a lull in their conversation provided just enough silence to hear the footsteps approaching the other side of the door. i quickly brushed my rain-soaked hair from my forehead and straightened my jacket in the hopes of looking somewhat presentable; i quietly cursed myself for forgetting my umbrella.
when the door opened, a woman greeted us and quickly we were ushered in from the chilly hallway. she welcomed us to remove our rain-speckled jackets and it was in that moment that i took a better look at our host.
she was an older woman, in her late 60s maybe 70s, dressed head to tow in a two-piece grey knit ensemble. her skirt flowed long and her top draped itself over her womanly curves, still intact after all these years. she had a grace about her, a grace that spoke of class, manner, and worldliness; she needn't say much to know that she was a woman worth meeting.
she lived by herself in an apartment built for a family. once upon a time her family did live under its roof but now they were all grown and moved out, save for her husband who had passed a few years before. she remained in the apartment alone because of the memories it held, but she was now ready to move on.
she invited us into her kitchen for a drink and altho i could see that the renters were ready to leave, something compelled me to stay; i wanted to talk to this woman and hear what she had to share.
she poured us each a glass of cider and she began to tell us the story of why she was leaving such a big and beautiful apartment in the heart of paris.
she began her story with a time long before her move to paris. it was a time in her youth, a time before war, a time that only serves as memories these days. she was seventeen years old and she had met the love of her life.
in their time together, said time was limited. they had a few days, a couple of meals, barely one night including one memorable dance. the two attended a community dance together and she wore a dress she never again wore, owing to the swatch she cut from it to give him; he was due to leave the following morning to report for his service duty in their country's army. she remembered their kiss goodbye, knowing it would be a long time before they'd be together again.
a week later, her family moved to paris. she would never see her love again.
as the years went by, she grew older, attended college, met a man, married and had a family. she lived an affluent life, living in the largest of parisian apartments, wearing the nicest of clothes, traveling across the world day in and day out. she led a happy and fulfilling life and altho this kind of lifestyle could lead a person astray, she was always that girl from the countryside within.
as her children grew and matured, her husband became frail and ill. over the course of many years she watched him slip away, and despite her love for him she could not save him. from one day to the next she went from a happily married woman to a saddened and heartbroken widow.
in the years that followed she kept to herself, spending her days and nights locked up in her apartment, floating from room to room and reminiscing about all of the wonderful things that had happened in her home. the more she revisited her memories though, the more distant they began to feel. what was once an immediate remembrance soon became clouded as other memories took their place in each room. memories of her tears, of her pain, of her loneliness.
one morning she awoke, knowing that it was time to carry on with life. her children were grown and long gone to their own homes and families and she knew she was doing no service to herself locked up in her apartment, the same apartment where i was sitting and listening to her story. so she contacted her travel agent, and the following day she was sitting on a bench on a platform waiting for her train.
the train was running late so she sat patiently, wondering if this late train was a sign that she wasn't meant to be taking this trip. as she waited she watched people come and go, depart and arrive, say hello and goodbye. her thoughts were interrupted by a woman sitting next to her, asking if she had missed the train that was due to leave from that platform. she informed her that she too was waiting for the same train, so they settled in together for the wait and began to chat.
at first they chatted about the simple everyday things: their families, the weather, the lack of comfort that the benches had to offer. not really knowing how the conversation led to what they talked about, before long the widow told a story from her youth, about meeting a young man whom she deeply loved, and then losing track of him after her family's move. in keeping with the conversation, the woman asked the widow where she grew up. when the widow told her, the woman remarked "that's funny. that's where my ex husband was from." the widow inquired what his name was, thinking that perhaps he might have been an old schoolmate of hers. the woman's reply was beyond the unthinkable; she spoke the name that the widow had only whispered in her thoughts since all those decades ago. the woman's ex-husband was the widow's first true love.
both women sat in silence for a moment. one woman in awe that they could have this man in common, the widow in shock. before the widow could ask any questions, the train pulled up and the woman gathered her bags. before walking away, she turned to the widow and handed her a business card. she told her that the man they had in common lived there in paris and that perhaps the widow should get in touch with him. after handing the card over, the woman ran off to the train and boarded her car. the widow sat there, bewildered, unsure, and in wonder, staring at the card and reading the name over and over again, sure that this was a dream.
she took a moment to compose herself, gathered her belongings, and walked away from the train. once outside she hailed a taxi and headed straight back to her home.
she sat at her telephone for what seemed like hours, staring at the dial, card in her hand. would he remember her? would he want to hear from her? was her memories of him just simply glorified after all these years? who was he now? would seeing him destroy her beautiful memories of them?
she picked up the receiver and dialed...
she managed to reach him and they spoke but for only a few minutes. he was heading out of town the following day for a business trip and would be back shortly, but he wanted to see her that night.
as she dressed herself that night she was torn. she felt the memories of her life looking down at her with scorn for dishonoring the memory of her late husband. and yet her spirit felt more alive than it had felt in years, telling her that the only way she could dishonor her husband would be to wallow in her sadness and tears.
she shook as she held her hand out for a taxi.
she arrived to the restaurant where they were due to meet and she wondered if she'd even recognize him. and then there he was. as if a day hadn't passed.
he approached her, and before even saying hello, he opened his wallet and pulled out a worn piece of fabic; it was the swatch from her dress after their last night together, almost 50 years ago.
they threw their arms around each other.
and then the widow, sitting across from me at her kitchen table, smiled. she poured me another glass of cider and told me that that summer, she and her love were due to wed.
i looked at her as she uttered these words through her glowing smile. her hair was grey and silver, loosely pulled up into a bun at the top of her head. many, if not most, of the many strands of hair had become loose and fell to her shoulders and down her back. her elegance floored me. her experience awed me. and her story, well, her story, it gave me hope. i tucked my short hair behind my ear, the only thing i could do to stop the tears from falling.
the renters, unmoved by what they had heard, began to fidgit and made it clear that it was time to leave. the woman politely showed us to the closet and handed us our jackets which had by now dried themselves of all raindrops.
as we said our goodbyes and shook hands, i knew i would never see this woman again. i wanted to grab her and hug her and tell her that her story changed me. but i didn't. i shook her hand and thanked her kindly for the cider, her time, and for sharing her story. and then i walked out her door, and she closed it gently behind me.
i can still remember the raindrops when i stepped outside. i can still remember the color of the leaves and grey of the clouds. i can still see her face and i have for ten years never forgotten her words.
you never know what each day holds. you never know what life has in store. all you can know is yourself, and so trust in that. believe in that. follow that through to its end, because our lives afford us the stories that can change people's lives. and when they do, it's miraculous.
