An Unlikely Situation

“Well this is an unlikely situation.” 

Talia stared at both the man covered in filth and the teenage boy holding a warped trombone. The 83 year old had that look about her- like a thousand gusts of wind swarmed her with a hoard of mismatched fabric and afterwards she just went with it. She was perched on a park bench with her beading kit, like she did every day. The men nearby assumed her words were unrelated to them. 

They were wrong. The two men were, as it happens, wrong about just about everything. A tale as old as time, really. How else would a thirty something year old and a teenage boy end up in the middle of a park on a Saturday afternoon covered in filth with a broken trombone, as a quirky old lady narrated from a nearby park bench? These types of situations don’t usually happen to people who get things right. 

Talia did her very best to ignore the two men, but in their state, and with their volume rising by the second, she decided it was simply impossible. It wasn’t her fault she was listening to their conversation when they had the audacity to annunciate so crisply within her earshot. She listened and watched as the older gentlemen peeled off his grungy suit jacket, covered with a wretched stench Talia could smell from feet away. He held it out in front of him with his index finger and thumb, his eyes staring at it like it was a dead puppy. Talia thought it was a little bit dramatic, but then she glanced at the younger boy, whose hair was arguably more unruly than her own and whose countenance was so sunken his torso looked like the letter C. Although his curls seemed to obscure half of his face, Talia could still make out one thing. Laughter. Yes, she could hear that the teenager was cackling. Almost hyperventilating. All that over a warped trombone? Talia shook her head. Their reactions made no sense, though neither did a lot of things to Talia these days. 

“I can’t believe you’re laughing right now,” Talia heard the older man say, “this is such a disaster.” 

“What are you talking about? That was iconic,” The younger one replied. Talia leaned toward them curiously.

“That’s because you’re not the one covered in TRASH. I can’t believe I did that.” 

“Me either, but I’m glad you did because it’s provided me with fantastic entertainment this morning. You know what? Burgers on me as a thank you.” 

“I’m a vegetarian,” said the older man as he dropped his ruined jacket on the ground. Talia rolled her eyes. Of course he is.

“Oh god, of course you are,” The teenager rolled his eyes. Talia let out a guttural laugh, slapping her knee.

The whole situation left Talia muddled, and there was nothing Talia loathed more than being muddled in her head. She preferred being unaware of her confusion, thank you very much.

The two stars of her show snapped their attention to the old woman, who seemed to be cackling uncontrollably on the park bench. They assumed she was crazy, but then assumed they were absolutely right. Then again, the two men were somewhat of a spectacle as well. The park had never seen such eccentric action.

The older gentlemen watched wide eyed as Talia continued to laugh. He pulled at the collar that grew tight around his neck before the moment overwhelmed him.

“Excuse me, Miss? What’s so funny?” He asked from his few feet away. The teenager punched the older man’s shoulder. He beckoned with his eyes as only teenagers can do to communicate the warning against imminent social mortification. Talia stopped short. Shit, was I loud? She thought. The answer was yes, and also the boys were only ten feet away, which was probably something she should have taken into consideration. 

“Who, me?” Talia asked, feigning innocence. The older man strode over. The teenager followed suit, telling him to stop.

“Yes, you. Are you laughing at what is clearly my misfortune?” He stopped right in front of her. The teenager looked on from behind him. “Don’t mind him,” the teenager said. “He’s just a little tense this morning.” 

Talia squinted at the two of them. She pointed her finger at them. “You two,” she said.

“Look ridiculous, you know that?” She broke out into laughter again. The closer up they got, the more Talia could take them in. The older man smelled like fish and the younger one was holding the trombone upside down. The two males shifted uncomfortably. “Are you going tell me what the hell happened to you two? How are you guys related?” 

The men’s heads whipped to each other in a spasmed array of shock. In unison, amongst pointed gestures back and forth between the two of them, they screamed.

“Related? US?” 

“We don’t even look alike!” the teenager said. “We’re strangers!”

What a confusing concept . She asked them how it was that they crossed paths. The two men shrugged. 

“Now you see, that’s what I’ve been asking myself this entire day,” the older man sighed. Talia sensed a story brewing, and there was nothing Talia loved more than a good story. Lately, her life was a series of beading and getting sent to voicemail, so the interaction with the boys was welcomed.

“Well, I’ve never seen two strangers act so much like relatives. Are you going to enlighten me on why you smell like you showered in old cheese and why your instrument is destroyed, or are you going to leave this poor old lady alone in her solitude of beads?” 

The boys stared. Talia raised her eyebrows. The sun came out from behind a cloud. Two moms moved to the other side of the pathway as they walked by. It was the teenager who seceded first.

“This day is already weird enough-might as well tell her the story.” The teenager put his hand up to his mouth and pretended to block the older man from hearing. “It’s hilarious”

“Oh, shut up Terrance,” The older man snapped. He looked back to Talia. “Ok, fine. Because I literally have nothing to lose and this day is already so messed up, I might as well fill you in. If you thought you were laughing before, just wait.” He sat down on the bench next to Talia. No one had sat next to her in quite some time. Talia felt a little more human in that moment, “My life is a joke.”

------

It was supposed to be a beautiful proposal. That’s what they always said, anyway. Daryl was used to this sort of thing. In recent years, he often got called with some other musicians to accompany someone as they took the plunge onto one knee and into the world of tulle and eternal commitment. That morning was the most recent of these proposals and it was set up to be a spectacle. Bryce Hannigan, the orchestrator of the proposal and soon to be fiancé, was one of the city’s leading socialites. From what Darryl had been told, the music was only part of the giant ordeal. The proposal was set to have hundreds of flowers lining the river in the park, a ballet dancer, videographer, and all his and her family members hiding behind the white gazebo where Bryce was going to pop the question. Darryl had done so many events, but the promises of a Hannigan wedding proposal even got him a little jittery. Darryl thought that maybe this day might even change his mind about marriage. He was wrong, but he didn’t know that just yet. 

Beads of sweat dripped down Darryl’s temple as he sat and waited along the pathway leading up to the gazebo. It was much too hot for the suit he had to wear, but at least he wasn’t alone in it. The other members of the orchestra also lined the walkway in the same attire. He watched as Bryce ran around and put every one of his family members into position. One by one, Bryce shooed the family members behind the shrubbery surrounding the gazebo. Darryl couldn’t hear anything from where he was standing, but he saw Bryce’s shoulders stiffen while talking to what looked like his younger brother. Well, what he assumed was his younger brother. He could hardly tell with half the teenager’s hair covering his face. Darryl wiped the sweat from his face, feeling slightly uncomfortable, though he couldn’t decipher if it was because of the heat or the inflation of hope in his chest. Both were causing him minute nausea. 

The next thing Darryl knew, the crowd of over dressed orchestra members were shushing each other and shifting into positions. The whirlwind of preparation settled in one instant of Bryce’s deep breath from the center of the gazebo. He looked like a statue standing there, golden hair moussed and gelled to voluminous perfection to accentuate a crisp jaw line and even sharper blue suit. No doubt picked to bring out his eyes. Darryl tried to picture the man eating a slice of pizza and the thought made him smirk to himself. The tuba player next to him elbowed his side. The bride-to-be had arrived. His curiosity beckoned him to glance just once at the lady who had swept the pristine money maker off of his feet. Maybe seeing the two of them together, in the hullabaloo of all this lavish love, would alight something in Darryl. He wanted it to. The expired leftover noodles from the store on the corner, having left a permanent smell in his fridge, told him something had to give. A gust of wind blew back onto Darryl’s face. His conductor spun around from where he kept watch to lift up his hands in the starting signal. The trombone wasn’t exactly a key part of the piece chosen for the proposal, but Darryl lifted his trombone anyway, grateful he could take in the moment rather than have to focus as intently as the violinists across from him. 

He heard the crowd before he saw her. Not the caressing sounds of the romantic classical piece, but the whispers of the hidden family members who couldn’t help but peek, and the passersby who needed to stop and see the spectacle. A song of their own, a miscellany of “ooos” and “aaaahs”, “there she is” and “look at that smile.” An energy pulsated through the air that Darryl couldn’t help but be affected by. He arched his back to try and get a better look down the cobblestone walkway. He saw her then, far away at first. Her hair was jet black, swaying in produced curls midway down her back. Her hair brushed up against a long red sundress that contrasted her tan freckled skin. She was a vision.

And she was also the girlfriend of Darryl’s best friend. 

Darryl’s mouth went dry. His whole body felt like the nerves of it sprang to attention. Cynthia? He thought to himself. Cynthia. Who had sat on his couch and screamed about football games on Sunday. Cynthia, who Darryl’s best friend Lewis had met during graduate school in the city and had fallen deeply in love with. Who had bought him a new lamp when he accidentally knocked his over with a flailing trombone case. The woman who would stare at his best friend like he was the greatest man on earth. There she was, with Bryce Hannigan. The trombone fell from its ready position and onto Darryl’s lap. His eyes were wide as he tried to shake himself out of this odd delirium, but it was no use. Cynthia was walking down the cobblestone aisle towards a man who was about to pledge what he assumed was a returned loyalty. Darryl wanted to throw up. 

How could Cynthia do this? How long had she been with this other man? A proposal? This was all so much. An image of the future conversation Darryl would have to have with his best friend darkened his thoughts. When Lewis loved, he loved fully. He was built like a dam and while it held off as long as it could, once the man chose to love, there was no stopping it. It was moments like these that left trials of destruction. A fierce sense of loyalty shot flames into his chest for his best friend. It lit up and wouldn’t cease, growing the closer Cynthia got to the gazebo. When she passed right in front of him, he caught a happy tear rolling down her cheek. The ultimate actress. Darryl, the hopeless trombonist, unleashed. 

“Cynthia!” He screamed. She stopped in her tracks as her eyes caught sight of him. Her countenance transformed from a princess to a five year old about to be put into time out. “What about Lewis? You remember your boyfriend of three years Lewis, don’t you?” By then the music had abruptly stopped. The conductor looked beat red, undoubtedly picturing all the ways to fire him. Darryl didn’t care. His eyes were locked with the cheater in front of him. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Darryl barely noticed as Bryce Hannigan ran down beside her.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he yelled at Darryl. Darryl could barely catch his breath. His glare penetrated them both with rage. Maybe it was the lost hope he had so badly wanted, or the way the heat affected him in this suit, or how his best friend had been fooled so wholly. Nothing could stop him.

“I’m just trying to figure out how long your girlfriend has been a gold digging, cheating scumbag.” Darryl said. He then gathered up a wad of saliva in his mouth and spit it out at Cynthia’s feet. All the woman could do was shake her head no and put her hand to her mouth. 

No one spoke. No one moved. Time was frozen as everyone stared at the scene unfolding. Then a snickering laugh erupted from the gazebo. 

“I told you she seemed like a bitch Bryce! You should have listened to your dumb little brother.” The teenager had climbed up from his hiding spot to hang over the fencing of the gazebo. “I love a good dose of irony.” 

“Now is not the time Terrance.” Bryce shot back without even looking at his younger brother.

“You’re girlfriend’s a bitch, Bryce. Aren’t you Cynthia? You know, cheating isn’t a very nice thing to-”

“-SHUT UP YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Cynthia’s eyes seemed to glow with a fire that Darryl had never seen. Her hands balled into fists. “Darryl, just because your life is an embarrassment doesn’t mean you have the right to ruin mine.” 

Bryce chimed in before Darryl could, “Wait, so you actually know this guy? Cynthia?” Cynthia realized what she had done and looked at Bryce. Once again, her words seem to fail her. Classic. 

“Yeah, Bryce. She knows me. I’m the mediocre embarrassment who let his best friend date a total bitch.” 

The crowd around them all gasped in unison. The conductor took out a handkerchief to cool himself off. When Bryce looked from what he thought was the love of his life to the man who just dropped a bomb on them both, Darryl was sure Bryce was about to beat the shit out of him. 

Of course, he was wrong. Darryl was wrong about a lot of things. It was Cynthia who ran, stilettos on, to jump on him. It was suddenly a scene of chaos. Mothers screamed, Cynthia tackled Darryl into the dirt, crashing the orchestra stands into the ground. Family members all rushed to the scene. Bryce’s teenage brother, Terrance, jumped to Darryl’s aid and grabbed the trombone that had been stomped into the ground in the chaos as all the family members from opposing sides rushed to fight each other. The only one not fighting was Bryce, who stood frozen in one spot, a chunk of his perfect hair falling into his face. The park transformed into a full out war zone.

“-Wait. This still doesn’t explain why you smell like shit.” Talia chimed in. The two boys had been recounting the story for her for the past twenty minutes. It all seemed a little Hollywood for her liking, but she was still hooked. “You were getting beat up by the cheating girlfriend and then what? Fast forward to the good stuff.”

“Jeez, I thought older people were supposed to have longer attention spans,” Terrance said. Darryl punched his shoulder. The two seemed to have bonded quickly from limited experience together.

“Basically, the whole...event ended in what one might consider a pursuit.”

“Cynthia and her entire family chased our asses.” Terrance chimed in.

“Yes. They,” Darryl hesitated, “chased our asses. Terrance pushed me into an alleyway to hide and right into a bunch of trash. We lost them but now..” he gestured to his clothes. “So, yeah. That’s pretty much what happened.” 

Talia nodded, picked up her beads, and snorted with laughter.

“I don’t know what’s crazier,” Talia choked out between cackles. “The fact that Cynthia hasn’t been answering my calls or that I didn’t even know she had one boyfriend, let alone two! I really missed out too, sounds like it was quite the show.” 

Darryl and Terrance both froze. Realization dawned on them.

“She’s your granddaughter.” Terrance said. 

Of course, he was wrong. They both were. They were wrong about just about everything. Talia was a crazy old lady on a bench. I mean, what kind of an assumption was that? She made up stories because she could barely remember her own. But for some odd reason, these two boys decided she was severely trustworthy. Wrong didn’t begin to cover it. They sat and listened while Talia, who just wanted company, relayed all the dirt she knew about the granddaughter she didn’t have. 

It was a very unlikely situation.