The Old Man and His Papers

When the old man locked his door, the street was already empty. Streetlights appeared only as single floating beacons that brought light to none other but themselves. Pieces of paper rolled on the ground around him, swishing forward and backward as puppets being controlled by the wind. There was a subtle whistling that reached his ears, and tendrils of the invisible creature attempted to penetrate his skin. The man held his coat tightly around his bulging stomach, and walked into the night. He was late.

His footsteps echoed sporadically; there was always that short pause in between. Tap… tap. Tap… tap. His left foot was weak, barely holding up his weight, and it propped against the ground sideways instead of straight down. He didn’t use his cane, though - it was a special night.

The phone rang - a knife that sliced through the reticence of the street - and his shivering fingers fumbled inside his pocket. It was a rather deep plunge. He reached further and further in, where sharp ends and weird pieces of something scratched his skin, before he could feel the cold vibrating metal against his hand. He pulled it out and stared at the bright screen, read the words ‘unknown caller’ and felt his heart drop only slightly.

He answered. He heard the chatters of a man - who it was, he wasn’t sure he remembered.

“Sir Bingley, your wife said that you will sign the papers. I would suggest doing so tonight; I’d like to have it all fixed by tomorrow, if it suits you.”

“Ah, papers, yes,” he spoke softly. The man on the other side of the phone said something else before hanging up, but Bingley still couldn’t recall what he was talking about. He only knew that Moira had been talking about the same thing for a whole month, but he was sure she wouldn’t bring them to dinner. It was a special occasion.

His mind tried to refer back to a memory that had faded; it must have been about the papers. He briefly remembered his wife crossing her arms, tears streaking her cheeks, but that was all. How had he felt about it? Nothing answered.

As he stood in front of the diner, he could feel the marquee glare at his lateness. Cherry’s Diner. It was the place they would always go to on an anniversary - and this would be the thirty-first time. The memory brought a small smile that slithered across the manifold wrinkles on his cheeks, and he held out his right hand to push back the door.

A bell tinkled, and he was immediately pulled into another realm - one filled with roses and colour and lovestruck giggles instead of the overwhelming crepuscular layer that hung over the night. Small candles flickered on every table, casting shadows that pirouetted against the wood.

Table number 31 was his this year. Jared, the same one who had served them for years, showed only a few hints of old age as he approached Bingley with a toothless grin - although there was a hint of something more in the welcome.

“Ay, Bingley, ya gal’s been waitin’ fuh too long. What’s with ya and lateness, eh?” he chuckled.

“Had to hobble all the way down here, that’s what. It’s great to see you again, Jared. Always a fun occasion.”

“Aw, old pal, ya makin’ me blush to my tips. Anyways, go on there ta yer table - yuh know yer number. We set it up with extra flowers fuh ya.”

“I’ve got some of my own flowers, Jared.”

Jared wanted to frown; he didn’t see any. Bingley nodded and walked past him. As he did so, Jared could smell something rotting, and concluded that Bingley had placed the flowers in his pocket and forgot about them. He went back to his counter shaking his head.

Meanwhile, the old man strutted to where he knew his wife was going to be. Table 31. As he rounded the corner, though, he saw that the table was occupied by two. He didn’t know who they were, only that their youth mocked his age. The couple had their fingers intertwined, their eyes gazing at each other, their smiles small but full of bliss. A twinge of longing rose up Bingley’s throat, but he didn’t know why. He tried to be angry at them for stealing his special table, but he could only gape at the raw proclamation of sentiment. Then, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, suddenly panicked, and faced his wife. Ah, there she was! She would be mad when she found out their table had been taken.

“Bingley? What are you doing?” Moira asked, her brilliant blue eyes narrowed in confusion as she looked at the couple.

“Moira! They… they stole our table. I’m sorry,” he replied, lowering his head. She sighed.

“No, Bingley, they didn’t. We’re having table thirty-two this year. A year has passed since the accident, Bingley. We had thirty-one last year. Come along, now. I’ve been here for an hour.”

Bingley heeded her instructions, although his mind was reeling with information. Had they really been married for thirty-two years? Where did the year go? The car accident… it felt as if he had only just woken up from the coma a few days ago. He didn’t notice that his wife was watching him with pain written in her face as she opened her purse and clutched tightly onto the papers. It must be tonight.  

They ate their meal in silence, and Bingley felt himself at fault. Maybe he should have brought a gift. Maybe he should have remembered it was thirty two and not thirty one. Maybe, maybe, he should have worn his ring before coming. But it had slipped his mind; the doctor said he was bound to forget every now and then. And, although he didn’t want it to be true, he saw that Moira had forgotten to wear hers too.

“Moira, love, I’m really sorry about being late. I wanted-”

“Bingley, we have to talk about the papers,” she interrupted. He looked at her in surprise. Surely they couldn’t be that important.

“Tonight, love? It’s… it’s our anniversary.”

“I know, that’s exactly why. You really have to sign it today. My lawyer called, as well.” She pursed her lips as if she was bracing herself for a storm that never came.

“I-I’m sorry, but I forgot what they were about.” Her eyes jumped to stare into his clueless ones. He shrugged his shoulders.

“You… you don’t remember anything about them?” she asked, her voice soft.

“No, I’m sorry. But if you want them signed, I will sign them. Do you have them?”

Moira was still entranced as she opened the document to the last page - she was careful to conceal the title. She watched him in disbelief as he placed the tip of a pen on the paper and scribbled his name. He smiled at her again. Anything for his love.

As they were leaving, Jared pulled Moira aside. Bingley strutted on, oblivious to the unseemly intimacy in their touch.

“Did he sign them?” Jared whispered.

“Yes, he did,” Moira whispered back. He released her, and she left.

Author's Note

I made it kind of vague on purpose. What do you think the papers are for? What happened between Moira and Bingley?

Reviews

[Ana]

I'm supposed to be studying for drivers ed but forget it this is more interesting. I also think the papers could be divorce papers. It's frustrating that he's so in love with Moira but it's totally one-sided. Poooor guy he seems so nice and obviously something bad happened to him.

[Paul Bell]

I would sort of like to think he knew what was going on. But i've got a feeling she played him.
Sure he'll find out eventually mind you. Weaker sex, who was it who said that.

[EvaThornburn]

I'am thinking divorce papers and they split up, but I also think I 'am way off and it's not something so crazy I didn't catch on. Nice write.truly entertaining. Eva

[Jane D]

No, you got it right! Thanks a lot :)

[EvaThornburn]

Your welcome. Thanks again for the wonderful write. Eva

[Jacob]

It could be divorce papers, though that would be really depressing. It appears that Bingley was in a car accident caused some damage to him, both in his leg and possibly head. From then, Bingley probably gained a habit of being forgetful, which could definitely damage their marriage. And so, the wife would file for a divorce, though it would take longer since Bingley had head problems. Pretty good read, otherwise. Nicely done.

[Jane D]

Yeah, that was what I had in mind :) thanks for the review!