Benched

There is a bit of a moment going on, and there is a bit of a block.  However, there was an older couple on a bench moments ago.  If you haven’t guessed, or if you have, the setting’s Downtown Syracuse, and they (we) were in the Armory Square area.  They were sitting next to one another, and the back of the bench blocked their possibly holding hands.  This was a guess on my part.  It doesn’t have to be.  To think they were holding hands is an appropriate assumption.  My parents, although they are/appear younger than this couple, still hold hands as well after 30-some-odd years of marriage.  The bench scene was one of those moments that counted.

There was doubt of my continuing to write this post, but I will.  The most recent Dimwit Diary post struck a chord.  This blog is in my Top Three Beyond-Syracuse-Blogs that I follow regularly/religiously.  The encouragement had been said before, but people should read his (Chris) blog:  The Dimwit Diary.

A couple other bloggers, Meg Fee and the Lunatics (an entertaining couple with separate His-and-Hers blogs), posted about first dates and how-they-first-met perspectives.  A buddy of mine, Joe, posted a link on the world’s essential social media site about classic pictures that had been revamped with color.  All the shots were fascinating, and it’s fun to see looks and styles that have come back or have stuck around.  This only proved that I do have an older soul.

And then there is the shot of Audrey Hepburn:

audrey-hepburn-dana-keller

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How can you not find her attractive?  She has a great style, and doesn’t plaster on the makeup.  She has a bit of an accent.  She plays all her roles well, and she’s the type of girl that mom would love,  Grace Kelly is a close second.

A bench moment, in my opinion, is something we all have experienced.  This can mean an actual moment where something good has happened.  This could be witnessing an event, or it could entail a personal experience.  This occurrence doesn’t have to actually take place on a bench, but it is favored in that direction.  The bench moment can also be metaphorical, or a time-out, a pause in life were you can not think about yourself and take in what is in front of you.  The scene you view can be contemplated and reflected upon in your own personal way.  Take it as it is.

Let’s be hypothetical.   Let’s challenge ourselves, shall we?

The guy is sitting on a bench, a city park bench to be specific.  From an outside perspective, he’s dressed casual, but he’s cleaned up.  It’s early summer.  There is an inner section to the park, which is partially surrounded by a wrought iron fence.  There is a fountain, which has a solid base surrounding it to have people sit upon it and enjoy.  It’s possible to wave one’s hand through the water, delicately and flirtatously, while amidst conversation.  The sun is on the brink of retiring for the the day, and it’s pumping out the last bit of brightness it has left.

bench

In his hands are a folded newspaper and pen, so boxes are being filled in.  He’s leaning back with his right food slung over his knee, relaxing.  Cars drive by, and he stays put, but this is until one catches his eye; this car rolls to a stop.  As she steps out, his wrist connected to the paper drops.  After she slings her bag over her shoulders and brushes her hair away from her face.  She’s smiling, and her steps progress faster.  Her long skirt flows in similar fashion as her long hair.

He slowly gets up and meets her on a shaded panel of the sidewalk.  They embrace–she throws her arms around his neck and shoulders, and he goes low around her waist.  It’s an extended hug,  which can only mean they’ve met before.  If they shared a kiss, which they hadn’t, it would be more obvious that this was a fifth or sixth date at the earliest.  The hug said just enough, however; they knew each other and have known each other, but friendship was all that seemed dominant.

Both individuals are in shock to see one another.  They stop breathing regularly since their shoulders stopped bobbing in a normal pattern.

The two walk down the road side-by-side, and they disappear around the corner.

Upon their returning almost an hour later, the sky light has dimmed, and they walk to the fountain.  They talk by the water for an extended moment before getting up and driving away together in his car.  They probably go to a restaurant nearby in Armory, Hanover, or Little Italy.  It’s a perfect night to grab a drink and sit outside.  They probably do, sipping red wine in the fire light should it be from an outdoor patio or the blazing mechanical innards of lamp bulbs–fire is still fire.  They sit comfortably, rehashing and probing, smiling as anecdotes are told.  But we don’t know.  This is all guessing.  Yet, all conversations and nights must come to an end.

He drops her off at her car,  With the car in park and still running, he gets out to possibly open the door but she beats him out instead,  In the middle of the street, slightly off center, they stand and thank each other for a fun evening.  They share one final embrace, but it ends with her not removing her hands from his arms.  His hands are glued to her hips.  They still talk, postponing the inevitable.  As he speaks, she stares intently into his eyes, and she slightly bites her lip–sometimes obviously and sometimes subtly.  She speaks, and he cannot take his eyes off hers–they are in full bloom.  A brief second of awkward silence is cut by her sharp exasperated sigh of not being able to hold back.  Simultaneously as his hand reaches for and caresses her face, she raises hers, which cup the sides of his face to bring him in closer.

They stand there in the street and within the lamp light, expressing passion amidst the night like two trees with intertwining branches and supported by their willingness and shadows.

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