to conduct their time together in-person. It was, after all, what had led to their chance meeting that day at the post office. George sometimes thought of his youngest son, Jason, chiding his father for not running his errands virtually, using various web sites. If he had done so, he never would have met Deedra, and the thought of that filled him with sadness.
Deedra and George filled their time together sitting next to one another on various park benches -- though they preferred the one under the canopy of several large trees at the east end of the park -- talking about their lives, past and present. Early on, George discussed his late wife, taken by cancer years earlier, and the two sons he'd raised with her. He talked about his hobbies, his health problems, and what he was up to during the rest of the week when they were apart. Deedra had gone over how her marriage to her ex-husband had ended, how she had an adult daughter living a few states away, and that she liked to keep busy with her girlfriends, playing the regular game of Bridge, as well as taking-in the occasional music concert. She loved music, and had quite the vinyl record collection.
They never talked about their feelings, especially as it regarded each another, nor did they ever hint at anything physical or romantic between them -- save for the intermittent glances they'd make toward one another every so often. What they had seemed to suit them both, and they appreciated it for what it was. It can be argued that that is what makes for the best kinds of relationships -- where the people involved understand the parameters - spoken or unspoken - and are suitably content with the arrangement. This seemed to define George and Deedra.
At least it did.
*
It was on a warmer day in March when Deedra became worried enough to call George on his cell phone. They rarely spoke outside of their weekly meet-ups in the park, but George had missed their most recent assignation, and she was worried. If either of them ever had to cancel or reschedule, they'd be sure to call and let the other know. It was one of the few times they spoke on the phone, and were fairly rare occurrences. This time, there had been no such phone call.
The shock Deedra felt as another man's voice answered at the other end was palpable. The voice sounded like that of a younger man, and the pit of her stomach nearly turned over as she supposed that it could be one of two people. Without vocally guessing at which one of George's sons it was, the woman kept her composure and said, "This is Deedra. George's friend." She paused. "Is he alright? I was concerned when he didn't show up for our weekly park meetings." Deedra thought that the way she phrased it sounded odd, but knew that George had made his sons aware of their encounters. She waited with bated breath during what seemed like eons of silence. Finally, the voice on the other end spoke.
"Hello, Deedra. This is Jordan -- George's oldest." A pause. "I'm at the hospital with dad. He had a stroke, related to his diabetes."
She clasped a hand across her mouth. "A stroke -- oh no! How is he?"
"He's stable. He has some minor loss of function on his left side, but the doctors say he should make a good recovery. He was lucky - it could've been worse."
Deedra asked if she could visit, and was told that she could. They were allowing one person at a time. Jordan said he'd tell the hospital staff she was family. She thanked him, they said their polite goodbyes, and it was after the call was over that Deedra allowed the tears to flow.
*
Hospitals spooked her. Deedra had been fortunate to enjoy excellent health her entire life. Both of her parents had lived into their late-eighties, and never saw the inside of such a place, not even for something like appendicitis. They'd each simply died of old age, at home, at their own time. Deedra found hospitals to be cold and sterile, filled with fellow human beings who were -- however briefly or permanently -- not at their prime. Perhaps she saw it as a reminder of the frailty of life? Regardless, she'd made the trek downtown to St. John's in order to see her friend.
Having met Jordan in the lobby downstairs, she was briefed on George's condition a little more, told he would likely be in the hospital for at least a week, and that he was conscious, recognized people, and could speak. He was, however, fairly exhausted, and would not be up to their usual conversations. Jordan had cracked a smile when mentioning that last part, and Deedra was surprised to find herself mildly embarrassed. How much had George discussed about their meet-ups? she wondered. She thanked Jordan for his kindness, then took the elevator up the sixth floor. There she made her way to Room 624, and gently pressed open the door.
George lay supine on one of those hospital beds that, no matter how you configure them, so rarely provides comfort. He had tubes connected to one of his arms, a couple of hanging IV bags at his bedside, and an oxygen tube under his nose. His eyes were open, but he looked sleepy. As she drew closer, she saw him blink and turn his head. He went from having a blank face, to that of a smile slowly beginning to spread.
"Heeeey, Deedra!" he said, his voice noticeably creaking. He carefully reached-out his arm, and she took his hand. It was the first time they had ever physically touched. They'd never even hugged before. Deedra promised herself she would not cry in his George's presence. It was a nice thought, but she felt the tears welling-up. She didn't know what to say. Certainly not, 'How are you?' as that was obvious. They always greeted each other -- Wednesdays in the park -- with a jubilant, "How you been?!" but that variant of 'how are you?' also seemed inappropriate.
Finally, she decided just to be honest. "I was worried."
George looked down. "I know. I'm sorry."
Deedra chided that it wasn't his fault, only to have George sheepishly admit that he wasn't always the best at taking his diabetes medication. She stared daggers at him, and again he said, "I know."
They'd discussed the status of each others' health during their weekly conversations, but never dwelled for too long on the subject. Deedra knew George was diabetic, but hadn't ever pressed him about it. She didn't think it was her place. They were good at respecting each others' boundaries. Perhaps a little too good, she thought.
Deedra contemplated how the last couple of days had - somewhat surprisingly - turned her emotions on their head. Amongst her vinyl collection was the Rex Harrison/Julie Andrews recording of My Fair Lady, and Deedra found herself recalling the Professor Henry Higgins song, 'I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face.' She thought, looking down at her friend, how, over the course of their time getting to know one another, she'd become accustomed to his face. She cracked a smile, particularly as she thought of that day at the post office when this complete and total stranger just started talking to her.
"How we ended up from the post office to a park bench to here, I'll never know," she blurted out.
George look startled. "I'm sorry -- what?"
Deedra shook her head. "Nothing." She released her grip from him and spread her hands across his bed rail. "George... " she said, pausing. "I was wondering, when you're out of here -- which I know will be soon," she noted, making a concerted effort to sound hopeful, "how's about you come by my place for lunch or dinner?"
A look of surprise crossed George's face, which was quickly followed by a look of pleasant acceptance. He said, "You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking while I've been here, and... I think I'd like that."
Deedra smiled at him. He nodded back at her. She would stay awhile longer with her friend, then left so as not to tire him needlessly. As she walked out of room 624, she felt uncertainty at the future of George's health. But there was one thing she was definite about: she wanted to see him more than once a week at Winter Park.
______________
© 2021 by Matt L. Gladney, from the forthcoming short story collection, Love Stories.
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