A Plan Eros Delayed

“My first man!” the volunteer announced as she shuffled towards the finish line, not the timed finish line for the ten – or five-kilometer run, but an imaginary line to the left where the three–kilometer walkers would finish.

Gerry, panting like a lap dog struggling up a hill pulled up his sweats, smoothed a few wisps of hair over a balding spot, and put on his best macho face for the last few yards imagining a sprint.

“Your first man?” Gerry replied, giving a sarcastic, yet innocent smile with a wink. The middle-aged woman, face granite, looking all business, missed his flirty attempt and stopped Gerry to get his name on her clipboard. Is that a hint of jasmine I smell?

“Gerry, Gerry Loo,” he said, embarrassed for making a feeble pass at the woman. That didn’t go as planned, Gerry old boy, love has passed you by, my good chap.

She looked at him expecting more. Gerry knew a look like that once upon a time, but here he knew she was expecting more letters in his last name, nothing in the way of romance.“

That’s it, Gerry Loo. Just for You.” That put a small smirk on her face and a gleam in Gerry’s eye. Never say die, buddy.

Not expecting anything more, Gerry took his sixty-six-year-old body further down the road heading for the breakfast provided by the race. There was a time when he only thought about how well he would do in a race, now he thought more about what refreshments were provided at the end of the line. He passed the ‘freedom 55’ stage of life a while ago accepting the current philosophy of his culture about aging gracefully. Haven’t seen anything graceful yet about gettin’ old.

Gerry eyed the bounty of food at the breakfast table. He was looking forward to this because he could indulge in a lot of no-nos and should nots. Have to keep my doctor employed, as he put two waffles on his plate with a large dollop of strawberry compote and another of blueberry smothering everything in a sweet mess. Next came a large spoon of whipped cream, then two bagels and a hefty spoonful of a flavored cream cheese spread, topped by a few pieces of cheese, some crackers, and a piece of orange to make the mound nutritious so he wouldn’t feel too guilty about the meal. Gerry spied the chocolate milk on the next table and poured himself a cup drinking it on his way to the Tim Hortons coffee being dispensed out the back of their promotional van.

Fifteen minutes later the awards were starting and Gerry had just grabbed another bagel after devouring his mountainous plate of food and was spreading a large wad of jalapeño vegetable cream cheese onto it when he heard his name being called for coming first in the men’s category for the three-kilometer walk. So that’s why ‘Jasmine’ wanted my name.

He sauntered up to a short woman with a large megaphone that covered most of her.

“You Gerry Loo?”

“That’s me,” said Gerry with a bagel in one hand, not caring if he looked sexy or even acceptable at this point. Making fashion statements ended a few years ago when he replaced his Speedo for baggy trunks and pants with an elastic waist instead of tight-fitting jeans. Gerry also needed suspenders to keep his dignity intact.

“Get your medal over there,” pointed a pudgy hand from one side of the megaphone.

Gerry looked over his shoulder to see a slender hand with a bunch of medals on red, white, and blue ribbons. He took the gold one being held out, mumbled a thank you, and slowed down long enough to notice a slight smell of jasmine in the immediate area before walking away while taking a bite from his bagel while musing, ah, a winner at last.

Most mornings Gerry got up around nine-thirty and thought about what he wanted to do for the day, besides eating. Usually, his head was nostalgically reviewing his love life that never would happen again. A few regrets, but not too many. In his current situation of being the youngest old guy on the block, Gerry swapped an idealistic attitude for a realist one. He was on a disability pension that barely gave him enough to get by on and was balding, overweight and went bankrupt in his fifties, so, without much in the way of savings. If not for being in a developed and politically conscious country he would have probably been dead many years ago, maybe for the better; a quick death or slow deterioration, hoping for…hoping for…what am I hoping for?

Gerry realized that plans had been made for him by his government since he was born to become a taxpayer who reached an enlightened age of befuddlement with little power to do anything about the status quo. Gerry’s accident at work when he was fifty-five finally ended another chapter in his life leaving a pondering husk to limp off into his twilight years. Not ready to go quietly into the night, he joined a walking group and headed out twice a week with other gentle souls to maintain a healthy recline into the golden years. On other days Gerry was prowling like a grey panther through the cement jungle close to his house always looking for an open ear to listen to his stories of past glories. One of these excursions took him through his local bookstore where Gerry’s eyes wandered and then settled for more than a moment, irises dilating with interest. His gaze captured a woman’s face and something inside him warmed and sparked. The feeling left him wanting more, to know who this woman was. Wisps of the romantic that he used to be slipped through the crevices of his rusty armor; a flickering flame igniting nearly extinguished emotions to warm the fluids icily flowing through his barren soul.

I want to know her…How can I meet her...I must follow her, was all that went through Gerry’s head in a primal request to his conditioned brain that fought to extinguish genuine feelings of attraction by reducing them to an embarrassed response of I can’t be a stalker…She will think I’m a fool if I try to meet her. Is that jasmine I smell?

Gerry’s civilized self won and he walked away going over to the other side of the store to look at a few books, but her image kept coming back to him, haunting his thoughts, and that smell haunted his greying memories. Where have I smelt jasmine, recently? He could see the face behind the mask, a visage Gerry knew as well as his own, one that was mature, distinguished with character; a beautiful face with lines full of experience, of love won and lost, of adventures and mysteries; a knowing countenance of wisdom, forgiveness, and sacrifice, buried under years of loneliness. Feelings of sadness hit Gerry hard when he thought that he would not see her again. He rushed back to the place where he first saw her.

Gone!

After discreetly buzzing through the bookstore like a horde of riled wasps he stepped into the mall to look around and she was still nowhere to be seen.

In a daze, he wandered over to the coffee shop. Gerry took a seat in the small square, where he squatted in the middle of the mall and stared into his tepid coffee, with his buttered bagel cooling, feeling lost, old, and used up. It was an evening at the plaza and barren of civilized consumers. Gerry was the only one sitting in the coffee area.

“May I take this chair?”

“Go ahead,” Gerry answered without looking up.

Gerry continued to feel sorry for himself, while his eyes wandered to the table next to him now occupied by a colorful dress that was well-worn with grace. Slowly his eyes lazily sharpened to capture The Face!

Gerry blinked a couple of times and stammered, “Hi I’m Gerry.”

The corners of her mouth turned up pulling her moist lips into a smile.

“Hi, Gerry, my name’s Kate.” With a squint and a brow furrowing in memory, “Hey, you’re the guy munching on a bagel while taking a gold medal from me the other day? I also took your name when you crossed the seniors' finish line.”

Gerry looked at her, this time noticing her through all his senses, taking in her essence, tasting her spirit, listening to her wants, feeling her need, seeing her raw beauty, and the faint smell of jasmine!

Gerry had been so self-absorbed at the race, deep in his delusions of agedness that he hadn’t looked beyond the hand that held out his medal, but his nose knew.

“That’s me,” grinning as he held up his bagel.

“Nice to meet you again Gerry,” her voice giggling like an intimate friend.

“May I join you at your table, Kate?”

“I would like that very much.” Her eyes twinkled with excitement, expecting more.

Expecting the right ‘more’ I hope this time.

Electricity coursed through Gerry’s body, sparking his desire into that ‘something more’, something stronger and tangible while memories of loss were trampled by thoughts of love.

Gerry leaned forward mischievously, sending the sultry mist of his eyes into quivering words, “Want to share a bagel, Kate?”