Changing Moccasins ~ A Walk in the Park

In response to the prompt of Writing 101, Day Nine: Changing Moccasins — Point of View

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

He’d asked her to come with her to the park. That was the place they first kissed. She hoped he was bringing her back here to propose. Although excited beyond words, Lola tried to not anticipate too much what may or may not happen. After all, they’d come here often. But today was their anniversary, they’d been together 2 years. She held his hand as she watched the beautiful cherry blossoms that surrounded them. She’d always loved spring, her favourite season. It was the rebirth of the earth after months of slumber. If indeed he proposed, she planned to get married during that season, next year perhaps. She barely felt his hand clench a little around hers but something had obviously caught his attention. A few feet away, an old lady was knitting a cute red sweater. It was small enough to belong to a toddler, although she wasn’t a good knitter anyway. Was the old woman a widow? Or did she come while her husband played poker with his friends? Would she spend time alone at the park when she was her age? Or would Manuel be with her? She turned to ask him when she noticed the tears running down his cheeks.
“What is it baby?”

He shook his head; there wasn’t much to explain to Lola. And yet there was a lot that needed explaining. But he couldn’t stop crying. The tears wouldn’t stop running, as if the dam that had held them for two years had broken. How could Lola understand she’d been that dam? She didn’t know about his grandmother. They started dating after his nana passed away. He had loved her; Nana always laughed. She enjoyed spending time with her grandkids and not once did any of them felt as if she judged them. She’d had the same crinkles at the corner of her eyes as the woman knitting on the bench. The old lady reminded him of her; she’d loved knitting. In fact she had once knitted on this very bench, where he met Lola. That was a few weeks after Nana’s funeral. He felt so lost then that he hadn’t been able to cry. It was so sudden. She just crumbled one day. Her heart gave way, the doctors said. He’d come here every day to hold onto the memories of her. Until one day the beautiful and kind woman holding his hand caught his eyes. She’d asked what was wrong and all of a sudden nothing was. Well it still was but he didn’t have to face it. He’d never told her much about his grandmother. Maybe he should since he was going to ask her to be his wife.
“You remember the day we met?” He answered.
“Of course…”

They looked so cute the two of them and so in love. Truthfully, she looked more like a girl expecting a big diamond ring even though she tried to act nonchalantly. And he looked as if he was so nervous that he might break down at the merest obstacle. He caught her glance and crumbled. How could she be the cause of such a meltdown? When was the last time she’d seen a man cry like that? Certainly not her husband. The general didn’t cried even when they told him that he wouldn’t pass the winter. He hadn’t. Since then she’d buried her grief in her grandchildren. She loved them dearly. But she’d never liked knitting. She’d taken the habit because it kept her fingers busy and that, in turn, kept her brain away from painful memories. Did all grandmothers do that? Pick up things they didn’t like to make the little ones happy? She didn’t know.
But right now, she wondered what might have upset this gentleman in such a way that he would cry as if someone had died. Maybe someone had. She remembered the old lady – well in truth not much older than herself – who once sat on that bench. She had knitted. Margaret never dared to ask her if she’d teach her how to do the beautiful woolen caps and socks she’d seen her put together. Could it be this young man was one of her relatives?
She thought of going to speak with the young man but he turned to his girlfriend and went down on one knee. She held her breath, and found herself teary eyed as he told her the story of his grandmother and how it was that the two of them met on this very bench two years before.



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