A chill went through the woman in her chair, though her eyes were closed heavily in concentration. The man’s heated breath grew cool. His eyes blazed with anger and his breath warmed again. It cooled, then heated with his anger, and back and forth they went; the woman in her chair and the man at her door. Morning turned to noon and noon to afternoon.

The woman’s breath grew heavy, then fast, and she faltered. One more blow and the screen dissolved. She was so tired, so very tired. The woman blinked, and looked beyond the windows to the houses on her street. She thought of the distracted man of great influence, of the young mother and her baby, and of the rudderless young man. And she shook her head. She might be frail, but she refused to be weak.

Five more minutes and the screen’s wires reconnected, and the angry man she alone could see evaporated in a puff of coal black smoke to wait for another day. She let out a long breath. The expression on her lips was full of years of trials and triumphs, of heartache and hope.

She shuffled over to the window and looked out. Sure enough, there he was, the man with his collar up and his head down examining his phone. The old woman tilted her head and looked up at the sky. A twig on the walk cracked under his shoe and the sound diverted the man’s attention. Looking up, he noticed the cardinal across the street. A memory lit his face and he crossed the street just as the young man walked out of his door to go once again to the night job that made money and nothing more. Hellos were exchanged, then tentative conversation turned the corner as the two men sat on the young man’s steps and imagined a future day.

And the old woman gripped her walker and headed to the kitchen to make herself a victory supper of soup and toast and tea. Peppermint might be nice.

Image: Acer_tataricum_twig wikimedia commons

Twenty minutes passed as mother and infant watched two squirrels chase each other up and down a tree while a third rummaged around in the dirt. A cold wind blew, the mother hastily swaddled her baby back in the stroller and hurried down the street. A frown crossed the old woman’s face and her eyes flew open. She reached for her walker and shuffled hurriedly to the window.

She had seen him before, the man standing in the middle of the street. Oblivious to his presence, cars drove past without slowing. The young man who had moments before begun thinking about his life more deeply than he had in years, abruptly rose and went into

his house. And the woman stared at the man who she had seen before as he glared into her window. In several steps he was at her curb, in a couple more he was at her steps and with a few short bounds he was at her door. He did not ring the bell. He did not knock. He stood defiantly, his hot breath melting the screen.

The old woman grabbed her walker and hurried back to her chair. She tripped, and just as she began to fall, regained her balance. Breathing a prayer of thanks, she reached her chair, adjusted the pillow behind her back, and closed her eyes. Not to sleep. No, not that.

to be continued . . .

Image: publicdomainpictures.net

He turned up the sound on his device. Nothing. Plugging the ear buds back in, he switched from Spotify to Pandora to a generic radio station. His pained expression grew as he went outside to see if it was a connection problem. The phone’s silence turned to static. He switched it off and closed his eyes as the late autumn sun warmed his face. He opened one eye as a cardinal chirped above his head.

The old woman breathed an amused sigh and, gripping the arms of her chair, rose to pour herself another cup of tea. Peppermint might be nice. She gingerly placed her cup on the seat of her walker and shuffled to the window. She sipped the strong peppermint, then put it back on the walker seat as she watched the young man who was now lying in the grass looking up at a bird in the tree overhead. A soft laugh erupted from her lips as she walked back to her chair, adjusted the pillow behind her back, and closed her eyes. Not to sleep. No, not that.

The little one in the stroller exclaimed at a busy squirrel next to them on the sidewalk. As she checked on her charge, a breeze blew and the pages of the book the young mother was reading fluttered with it. What?! She flipped the pages back and forth. Finding her lost place shouldn’t be this hard. Reaching for her water bottle, she dropped her book and, as she bent to retrieve it, locked eyes with her little one. They exchanged smiles, and she picked up her little girl instead as the little one pointed and chattered.

to be continued . . .

Her hand, blue-veined and small, pushed open the creaking front door, and she sucked in a fragile breath of the brisk, morning air. Her eyes searched up and down the street.

There he was. The thirty-something man in his black dress coat with the collar turned up passed by every morning. His morning walk was first on his to do list every day. He would say it was first on his list because it cleared his mind. As usual, he walked with quick detachment as he scrolled through something on his phone. He had important work to do. He was an influencer of many and held great power.

Across the street a younger man by a decade or more strolled home from his night job, his ears plugged with his chosen mind-numbing sound. He did not see the cardinal to his right that swooped past nor the golden splendor of the large walnut tree ahead. He’d spent the night making a buck, and had made his usual stop at an all-night diner for breakfast. It was good enough for him, and now he deserved a morning’s sleep before doing it all over again.

Farther down the block a young mother pushed a stroller, reading a book, while her blanketed toddler looked wide-eyed at leaves stirring on the sidewalk beneath. They both glanced up at the click of a door as they passed.

The woman closed the door and locked it. She turned slowly until both hands grabbed her walker, and she made her way to her chair. The T.V. loudly announced the latest news of crime and peace talks and weather and sports while she sipped some tea and munched on toast with orange marmalade. What was that? A president or prime minister? She really must get her hearing aids fixed. She leaned forward and turned up the sound. Finally she clicked off the television, dabbed at her lips with a napkin, adjusted the pillow behind her back, and closed her eyes. Not to sleep. No, not that.

Five  minutes later the sound went out in the young man’s earbuds. He frowned, pulled them out, and examined his phone.

to be continued . . .

Images: 479px-Cardinalis_cardinalis_-Columbus_Ohio_USA-male-8_1-cc-attribution-2.0.jpg; tea-commons.wikimedia.org_.jpg