Something about old couples in NYC just make my heart squeeze.
Walking the pup this morning, as usual, off to a coffee shop to grab my latte. And this old couple comes out of their apartment building just ahead of me. The woman walks out first. Face wrinkled, closes her eyes and feels the sun while she waits for her husband. He's slower at first, walks with a cane. They both have down jackets on. Spring may be here, the sun may be out, but today they are prepared for the grey clouds overhead, the wind reminiscing about winter. As if he were taking her hand to go out on a dance floor, he slides his hand into hers and begins their walk. Cane in his right hand, he keeps her close, just behind his left shoulder. They face the world, they speak under their breath to each other and keep time. Cane, right, left, right, left. Her steps an echo of his.
I imagined they had lived down here for years. 40 years. They came over from Asia, they worked all their lives in a shop. They retired.
They stopped for some school kids, and even though I couldn't see their faces, I imagined she smiled. I imagined she remembered her kids, crossing streets, holding hands, following the leader.
Something about their closeness as they walked. He didn't let go of her hand. It wasn't supposed to be romantic, but that ease. That comfort knowing they had walked this way for years. They wouldn't bump into each other, they were in time together. Taking a waltz down the street. Cane, 2, 3, Cane, 2, 3.
And then they turned left and I continued to the post office.