truth

Fog blanketed the city. Its unearthly spires vainly poked out of the clouds high above the metropolis’ populace, as if to defy nature’s limits and laugh in its face. Grey buildings, usually splattered with windows to look down upon the city’s denizens, dominated it. Its inhabitants aimlessly wandered its streets, looking for a purpose in life. Its religious zealots, dressed in suit and tie or in ripped jeans and patched jackets, never in between, preached from high pedestals, warning its ordinary citizens of one horrid ending after another, of every imaginable type of salvation that they have to offer. Like the contrast in their clothing, the air around them was either overwhelmed by too much cologne or not enough. The lush and green trees that sprinkled the city’s hallowed and venerated boulevards were believed by outsiders to be a sign of life and vitality, but its populace knew better.

To live in the city was a gamble. Wealth and fame, the true gold rush, was rarely achieved. Poverty and obscurity was the more common prize. Throngs of immigrants swarmed the city to find a better life. Some came because they had nothing. Others came to escape their dull lives in the suburbs. Everyone came with a purpose to achieve or attain what he or she did not have before. Many were disappointed.

• • •

An anonymous old man, humbled by his greying hair and slouched shoulders and missing the middle button of his blazer, walked into a café. The café was full of the noise of the self-isolation that comes from reading newspapers alone. Cardboard coffee cups were picked up, sipped, and put down. Noses were sniffled and effectively wiped. Yet throughout all of this, everyone kept to him or herself, never interacting with another person if they could help it.

Confusedly, the old man paced up and down next to the counter. Lost in thought and seemingly trapped in his own mind, he snapped, came to, and stared up at the array of foods and beverages offered for consumption. His modest stare scanned the blackboard, picking up its every detail.

He ordered green tea and a slice of lemon poppy seed cake, topped with cream cheese frosting. As in concordance with the rest of the city, the order was taken somberly and finished with a melancholic “Thank you” from the barista as he handed the old man his warm pastry and steaming beverage.

Taking his new found treats, the old man once again fell into a trance. Searching for a place to sit and enjoy his meal, he saw a young man seated at a table that would splinter at every touch. The young man was either a student or a recent university graduate with a conceited and arrogant aura surrounding him. He held a newspaper in one hand and tapped a pen against the table with the other. In front of him was a cup of coffee and a blueberry scone, both of them barely touched.

The old man walked over to the table, politely asking its current inhabitant whether he could sit down and enjoy his meal at the other end. Obsessed with himself, the young man agreed with a wave of his hand, never looking up from the newspaper.

As the old man sat down, he started to talk. The student or recent graduate thought that like the usual crazy person, the old man was talking to himself. He realized more and more that the words were aimed at him. Annoyed by the distraction, he shooed the old man away with his free hand. After thirty seconds of his chatter, the young man put down his paper to talk face to face to the old man. But the old man was too intent on expressing himself; the young man had no choice but to listen.

“… And then she was born. We were so happy in those times. Everyone was happy then. Not like today where everyone thinks only of himself, never smiling to a stranger, or even to a friend for that matter.

“My poor wife could not take the strain of childbirth and died shortly after delivering the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. Betsy was her name…

“We were content to live outside of this accursed city. I was a teacher at the local school, a math teacher. But my mind is wandering and is no longer held on a leash now that I am old.

“I did my best to raise her. And oh how gorgeous and cheerful she was. At age seven I took her to see her first movie in the theaters. It was an old animated one. The heroine was very brave and beautiful. She ventured the four corners of the Earth in search for her lost husband. He was a blind, young, handsome, and humble man whom she loved very much. He was kidnapped the day after their wedding. I cannot remember her name, the name of the protagonist, but she was very heroic.

“After the movie, Betsy was so infatuated with her that for weeks afterward we would wander around the neighboring forest trying and find the heroine of the movie. We wanted to help her with her quest. You see, this was a two-part movie, the sequel was supposed to come out a month later, but the studio stopped its funding. Well, they left off the first movie with the heroine in the forest, approaching the evil castle of the bad man, hence our adventures.

“Well, as luck would have it, or in our case not have it, we had to leave our little heaven. Everyone else left, searching for a better life in the city. They were all seeking its promises. Left with no one to teach and no food to eat, we were forced to move as well. And that’s when our problems began.

“Sure, it was fine at the beginning. We had a small apartment and I was lucky to be a teacher again. Though this time at a large school where no one cares like they do in the country. Betsy went there and made some good friends. But this foul city eventually consumes everything good.

“As she grew, so did the city’s influence on her. It began to consume her soul and life. She would go out every night, sometimes not returning until well after dark. And as you can imagine, I would worry for her. Well, time went by and we began to argue. That seemed the natural thing to do then, to argue, but now I know that it is not and I regret every argument that we had with every fiber of my being.

“She grew up even more and moved away for her studies. This was good for us because I was proud of her. We had no more arguments. I could not, in fact, be more proud of her. My only daughter, my beautiful little girl, took her life into her hands. She wanted to make the most of it, so she went to college.

“College was a different place then her old school and her old life. It was a caring and nourishing environment. She had beautiful friends there. She studied hard, and because of the time consumed by her schoolwork, we talked less and less.

“She graduated and wanted nothing more to do with her washed up father. She moved on to bigger, better, and grander things in life. She left her past and myself in the dust, only to have memories of us resurface on rare occasions when she feels nostalgic. She may have a career. She may have a husband. I may have grandchildren. I don’t know, I just don’t know…”

Finishing the last drop of his tea and the last bite of his cake, the old man slowly rose from the table. He wiped the crumbs from his facial hair with a brown paper napkin and reached for the coat that he placed on the back of his chair. Putting it on, he sauntered to the barista, said another thank you, and disappeared into the despondent and somber city.

The young man continued to sit as his old neighbor rose and left. After watching the door for a few more minutes, he picked up his newspaper and continued to read.