a walk in the rain ...Part 2 of 2
But it's still possible to find joy—we need only ride until the music ends
and the lights blink out like dying embers.
If you've ever been in a situation that denied all logic and common sense then you'd know how I felt.
I was sitting in a diner with a young girl who was absolutely convinced she was living seventy years back in the past— waiting for her lover to return from the war.
But now, I had managed to plant a seed of doubt inside her and I felt terrible the way I rained on her parade—in a way more threatening and devastating than the worsening storm outside.
Her face grew cloudy as the dark skies above us, and again, her forehead furrowed with deep lines. She started to age before my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said hastily, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She was about to reply when a movement outside caught her eye, and then suddenly, the youthful smile was back.
Her face brightened as if the sun just came out.
“There he is!” she exclaims.
“Who—Freddie?”
She’s on her feet now, and grasping my hands in hers. “Oh, thank you so much,” and it occurs to her, “I’m sorry—I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Fred,” I smile.
“I’m Sarah,” she laughs, and bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll always remember your kindness, Fred.”
And then she was gone—racing out into the street to meet her boyfriend waiting in the rain.
It was touching sight, watching them embrace—he in khakis and she in her cloth coat, like a scene from a wartime film—and the rain falling about them creating a flickering cameo in black and white.
They cling to each other, oblivious of the storm, and after what seems an eternity, begin to walk, arm in arm, up the street.
I watch curious to see where they’ll go, but my blood freezes as they unexpectedly vanish into the mist.
It's been several months now since that day, and I’ve spent hours going over the mystifying events —the tiniest details of the girl in the rain. I've even gone back to the diner where we sat in the window booth.
The waitress dimly recalls serving me, but not the girl. The cash register receipt shows payment for only one order of toast and coffee.
It's frustrating and maddening, but I thank the waitress for trying to help me —she smiles sadly figuring I'm confused, but inside me my brain is screaming, Damn it, I know she was there!
It was one of those exceptional, strange encounters that I know I'll cherish forever in memory.
And I had almost given up completely on the mystery when I happened to mention it to an old friend on Facebook and she suggested I try Classmates.com and scope out old yearbooks from the Thirties for schools in the neighbourhood to see if I could locate her.
And sure enough, I found the girl in The Riverdale Heights Collegiate Yearbook from 1939-1940—her picture smiling at me again from the grad photos page.
Her name was Sarah Ferguson and she was planning to be a nurse—in addition to marrying a certain Fred Walton, a law student at the University of Toronto.
My breath caught, and I began to tremble, because I knew instantly who she was, mainly because I knew who Fred Walton was.
You see, my last name is Walton and my Grandfather Jack had an older brother whom I’m named after. He died in the war.
I grew up hearing sad tales of the girl who loved Freddie, but who apparently, when told he was lost in action, committed suicide in despair.
The futility of their deaths hung over our family like the pall of war—and that’s why the eeriness of our strange encounter puzzled me all the more.
It was weird—I simply went for a walk and somehow our paths crossed.
I’m not really sure why I was given a privileged glimpse into lives of people long dead—of Sarah and Freddie, or the lives they led.
And though it’s a mystery, it did affect my life.
You see, mine was the deciding vote on the city council that saved that row of town homes from demolition so they could speak to another age. And who knows? Maybe my chance encounter was Sarah and Freddie’s way of having a voice from their day. I’d like to think so.
Regardless, it’s reassuring to know that even if life perishes, love always returns, and sometimes even the barriers of time can be overturned by a walk in the spring rain.
I like your style! ☆☆☆☆☆😎
thank you, Michael :)
You're welcome.
Very romantic and nostalgic of an age gone and past, the people there that still live and love my friend @johnjgeddes
yes, I seem drawn to that era--to the Thirties and the Jazz age--before the world got too complicated
It is a little complicated these days but I know many a relative and friend that lived through that era and it was tough. One grand father rode the rails the whole time of the Great Depression. One worked in a CCC camp. Other friends lived on farms and worked for food and lodging only as that was all there was
I was just explaining the Depression Era to my grandson yesterday. He saw all the pain and poverty but as I told him, the less you have, the more you appreciate the simple things. It was tough - Hard Times - I don't think he quite understood. Mind you, we were going to purchase Bey Blades - a cool toy all the kids want and he had $50. in his pocket from relatives' gifts, so I don't think he got my message LOL!!
Yeh, remind him people cooked their shoes to eat the leather, ate grass and tree bark sometimes. The nice part was if you had a dime you could buy the top notch whole loaf of bread or a steak dinner at a buffet
Wonderful , Part 2 , with the 7 Day thing, I often wait to visit you , where I can briefly escape into a better era! ( No Cell phones, TV, Internet, and other ways to insulate you from real human interaction)
ha ha...well, I escape too :)