Conversation Stopper

It's a conversation opener no? "How are you today?" As automatic as saying hello, goodbye. Most of the time we don't even listen to the response but just assume that, as the person is walking around or looking alert, they are just fine. But what happens if they're not? If they want you to take them into your arms and hug the pain away or listen as they share their story, supplying tissues for their tears. It happens.

It's a beautiful day and you leave the house, checking the locks three times as usual, counting the five steps down to the path, closing the gate behind you with a resounding clunk. You set off, breathing in the unavoidable traffic fumes, towards the park. You try to walk mindfully, but your brain is buzzing with too many problems, tragedies, embarrassing moments and lists. Sinking onto a bench overlooking the lake, you close your eyes and focus on breathing.

After a while, you sense someone is sitting beside you and you sigh, slowly opening your eyes. No biggie, you're a dismal failure at meditating anyway. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of another walker, a woman in her 40s maybe? She looks tired, but she smiles and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. How are you today?" Her eyes are kind and you find yourself replying but not with an "I'm good."

Steadying your breathing you say. "I've been better to be perfectly honest. It's been an absolute shit of a week and I've been here every morning looking at the lake and thinking how easy it would be just to walk in and lose myself. Then my brain fills with the trouble that would cause. Not at home. I live alone so it would be a while before I'd be missed. But once I was, assuming my body isn't found quickly, the lake might have to be dredged and that would cause a great deal of inconvenience, cost an awful lot of money. So every morning this week, I've raised myself up from this bench and made my way home. But today, the week from hell has delivered its final blow. I woke up to find my cat, Humphrey, dead beside the bed and now I truly have nobody."

The tears start to course down your cheeks and the woman takes a fresh pack of tissues from her pocket and hands them to you. She doesn't speak, just waits while you mop your tears up. Then she reaches across and takes your hand, staring out over the lake. She smiles and you stare too. A mother duck is leading her seven tiny ducklings on an adventure, gliding serenely through the water as the little ones jostle for position. You attempt to smile through your tears, but it feels more like a grimace. You imagine how the little troupe of Anatidae would react to you invading their territory and taking a gulp of fresh air, you squeeze the hand holding yours.