The Conversation

The Conversation

  Jacob watched as Isaac slowly made his way across the lawn of the modest park that was adjacent to the Glendale Convalescent and Nursing Home.  He doesn’t move as he used to, he thought, as his friend carefully skirted the small play area in front of their bench; but he would swear that Isaac favored his father’s old cane more than he did his hip.

  Isaac could already feel the pain rising in his hip as he gently leaned his cane against the bench.  As he gradually inched his way to in front of his friend’s wheelchair he mused that he didn’t mind the pain so much.  When they were children, Jacob’s aunt had passed away from cancer, and in the days and weeks before her death her face had a constant suffered look.  They had asked Jacob’s father if she still felt the pain after she died.  ‘Pain?  No, no pain,’ he had said.  ‘Olam Ha Ba!’  Isaac wasn’t quite ready for no pain; it was like an old friend who woke him every morning, and put him to bed every night.  He extended his hands down to Jacob.

  Jacob raised his hands up and they clasped each other’s wrists.  He smiled at his friend. “Morning, Isaac.  Shalom.”

  Isaac leaned back as Jacob leaned forward, and together they did a shuffled, sideways waltz until they were in front of the bench.  Isaac eased forward as his friend sat down, then grabbed the bench for support as he sat down himself.  He was out of breath and his hip hurt, but he was glad to be sitting.  He looked over at Jacob and smiled.  “Good morning, Jacob.  Shalom.”

  They sat for a long time while the sun brushed away the morning chill and they became fixtures and the birds began to land once more on the ground in front of them.  Jacob remembered as a child going to visit Isaac’s father at his jewelry store and they would sprinkle crumbs along the window sill and then run around into the store and wait by the window for the birds to come.

  Isaac’s gaze followed a little girl who, being bored with the sandbox, tried to talk with the birds.  They had no time for such a small child and flew up into the trees.  Jacob’s sister had been tiny, too, he thought, and had loved birds.  She had died when they were young, and Isaac hadn’t known why, and later, had not thought it polite to ask.

  The little girl frowned at the birds, and not distracted, noticed the two old men on the bench for the first time and went fluttering off to her mother.  Jacob thought that the mother resembled Helen, Isaac’s daughter.  Oh, she had to be dead some thirty years now; killed in an automobile accident.  The son-in-law had taken his grandson and moved away – years ago.  He couldn’t remember the last time Isaac said either had visited.  Such a shame!

  As the morning went on the sun eventually chased everyone else away, and their lone companion was a flighty squirrel who bounced around the playground in aimless abandon.  The playful squirrel reminded Isaac of the squirrels that would skitter along the fence of the factory where Jacob’s father worked.  Jacob had wanted his son to stay and work in the factory as he had, but the son had grown beyond small towns and factories and moved away.  He couldn’t remember when the last time he had visited Jacob.  It was a shame.

  Jacob watched the squirrel scamper away towards the street just as a large Buick pulled up to the curb.  Isaac’s ride was here.  He nudged Isaac on the leg.

  Isaac pushed himself to his feet and they waltzed sideways again until Jacob was back in his wheelchair.  Isaac was slightly out of breath and leaning forward, supporting himself with his hands on the arms of the chair.

  “So, tomorrow then, old friend?”  he asked.  He felt as if he had spoken out of turn.

  Jacob only smiled, though, and said, “Yes, tomorrow.  Shalom.”

  Isaac used his cane and the arm of the wheelchair to push himself upright.  He saw an orderly coming across the lawn towards them; Jacob’s ride.  He smiled down at his friend.

  “Shalom.”



(Word count = 715).
Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" , 1 Mar 2012.
Prompt: Write a short story or poem about two old men sitting on a park bench. Why are they there, and what are they talking about?