As it would ever be (Day 1070)

And he went for a walk alone in the park, strolling past families and couples, older folk holding hands or, with a nod of recognition, on their own. Through stands of trees and around half-frozen ponds he meandered, a pleasant greeting ready, hands clasped behind his back.

In the semi-dark recesses of his memories, candles scented the air and Handel hallelujahed on the stereo. The kitchen emitted comforting clanging and chopping sounds, while, from upstairs, children’s voices rose, arguing over the rules of some new game or another. The structure was sound, the icing fresh as it would ever be. 

Chilled now, and hungry, he drove to his favorite Chinese restaurant, where the waitress with a kind smile would wait patiently as he perused the menu. They both knew he would order the usual, but she never hurried him. Fingers wrapped around a tea cup for warmth, he settled back to wait for his food. 

In the booth behind him, a woman complained about the lack of American food on the menu. What about the chicken strips? Are they cooked American style? Their faces were long as the day, which ended in a lingering rose-gold sunset before fading into a pearl gray mist. 

Although his gingerbread house had crumbled two years earlier, he was not unhappy, exactly. Honestly, what was there to do but go on? And so, at nine o’clock, he banked the fire and turned off the stereo. Ciao, Messiah—until Easter, anyway. Then, cat at heel, book in hand, he climbed the stairs and went to bed.

© 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere