A chance encounter

"I'm so sorry to disturb you. Would you mind awfully if I take a weight of my feet and sit with you? I seem to have rather overdone it. I'll of course not be offended if you say no but I'm not sure I'll make it to the bench over there," the presence of which he indicates with his walking cane. She glances over in the direction to which he's pointing, looks back, sizes the old man up from head to toe and decides he doesn't seem like a sexual predator and even if he was she was quietly confident that it wouldn't take much to outrun the old timer. 

"Yes of course. It's no bother. Please sit down."

She watches as he gently lowers himself onto the bench with a delicacy normally reserved by a horologist fitting a tiny cog into the finest Swiss timepiece money can buy. Christ I hope I die before I get to that age she thinks to herself hoping the old man isn't secretly a mind reader. Finally after an agonising few seconds his posterior has made contact with the bench and he lets out a long sigh of relief. He takes the trilby hat from his head and places in in-between them both, reaches into the right pocket of his overcoat and pulls out a pocket handkerchief and gently attends to the beads of sweat that have formed on his brow. He glances in her direction and she feels a pang of guilt creep across her body realising she's been staring at him struggling so sit down and didn't offer to help him. If he's annoyed he doesn't convey it to her, instead he smiles warmly and suddenly without warning she finds herself smiling back at him too. 

"It's certainly a beautiful day for it don't you think?" He asks in that quintessentially English way of making small talk by discussing the weather. Far easier than ever asking about how a stranger was feeling on any given day. Even if you did ask, they rarely troubled you with an honest reply, it was merely a tick box exercise but it was still far safer to talk about the weather. It certainly broke the ice far better than the Titanic had managed to do in April of 1912. Some days, days like today in fact he felt like he'd been born in 1912 which would now make him 112 years old. He wasn't there yet, still a good 40 years off but if he ever got close he figured he'd start praying to a God he didn't believe in that he never reached that sort of age. He didn't need another 40 years of living like a Galápagos tortoise. 

"Hmmmm," she replies conveying that either she's not sure if his take on the weather or something else underlying is getting in the way of her enjoying what might well be one of the very few days that make up the nice part of an English summer. 

"I hope you don't mind but I cannot help but notice even in my advancing years that you appear to be somewhat perturbed by something."

She feels her cheeks start to flush. If he notices he's too much of a gentleman to point it out. For some unknown reason, maybe because she'd quickly decided he wasn't a threat physically she'd also reasoned he wouldn't be mentally either. Because of this she wasn't unduly worried that her reply might make her sound silly. The old man was courteous and polite and had a smile that made her smile. He was every inch a gentleman from his attire to his mannerisms. She just didn't know what perturbed meant and so she plucked up the courage and asked. 

"Oh I am frightfully sorry one should know his audience and adapt one's language accordingly. Do forgive me please. I mean to say you look troubled, slightly anxious. Hopefully not because of my presence."

"Oh, OK I'll try remember that word in case I ever meet a gentleman again."

"Oh," he replies and lets out a joyful laugh. "How jolly wonderful. I think that's the first compliment I've had in about a decade. I shall dine on that one for a while. Thank you for making an old man's day."

"Well, you're very welcome kind sir and thank you for asking," and she finds herself smiling again. She doesn't know what the old man's power is but he's like a magician who's transporting her into a world that isn't her own. Her prose becoming more poetic and thoughtful with every minute that passes in his company. OK maybe not poetic but she feels herself making an effort to match his vocabulary at the very least. It appears he's also incredibly astute and observant because that's exactly how she had been feeling up until the moment he'd asked if he could sit with her. 

"My hearing is thankfully much better than this blasted hip and I'm told I'm a good listener. What's the old adage? A problem aired is a problem shared?" he tells her as he taps on his right hand side to accentuate the point about his hip. 

She lets out a long sigh.

"Oh dear, one of those types of sighs. They're never good in my experience." He slowly shuffles to his left so he's facing her as best he can. She swings to her right with the consummate ease of someone 50 years younger than he. 

"You're right. I'm sorry. There is something on my mind. I feel a bit silly telling a stranger. I'm sure you don't want to hear about my problems."

"My dear when you get to my age all you have are problems and the need to find solutions. You wake up five times during the night, you have to figure out how to put your slippers on without falling flat on your face. I won't bore you with the rest, I'm sure you get the picture. However it is I believe often remarked upon by those with experiences of such things that it's easier to pour out your troubles to a stranger than someone you know.

"Oh dear…about your problems I mean."

"Yes oh dear indeed. So one more problem you see is nothing new to me. I'm not promising I have a solution for you mind but you might feel better just getting it off your chest."

She tosses a mental coin in her head and it comes up tails. Then she remembers she didn't assign what heads or tails meant so she took it as a sign she would open up no matter which side it landed on. "I'm waiting on a message."

The old man nods and says nothing by way of a reply.

"There's a guy." He tilts his head and extends arms wide displaying his open palms. His reaction of one that either speaks of him having naturally expected that to be her answer or maybe it was his way of letting her know she was a beautiful woman and of course men of a far leswer age would be interested in her. 

"We've been seeing each other for a couple of months and one minute he seems really keen and everything is going really well and then I don't hear from him and I waste my lunch hour staring at my phone and I'm wondering If I've said the wrong thing to him, does he actually like me, that type or thing you know?" The look on her face is almost pleading for the old stranger to tell her what's going on. He's clearly lived a life. He's a gentleman. Please tell me this isn't what all men are like. Help me find one like you just 50 years younger and much more agile. 

"May I interject now? Or is there something else more than you'd like to add in terms of your dilemma?"

"Oh no please do." 

"How often do you speak to each other on the phone?" The old man starts to wonder if he's just slipped into French when asking that question as she looks back at him rather quizzically.

"Oh, erm, well, the thing is people don't really talk on the phone anymore they WhatsApp."

"They what now? Sorry I'm not sure I caught or understood that last bit."

"Here let me show you, do you mind if I move your hat?"

"Oh not at all dear let me," and in fact its he that lifts it and places it upon his lap. She moves so she's positioned next to him now, unlocks her phone and opens up the app. 

"I might need my glasses, do bear with me a moment. The eyes you see they're going the same way as the hip. Had a donor card since the early 80s but not sure anything is going to be of any use if I pop my clogs now." He reaches into the inside left pocket of his overcoat and pulls out a pair of black oval rimmed spectacles, unfolds each arm gently and wiggles his head until they've fitted into place and the world appears less small and more into focus.  

"Oh look there's lots of little photos, how clever. Does that mean you can message all those people on that tiny thing?"

"Yes exactly that," and she clicks onto one of the faces of a young woman about the same age as his new companion and little boxes of words appear. "So this is my best friend Laura. I'll type her a message. Hey you. How's your day going? Xx. And I hit send and off it goes. If she reads it I get two little blue ticks and then she'll message me back."

"Oh how remarkable. How long does that take to reach her from that little thing in your hand? Is that a couple of hours?"

She let out a little giggle and instantly felt guilty and the need to apologise. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to laugh."

"Oh that's quite OK if I said something funny then you should laugh."

"It's erm, well it's instantaneous. Look," and she points to little dots flickering on the screen. "That means she's writing back…and any second now I'll get the message," and just as she'd said it would the words magically appeared. 

"Well isn't that incredible. Well I never. You know I read once that in the time of the Great Tsars in Russia that if you wanted to send a letter from one side of the country to the other it would take the best part of three years to arrive. Your friend where is she right now is she in the park too? Does she need to be close?"

"Oh," she says, startled once more at the old man's lack of knowledge at how mobile phones worked. Time clearly had stood still in terms of technology for him. "No, you can, well message anyone in the world and they can get it instantly. It's not just text either. I can send a photo to anyone in my contacts or I can record a voice message and send that too."

"I'm guessing the Tsars would have benefited greatly from one of those things. Oh how marvellous. Well do forgive my ignorance. Still have one of those Bakerlite things you know. Well I say you know you've probably never seen one before. Sits in the hallway on a table and has a big dial with numbers on it and you have to put your finger in a hole and move the dial around and then wait and it goes back, you do it with the next number and so on," and he mimes the actions. "So this gentleman do you message him on this thing of yours this little magic box?"

"Yes and I sent him a message this morning and I've not heard back."

"Oh but your friend, your best friend was it? Her message came back in something like 20 seconds. My sincere apologies I didn't think to time it. So did his get stuck? Is there a pigeon somewhere looking confused and lost waiting to fly off with the message tied around its little leg?"

"No, not quite. That would be easier to take I suppose. See those little blue ticks," and she points at the exact spot on her phone. 

He leans in closer "Ah yes. And that chap in the tiny picture, that's him is it?"

"Yes that's him and those blue ticks as I said means he's read it," and she sighs that big theatrical style of sigh once more. 

"So to conclude he's read it?"

"Yup," she replies and puckers her lips on the p to emphasise her pain when she unclamps them.

"Did you ask a question in your message, something that would warrant a response?"

"I did. I mean it was nothing taxing. Just a, you know, how's your morning going? What are you up to later?" and she shrugs and lets out another long sigh.

"Is this normal? Could he be busy with work maybe?"

She tilts her head to the left, looks up to the sky as if the hoping the answer might fall down at any moment and when it doesn't she screws her face up and considers her reply. Maybe he is just busy? Maybe we're overthinking this whole not messaging back thing? She purses her lips together tight and then they move to the right of her face. 

Clearly this is her thinking face and the old man lets her find her conclusions before answering. 

After much deliberation the answer is succinct and very much to the point. 

"Nope." The last part of the word escapes her lips with more of a pah sound like an oompahpah without the oompah. 

"Ah. Oh dear. May I offer an opinion at this juncture? You may not want to hear it so once more please do not worry yourself that you think you'll offend me because I've pretty much heard it all even if as we've just learned I've not seen it all. Marvellous thing, truly wonderful. Sorry going off at a tangent aren't I? Yes, sorry, point being you can say no."

She chuckles again. She doesn't know what it is about the old man but she's glad he asked to sit down. Despite being perturbed as he'd called it she'd enjoyed a little chuckle and had felt a warm smile spread across her face which was more than she would have had if the old man wasn't sat there now. I've got my big girl knickers on, whatever it is I can take it. "You're fine please feel free to tell me your take on the situation."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Well I'll countenance what I'm about to say by offering an apology in advance anyway by way of basic manners that this young gentleman clearly seems incapable of displaying. It appears very much to me if I'm understanding the technology correctly that he is a control freak which in my book is bad news. I'm going to hazard a guess and please don't be offended, but like your friend who replied in a super fast time, that if he does reply you message him back quickly?" 

She nods her head twice but doesn't vocalise her response any further. 

"And yet when you message a simple question he reads it and doesn't respond?"

Her head nods a few times but in a much slower rhythm as if she thinks she's been watching a movie and she's suddenly realised that no, actually she's the main protagonist and hasn't been handed the script to read let alone to have actually read it fully to the end. Despite this sudden revelation she's pretty sure she's guessed what the ending is. 

"Well in my day it would have been called something like having your cake and eating it. He could be shy, I mean I don't know him obviously but I'm probably an old man trying to soften the blow. He might just need to grow up. Well clearly he needs to grow up or take a course in basic manners and etiquette. But one surmises he enjoys the control and the power and your reaction indicates to me anyway that you clearly don't enjoy giving away the power and control. So my advice is if and when he replies that you simply do the same thing to him in reverse. That is to say my dear ignore him. You keep that pattern of behaviour and he'll either come to you and you swap the balance of power in your favour or it becomes like a Mexican standoff and if it does then hopefully it will become even more apparent that you deserve someone much better in life. I'd erm pat you on the knee or something to console you but I'm not sure you can do these things anymore so whatever the modern etiquette is imagine I'm doing that."

She chuckles again despite the bad news she didn't want to hear but needed to hear. 

"Maybe you should read the news at night. You actually deliver bad news really well. Thank you. I think you're spot on. Wow. I think you just saved me a lot of embarrassment on my part and a few tears and remorse drowned at the bottom a few glasses of wine with the girls in a month's time. Would you please excuse me one moment?"

"Of course my dear I've got all the time in the world today. Me and this hip aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

She picks up her phone, opens WhatsApp again, clicks to open his message and reads aloud as she's typing "I've met someone else. He's great, clever, funny and attentive and doesn't leave me hanging on for a response. No need to reply just carry on as you were before," and she hits send and blocks his number. The old man lets out a hearty laugh. 

She notices the time on her phone. "I'm really sorry I've got to go back to work I'm already late. Thank you soooo much." She rises to her feet and the old man lifts his trilby from this lap, puts it upon his head only to lift it off and on again as an old fashioned motion with which to tell her she was more than welcome. He smiles that warm smile again, his work and good deed ticked off for the day. She smiles too and starts to hurry off, stops in her tracks, makes a U turn and runs back to the old man, plants a gentle kiss on his cheek and hurries off into the afternoon once more. He raises his right hand to the spot where he's just been kissed and lets his hand linger for a fleeting moment, closes his eyes and let's the warmth of the sun beat down upon his face and for the briefest of moments he forgets all about the pain in his hip. Suddenly he remembers what it felt like to be in his twenties again and everything felt right with the world.