My Parent's Reconciliation Vacation (excerpt from Proverbial Woman)

He prides himself on being a good provider and a loving husband. It has been nearly nineteen years since he and mother first met. And he has not once forgotten their wedding anniversary. Occasionally confessing to have fallen in love at first sight, before the mistake that lead to betrayal, many times he has been prompt to say infidelity has never entered his mind.

Apparently he was the only one of the two of them who truly meant it. Though the change in mother didn’t become apparent to me until I reached my senior year of high school, there were still times when they seemed very much in love.

‘My God! He looks as handsome as ever,’ she thought, as she repeatedly glanced over at him. ‘He still carries himself with that same level confidence I once fell in love with. I can’t take back what has happened, but I can surely try to build on what our lives has become.’

“Are you okay?” he tenderly whispered, breaking her train of thought.

“Yes. Yes I’m fine,” she nervously replied.

By now they’d reached the hotel. Just before entering she turned to him and in a sincere tone of voice whispered, “I want to thank you for inviting me. You knew how much I wanted to see Hawaii. It’s so beautiful here. And there is no one I would rather be with than you. It’s just that under these circumstances it is hard to make the best of it. But I will try. I’ll try to make this time here one of the happier moments of our marriage.”

Briefly gazing into her eyes, as if to be searching out the depth of her sincerity within the trembling of her voice, he somberly uttered, “I can remember when I first saw you. You were so beautiful. Your eyes…they had the sentimental gaze of an ageless poet, wearing a weathered pair of old wire-framed eyeglasses. The kind that resembles faded panes of glass, with an impression of timelessness projecting through. Sitting upon a face of a gifted soul, one that embraces the world with a sense of sorrow, and compassion, and a longing to understanding it. You looked at me as if to be saying, ‘how could I have ever made it that far in life without you being a part of me.”

You are still as beautiful as any rose the earth could ever hail forth in its most celebrated season of bloom. I can still see my fate in those eyes. Even without the tenderness of your smile that once gave me encouragement.’” He paused, before adding. “I don’t want to come this far without leaving with what we once shared. I just hope what I’m doing will not be in vain.”

“No. It won’t be. Not if I have a final say,” she replied. “I want this to work. Now can we go upstairs?”

Slowly they walked through the lobby and down the corridor that led to the elevators. As they arrived the doors suddenly swayed open. Reaching for his hand, they proceeded to step inside before surprisingly noticing an elderly couple standing over in the corner. The two seemed to be well into their mid-seventies.

The man looked as if he was stricken with some kind of illness as he repeatedly discharged a discomforting cough into a small, folded handkerchief. His wife, appearing small and fragile, looked as if she carried the weight of his illness on her shoulders.

Standing about six to eight inches shy of his shoulders. Quietly she stood slightly hunched over in a beautiful, white-flowered, gray chiffon dress, as it appeared neatly worn beneath a thinly laced-shawl, which she held unto tightly.

Noticing the younger couple watching, in a loving gesture she slowly reached over and straightened his tie, before adjusting his collar. With softness in his eyes, out from under a tiring nod he tenderly turned and briefly gazed over at her with a loving smile. As if to be responding with the unspoken words that only a committed lover would understand after years of togetherness, she faintly smiled back at him.

With renewed dignity swelling his posture, he effortlessly turned back and lifted his head in a prideful manner as he reached over for her hand. And then, with the grace of tenderness of a silent rain sweeping across nature’s weathered elements abandoned by the hands of time, she timidly slid in closer to him, as she reached in and clasped his hand.

With tears swelling in the wells of her eyes, my mother gazed upon them with compassion. He knew she would feel that way at the sight of them. Though before she could fully take in what she was seeing, he whispered into her ear. “But they still have love for one another.”

“And that is all that matters,” she added, as she gazed up into his eyes.

As the elevator reached their floor and the two began exiting, the old woman momentarily looked up at them as she helped her husband out into the corridor. As the doors began to close, in a fading strain she murmured. “You take care of one another. In the end, the two of you is all that you’ll have.”

“We will,” shouted mother, her voice streaming through the doors as they sealed.

“Darn nit! We forgot to press the button when we got on,” he injected, as he pressed the number of their floor.

“No, we didn’t. I decided not to say anything because I wanted to make sure they made it to their floor safely.”

“Okay, Ms. Compassion. Next time clue me in, if you don’t mind. Now come on, this is our stop. Finally!”  He sarcastically injected, as he extended his arm out the elevator.

“Why thank you, Mr. Not-so-nice guy.” She joked, as she stepped out.