It was a typical Friday night in the restaurant. Dozens of people gathered. Mommies pushed strollers, teens huddled together at corner tables and families galore. But it was an elderly couple that sat down in the booth across from me that had my attention.
The woman was showing physical signs of aging. Her clothes were hanging from her shrinking body; her eye glasses too big for her tiny face. Heavy black frames gripped extra thick lenses that covered most of her features. They fit more like a pair of scuba goggles than eye glasses. She could no longer sit up straight. Her weakened spine curved her body forward and she had a predominant hunch. I wondered, how hard had she worked all her life? Her hands were worn like wrinkled clothes, covered in a multitude of freckles. Her swollen knuckles were separated by the slender lengths of her fingers. Was there arthritis in those great knuckles? She sat quietly and ate from her plate. She never spoke.
The man sitting across from the woman was close to her in age. His posture was straighter, almost proud. His hair was more salt than pepper. It stood straight up into the air as if at attention. His cheeks were chubby and jumped up and down as he chewed small bites of his food. He never said a word. He meticulously dipped the ends of each french fry quickly into the miniature cup of ketchup and popped one after the other into his waiting mouth. His narrowing eyes remained focused on the task at hand. He rarely elevating his gaze higher than the top of the straw sticking out of his drink.
They ate. There was no conversation. I wondered, how long had they been together? The comfortable silence between them seemed to say they had known each other a long time. How is it that given enough time, awkward silences slowly evolve into peaceful moments that couples share? Is this one of the benefits of aging?
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2 comments:
Rita;
Shannon posted a journal musing on aging that is really interesting, too. But somehow it got posted under comments for my jounal entry. Anyway, you should take a look.
I like your exploration of these two people, sort of describing their lives by what's happened to their bodies. That idea appeals to me; I always think our bodies are a map of where we've been and what we've done. At some point we wake up and wonder where all of the changes came from.
The only thing I noticed that you might want to think about is that I don't get a sense, from the tone of the writing, that the two are in a 'comfortable' silence. Just a thought, but maybe you could avoid the 'comfortable silence' cliche and think about some reasons that it would be uncomfortable.
Just a thought anyway. I enjoyed your piece very much.
Sile
Rita,
I love the detail you put into this. I feel like I could be there. And as a fellow writer, this is exactly the sort of scene I would zero in on, so I appreciate reading about it.
There are spots where you could tighten up the language, taking out some unnecessary comment. For example, "They fit more like a pair of scuba goggles than eye glasses" could be skimmed down, even blended with the previous sentence, something like: "her thick black eyeglasses looked like scuba goggles against her tiny face" or something similar.
Another example is this section: "Her swollen knuckles were separated by the slender lengths of her fingers. Was there arthritis in those great knuckles?"
The minute I read the first sentence, I surmised, as you did, that the swollen knuckles were arthritis, so the second sentence seemed sort of repetitive to me.
These are both instances of a very common tendency to want to paint a clear picture for the reader, but not taking into account what the reader will already know. Even if you left it at the first mention of the swollen knuckles, the reader is left to consider the picture of the hands, rather than go on to read your explanation of it. Does that make sense?
I like Sile's comment about the tone of the silence. It would be interesting to explore. Once I watched a middle aged couple having dinner together in a restaurant, and throughout the entire meal, not one word was spoken. At the time I noted that it was not a comfortable silence, but sort of a bored one. Neither seemed to want to say anything, and I noted undercurrents of bitterness, and maybe pain.
You tell us that your couple was comfortable in their silence - how do you know? Was there a loving glint passed between them? Was it comfortable as in *complacent* - which might lend an entirely different aspect to the air they share? Was it 'comfortable' as in bored?
I'm not sure if you really saw this couple Rita, but I feel as if you did. I can hear the sounds of the restaurant, I can see her skin, her clothes, her face, her hunch. And I love the curious elements to his features, such as the cheeks that jump up and down as he chews. Your detail shows great concentration, and letting yourself get into that moment. Good job!
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