THE ATRIUM The man enters the bodega at 12:15 exactly. He is frail, and though he attempts to stand tall, his left leg drags. We cannot always help that our parts do not move as well as our mind. He purchases a half bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a small block of cheese. After paying in exact change, he delivers a courteous “Thank you,” and steps out again, his left foot dragging. On Seventh Street, he boards the #18 bus. The younger passengers make room for him by the door. He observes them with a wishful smile, admiring the important business that awaits them. He had business like that once, but that was long ago. His business is of a different sort now. He departs only nine blocks north, at the base of Juniper Lane’s long hill. Help has been offered before, but he climbs alone, to the very top of the rise where he turns right into the park. The old atrium is there, first built in 1919. For years it had served as a bandstand as well as the site of late evening romantic activities too numerous to count. In 1970, a second, larger atrium was built down by the pond and now the smaller atrium stands nearly forgotten. Perhaps that is why he chooses it, or maybe his cataracts trouble him too much to notice the cutting branches of leafless ivy, the flower beds overrun by weeds. He spreads his picnic on the center bench and waits, sometimes a few minutes, other times an hour. He does not mind that she is less punctual. If he had a better leg, he would pause longer to admire certain things, too. Arrive, she does, however, taking a seat opposite the man, and placing two stemmed glasses between them. Soon they share their familiar toast, “To good health and good company,” which every time elicits a broad smile from them both. They know full well the value of each. So it is that they spend their Monday and Thursday afternoons, in the old atrium at the high end of the park. No, parts do not always work as well as they should, but some parts are sturdier than others.
Posted on: Tue, 03 Sep 2013 10:41:16 +0000
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