Thought Stories

When you stroll through a park on a lovely spring day like this and you pass all those people, the momma with her little one in a stroller, the lonely guy who walks dangerously close to the edge of a slope with his hands buried in his pockets and with a look as dark as a thousand nights, the elderly couple walking hand in hand, trembling a bit, trying not to fall... Don't you sometimes whish you could take a look into their heads, see what's going on in there?

Well, I can. I fly from head to head to head and their thoughts are flying to me.

This is their story.

"Oh dear, oh dear, why won't you shut up? This is unbearable! I almost feel their looks. All those people, bet they're thinking: What a bad mother, can't even keep her baby from crying for a single minute! Oh, I bet they're judging me, I bet! Should mind their own business, really. I knew, I shouldn't have come here. Should've known that he wouldn't quit his crying, even in this lovely park. Gosh, sometimes I really wonder why I ever thought this would be a good idea. I'm not ready, goddammit! I'm just not ready for this! I don't know how to calm him down, I don't know! Oh dear, please stop crying, shhh shhh. We don't want them to look down on us, do we? No, we don't, we don't, we don't..."

"Cold, so cold, so cold. Hunger. Hunger. Much hunger. Soo tired. Tired tired. Coold! Cold coold! Ma Maaa! Ma Maaa!"

"This is such a beautiful day. A beautiful ending, Marc would've called it. Marc... I still miss him so much. When will it stop, this pain? 'It's the pain of being alive', Marc used to say. 'It just comes with it. You have to bear it, buddy. Have to stand it.' And sometimes, specially later in his life he'd add: 'Or maybe you don't. Maybe you don't have to suffer so much. Could be all so easy, right, buddy?' I still remember the smell of his awful cigarettes, sometimes mixed with weed, then he would get especially philosphical. Would stare at my wall for hours and babble stuff that even he himself couldn't understand afterwards when I told it back to him. Oh Marc, buddy, I miss you so so much. You wouldn't believe it, Marc. Wouldn't believe that somebody would miss you. I tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen. You simply wouldn't listen. You just left. And now there's a hole in my heart and it's getting bigger and more painful with every passing day. I thought it would be easier too, you know? Sometimes you were really annoying me, with your attitude, with your worldview, with your constant smoking... Now I even miss the smell of your damn joints. And that smile of yours, damn, do I miss that slightly ironic smile, the corners of your mouth only very lightly curved upwards but it still was one hell of a smile because I saw it so rarely. You reserved it for the best, for the funniest of all moments when all others would erupt in laughter. You would just sit there, your mouth ever so slowly turning into that lovable smile. I knew it was special. You were special. I don't think there will come a day when I don't miss you, Marc."

"Oh, this reminds me of our very first date. It even was the same park, wasn't it? I remember this bench, we used to sit on it for hours, just smiling at each other and smiling at the world. We were so in love. And then he took my hand, just like this and we strolled through this lovely park, hand in hand. Sometimes he would point at a flower, tell me its name and compare its beauty with mine. And when he deemed it especially beautiful he picked it and put it into my hair. At the end of the day my hair looked like a flower bouquet. He doesn't do that anymore of course. But he still holds my hand. It's warm, his hand. Warm and still quite firm. Makes me feel safe. Makes me feel loved. It's not such a young, carefree love anymore. Oh, we have so many worries! But every day I wake up, he's still there, lying next to me. And every morning I make breakfast and when I happen look up from my newspaper and he happens tto looks up from his coffee at the same time, we sometimes exchange a little smile and it says so much more than hours of babbling would. It's a simple life. It's not the future I would've dreamed of as a little girl. But now I just feel so lucky. We might not have much but we have each other. Why would I ask for more?"

"Oh Eliza, grab my hand a little bit more firmly, would you? I still can feel my fingers too much. Oh yes, that's good, just like an iron fist. Perfect. She's got that dreamy look again. Becoming sentimental, I guess. Wasn't this the place of our first date? I almost think so. She's probably reminiscing about our young selves. So in love. Well, I still love my wife. But I think she knows that already. Maybe I'll pick her a few flowers though. My beautiful flower queen. Beautiful iron-grip flower queen."

And with that I finish my round for today. Humanity is beautiful, isn't it? Well, maybe not always. So much pain and suffering, so much misery. But sometimes it's just an old couple thinking of their young love and their old love or a young boy lovingly thinking of the friend he lost. Sometimes all it needs is a smile or some nice words and their world is a little bit lighter. I could for example go to that mother with her crying baby and make some sympathetic comment like: "It's so hard to keep them calm, right? He's still very cute though, isn't he?" And she will maybe relax a bit, will realize that far more people are sympathizing with her than judging her.

I might just do that.

And you, you might just enjoy this lovely spring day with me. But hurry, the sun will set soon.