Purple Lilac

You are never too old to love again...

Travelling to office everyday by public transport is a huge pain in the back. Being sandwiched between not so appealing arms and having to experience the nightmare of direct contact with sweat of other travellers is something that bothers me even after twenty three years of service.
‘Twenty three years of service' does it surprise you? Well of course it should since I am not the hot blooded handsome youngster still in his springtime of youth; I am already a forty seven year old, almost ‘Old’ uncle.
It has indeed been a sad lonely twenty years after getting employed, having your energy slowly sapped out of you, pushing your dreams and ambitions to protect the so called ‘security of job’, not being able to continue a relationship due to work always standing in the way is definitely a pathetic way to lead one’s life.
‘Why would you do that?’ you ask? Well isn’t it obvious, responsibilities. I had responsibilities that I had to fulfill and I had no other option. If you feel the need to tell me ‘There is always a choice!’ I shall not hesitate to smack that pretty face with the sole of my brand new ‘woodland’ luxury.
Waking up to an empty apartment, dressing up in front of a mirror that reflects a barren room, eating breakfast at a table meant for one, may not seem one of those ideal lives, but I have gotten used to it. I have gotten used to the loneliness which is a painful fact in itself. But the number of calluses on my feet and the wrinkles on my face indicate that just like how I continue gaining age, this is the life I shall continue, in short it has made me indifferent.
I walk down the same alleyway that leads to the bus stop and catch the same bus every morning, like a robot set on routine. My pace never changing, my briefcase in hand, my necktie hardly moving from its position and my hair remaining in place till the end of the day.....completely monochromatic. If my life had background music, it would probably be the ‘Blues’.
But this monochromatic life of mine also has moments when it is filled with colours, colours I forgot existed. It is when I see her, every morning at the same time, same place, tending to the carnations with as much care as a mother would, her child. Her eyes held a certain gentleness that drew me to her, probably since the first time I met her, always they held me in place unmoving and just looking. She always smiled a little when she cared for the flowers, water them, cut unwanted weeds, add necessary manure and sometimes caress the petals with gentle fingers. It was only during these moments when my life had more skipping music to it. She seemed like a happy middle aged woman to everyone, but to me she seemed more.....lonely. I could understand, since I knew the feeling more than anyone.
Just gazing at her was enough for me. It would provide me enough satisfaction to get through another monotonous day. I would smile to myself and continue down the alleyway towards the bus stop. At work, during breaks when I was alone I would think about her, her gentle eyes would come to mind and I would break into a smile. It was soothing to an old man’s heart like mine. Since I was experienced in work it did not prove to be a distraction, thinking about her, just calmed me. At work young juniors respected and admired me for my reputation in my job, they aimed to be more like me and I would wonder, whether I was worthy of being a role model to these young boys. Boys who have yet to experience things, yet to fall in love, yet to gather lessons from life. Was a person like me, who could not protect his love, who could only work but not learn lessons of human relationships, was such a failure of a social being worthy of being admired? Maybe being admired for work excellence was probably not wrong, but I would doubt being an ideal role model overall.
After work I would visit a small eatery next to the bus stop near my house. Cooking dinner after the day’s work was a pain, so I would just drop the idea. After a light dinner when I would walk home, I would glance in the direction of the carnations she was caring for. They would look radiant under the moonlight as elegant as the lady tending to them. I would break into a smile again, it really was calming. I would quietly return home after gazing at the beautiful flowers once, but today I really wanted to touch the petals of the flowers. My feet stepped towards the small garden without me realizing it and I bent down to touch the flowers. They were soft and pretty, “Do you like flowers?”
I was jolted out of my musings at the soft voice behind me. I turned around to find the woman looking at me with those gentle eyes; on such closer look they seemed not only gentle but intent too. I opened my mouth to answer but found myself temporarily at a loss for words. How embarrassing! A forty seven year old man tongue tied was definitely not appealing, now doesn’t this make me seem like a creep who lurked in dark alleyways! Quick, something, say something, anything is fine, so just say something, at least let her know you are not dumb. This is a chance to talk to her! Get to know her, get her to know you, talk to her!
“Y-y-yes, I suppose...” I stuttered, and mentally slapped myself. She paused before opening her mouth to reply, “Would you like to come in for coffee? It is a cold night isn’t it?”
Surprised at her invitation, I simply nodded. She smiled a gentle smile and turned to lead the way. My old heart skipped a beat, and well, considering the long gap between the last skip and now, it did hurt a little, but it was a pain I welcomed. I followed her.
She shuffled about the room to make the coffee, she lived in a pretty big house all by herself, no children or husband, no wonder she seemed lonely. While I took in the decor of the house, my eyes landed on a photo frame set on a table decorated with white carnations, probably the ones she was growing. I got up to have a closer look at the picture.
It was a picture of a young handsome man in an army uniform. He had intensive eyes and a smart face, crop cut and stubble. He seemed very young though, ‘her son?’ I thought to myself.
“That is my husband; he was enlisted during the war and died on duty.” She said interrupting my thoughts. She set the coffee down on the table and I returned to my seat. “He seems young...” I said, taking a sip of the beverage.
“Yes he was, when he died. That picture was taken on the day he left for the war; it was the day after we got married.” She said, looking at the picture as though reminiscing the moment it was taken. “We were both young and innocent, and we were in love, but I suppose that is fate” she sighed and sipped from her cup.
After months of watching her from afar, today I am sitting so close to her, yet she seemed so far. Wasn’t there anyway I could reduce this distance between us? Wasn’t there anyway I could be closer, even if it’s just a little.
“I am sorry.” I awkwardly conveyed, she looked at me; it was faint, but I saw a glint of pain. Pain that time could not minimise, wounds that seemed to open every time she saw him.
She wordlessly nodded an ‘It is okay.’ There was silence as we quietly sipped our coffees. She was the first one to break the silence, “So you like flowers, that is rare; seeing men fond of flowers.”

She smiled at the last sentence. I felt a little encouraged and found myself replying, “While I don’t really give it much thought, I do like them, how about you, do you like flowers?”

“Not really... but he did, a lot!” she said looking at the picture. “Carnations were his favourite, always told me their appearance fascinated him and white ones were his favourite, I don’t know why though.” She said, still gazing at the picture, “White ones made him think of me...that is what he would tell me, that cheesy fellow!” she completed shying away a little.

My worn out heart had somehow picked up speed and it started beating fast, I felt like a teenager experiencing first love, all over again. But the fact that it was one sided hurt me a little and somewhere I knew I could never compete with the man in the picture. Some part of me restrained myself from falling for her, it was wrong wasn’t it, aiming for a war widow who still seemed very much fond of the man in the photo frame, but there was another part of me telling me, it was fine, we were both adults and had been alone for a long time. If it could bring colours to both of our monochromatic lives then it was worth every heartbeat!

“Have you ever thought of starting anew?” I asked looking straight into her eyes, I seemed like a confident man at first sight but careful observation could tell that I was transferring all my nervousness to the coffee cup, I cupped it in my hands tightly.

“At this age?” she asked, faintly allowing surprise to cross her face. She seemed to ponder about it....for a long time, seconds turned to minutes and minutes seemed like hours. She finally lifted her face to reply, “What if I told you, I don’t know?”
“Then should we find out?” I asked, I was being strangely bold that day. “I mean we won’t know unless we try it, right?” I was nervous, very much so, but the fact that I kept reminding myself that I was too old to get nervous for such things made me realize, talking to the person you are in love with, at any age can make you nervous.
“I....” she didn’t complete her sentence and threw glances at the picture of the smiling man set on the table against the opposite wall.
Maybe I was expected to read the air, maybe it was ridiculous of me to expect the positive.
I finished my cup of coffee, said my ‘thank yous’ and got up to leave, just as I had placed my hand on the door knob, I heard her say, “The meaning of white carnations..... I would like to know it.”
“Then why don’t you find out?” I said turning to look at her, a smile on my face. She gave me a surprised expression; I had seen that look more than once that night.
I returned home.

The next morning, my eyes reflexively searched for her, tending to the carnations on the alleyway, but she was not there. The carnations looked as pretty as ever, but her absence changed the usual aura that surrounded them. I sighed, feeling a little disappointed and continued on my way to work.
I did not see her for the next few days either, the rare moments when colours filled my life were slowly disappearing too. But the white carnations glistened in the morning dew as if nothing had changed. I slowly began to control my expectations and accept that it was not meant to be. It was silly of me to even think that I could have a chance at love, at an age nearing fifty.
When I had almost convinced my heart to not expect, I saw her.....as usual, at the same place, same time, tending to the small garden, looking at the flowers with her gentle eyes. My feet stopped in their tracks and I continued to gaze at her.
Time seemed to stop for us; it was just the two of us and the gentle spring breeze caressing our solitary figures. She noticed me watching and stood up to turn to me. She smiled, a gentle but slightly happy smile that was directed at me.
My gaze momentarily shifted from her to the small garden and I noticed another colour in the mix with the white. It was purple. On further observation, they seemed like purple lilacs. My gaze shifted back to her and she held a knowing look as if she had realized my puzzlement. She held a stalk of the purple lilac and walked towards me.
She held it out to me and said, “I finally know.....” as I took the flower from her she continued, “Language of flowers is a fascinating thing you know."
I was still puzzled, but she then wordlessly walked back as if she had finished answering my doubts. I called out to her, “Wait! What is the meaning of this?”
She turned around and her eyes held a certain sparkle when she said, “Why don’t you find out...” what a sly woman, she used my own words on me, I smiled to myself. I kept looking at the purple lilac all the way to work and back.
After I had reached home, I placed it in a glass of water to extend its life, even if it was for a little while. I decided to find out, I searched for meanings according to all possible cultures I could think of and when I had, the conclusion made my heart beat faster! I held my hand to my chest to feel the beats, it was overwhelming, it felt as if twenty years worth of emotions were threatening to burst out of my chest. For some reason I felt young again, I felt as though I could also experience varied emotions. I closed my eyes to savor the moment, and I could see colours seeping back into my monochromatic life.
As I laid in bed that night, I held the flower in my hand and thought to myself, ‘the distance between us reduced, right?...even if it is just a little, it has definitely reduced.'
It was fine like this, we can nurture these feelings of ours slowly and gently, just like how flowers are cared for, a little at a time. And I had the most peaceful sleep I had ever had in the past years.



PostScript-
Meaning of purple lilacs- Represent first emotions of ‘love’
Meaning of white carnations- Represent ‘pure love’ and ‘good luck’

Author's Note

I've read loads of stories where it is usually looked at from the woman's perspective and not much from the man's perspective. It is kind of a mystery what thoughts go through a man's head when he looks at his object of affection and I tried my hand at that and tried to be as realistic as possible. This is a oneshot and purposely has an abrupt ending with a postscript that does in a way conclude the story. But still it is left to the readers' interpretation. I hope I have even remotely done justice in portraying a middle aged man's feelings. Please do review, your suggestions and advice are much valued!