You are not an enemy
What do you think when you see this guy? He’s eating by himself in the Wendy’s late at night on a Friday. He’s thin and he’s a young looking seventy-five year old kind of man. He’s wearing a white suit jacket, a bright pink shirt, and a black bow tie. Like a Miami magician. You’d think he was on the way somewhere and he stopped in there for a quick bite but upon closer inspection, it doesn’t look like it. He’s taking his time. He’s got nothing else to do. You get the feeling he’s been there for hours. You get the feeling it’s more than just his night that’s finished. He’s almost disappearing before your eyes.
He used to be a gymnast. You have no idea the life this guy has had. He hasn’t been the same ever since his second wife, the one he really loved, passed away six months ago. She was a trapeze artist in a traveling circus that he did some part time tumbling work for in Berlin where he grew up. They emigrated here in the fifties together as friends. She lost most of her family in the war. The two of them kept in touch. He got married to a Canadian. She didn’t marry but boy did she have lovers. A European trapeze artist? Forget about it. Even in her late thirties she was still taking teenagers home. She moved out East.
The German Gymnast’s first wife left him after eight years. He had an obsession with organization that never sat well with her and eventually she left after realizing that she couldn’t change him. It’s too bad it took so long. All that wasted time for both of them.
The German Gymnast’s letters to the European Trapeze Artist became a little more desperate and heartfelt as well as more numerous. He was turning to her as a friend, not a lover. It didn’t cross his mind to be romantic with her. They both had friends in Canada after living here for ten years but they never really had anyone to connect with back in Europe. The Gymast was an only child of only children and they had both died years ago. No cousins to speak of. The Trapeze Artist had nothing as well but that was more a choice on her part. They only had each other when it came to talking about the years before coming here.
For a person who spent her life flipping through the air, she sure spent a lot of time running.
For a person who spent his life tumbling end over end, he was driven by order and stoicism.
It was surprise to both of them when she packed her bags, flew the x hundred miles from Ottawa to Vancouver and knocked on his door. When he said yes a few weeks later, a few phones calls to the capital brought whatever she couldn’t sell over as well.
Those years they spent together, all 36 of them, well, they could have taught teenagers a couple of things about passion and having fun. They’d almost lived their lives in reverse. Like they’d been old when they were young and only found youth later.
Coming to love so late, they had the knowledge to craft it, keep it safe, and live it.
He’s lost without her but he clings to his sense of order. It would have been their anniversary tonight. He puts on his best and eats somewhere close that he can afford.
He doesn’t care that people will think he’s a crazy old man talking to himself for hours in a Wendy’s. Tonight, they’re together in Berlin in an open air café on the vacation back home that they never took.
tags
He used to be a gymnast. You have no idea the life this guy has had. He hasn’t been the same ever since his second wife, the one he really loved, passed away six months ago. She was a trapeze artist in a traveling circus that he did some part time tumbling work for in Berlin where he grew up. They emigrated here in the fifties together as friends. She lost most of her family in the war. The two of them kept in touch. He got married to a Canadian. She didn’t marry but boy did she have lovers. A European trapeze artist? Forget about it. Even in her late thirties she was still taking teenagers home. She moved out East.
The German Gymnast’s first wife left him after eight years. He had an obsession with organization that never sat well with her and eventually she left after realizing that she couldn’t change him. It’s too bad it took so long. All that wasted time for both of them.
The German Gymnast’s letters to the European Trapeze Artist became a little more desperate and heartfelt as well as more numerous. He was turning to her as a friend, not a lover. It didn’t cross his mind to be romantic with her. They both had friends in Canada after living here for ten years but they never really had anyone to connect with back in Europe. The Gymast was an only child of only children and they had both died years ago. No cousins to speak of. The Trapeze Artist had nothing as well but that was more a choice on her part. They only had each other when it came to talking about the years before coming here.
For a person who spent her life flipping through the air, she sure spent a lot of time running.
For a person who spent his life tumbling end over end, he was driven by order and stoicism.
It was surprise to both of them when she packed her bags, flew the x hundred miles from Ottawa to Vancouver and knocked on his door. When he said yes a few weeks later, a few phones calls to the capital brought whatever she couldn’t sell over as well.
Those years they spent together, all 36 of them, well, they could have taught teenagers a couple of things about passion and having fun. They’d almost lived their lives in reverse. Like they’d been old when they were young and only found youth later.
Coming to love so late, they had the knowledge to craft it, keep it safe, and live it.
He’s lost without her but he clings to his sense of order. It would have been their anniversary tonight. He puts on his best and eats somewhere close that he can afford.
He doesn’t care that people will think he’s a crazy old man talking to himself for hours in a Wendy’s. Tonight, they’re together in Berlin in an open air café on the vacation back home that they never took.
tags