Human Contact

The woman was alone.

I saw her sitting on the bench, alone--but was she really alone? I was there too, not that far away, watching, close enough to see her clearly, her coat buttoned up to her chin, perhaps a bit too snugly, slightly constricting her throat when--if--she swallowed?

But warm. Well, warm enough. It looked like wool, her coat, her yellow coat--who would buy a yellow coat? But she had, and cinched it right up to her chin. The yellow wool looked scratchy to me and gave a sallow tint to her face, her middle-aged face--not young, but not that old either, a wrinkle above her jaw line, but not so deep, showed she knew how to smile.

Actually, she was smiling now, as if there was something to smile at....What? How? Why would she be smiling on such a cold day? At a squirrel? I saw no squirrel, too cold, even for rodents, and not a bird in sight.

But she was definitely smiling now, almost grinning as if she didn't care about the laugh lines caused by real smiles.

Smiling at me?

Well, possibly. I'm smiling now too, caught in her good humor across the park, noticed  the glint in her eye and felt the smile coming on my own face just as hers did.

She is alone, and I am alone, but we are both smiling now, really smiling. It is enough.