Retired Love

Age doesn't define how much you love someone.

It was the silence that followed the slurp that she always avoided when they sat in the diner. Walter always went there with his wife Mary, with the two spending over 60 years of their wonderful life in each other’s arms, but they both hated the idea of silence. It would take a miracle to stop either of them nattering away at the other; their children would often describe them as the perfect definition of love. Whilst age may have forced them to grow older, trips like these to the diner never did the same thing. They were as one as they were from the moment they first gazed eyes on each other.

Walter sat back and mused on that night with his frail cheeks allowing the memory to nurture beside his smile.

It was a ballroom dance; he was an injured pilot stationed back on land in his long recovery and she was, unsurprisingly, a nurse. It was the first time he’d truly had a chance to be free since the crash, to stand by his own in public with just the help of two sturdy crutches. He rose from the table and had caught her eye. She moved over, in the long, flowing dress she’d so lovingly selected that same day, and grasped his arm in assistance. Walter’s head swung around, stared at this stranger holding him softly, and that was it. It didn’t take long for that simply grasp of help turn into an everlasting grasp of love between the two. A slow dance, a brief whisper, a cheeky giggle, a memorable night. A remarkable night. They talked for hours, engrossed in each other’s stare, until a shared goodnight to one another was muttered �" the first of many.

Walter would always look over to Mary at this point and she knew where his mind was. The sparkle that never subsided in the dark of her hazelnut eyes always shone back.

Today the diner was no busier than it ever was; truckers stopping off before their long haul continued and the odd lonely soul that often came out to collect whatever private thoughts Walter felt they must have had. It was a very isolated but charming place. The usual had been ordered too - Mary always had soup. In fact her love of tomato soup could almost allow Walter to give her order for her but he never wanted to talk over the woman whom had stolen his heart for so long. Walter was a much more needy man with his appetite �" the steak had to be right, the sauce had to be fresh enough, the drink had to be cool enough �" but these were all conditions that all came as part of the package, as Mary always muttered amusingly to herself. Walter chuckled just the same.

The waitress came over with their orders; luckily the steak was well done and the soup clearly steaming even from a distance. She looked down at Walter, still looking out at the world going by outside, before he turned back and thanked the waitress. Both plates were placed down as Walter gently moved the soup towards his wife. She was always so quiet, he thought, so innocent and wonderfully polite. Her manners never let her down and she was always the perfect host; at home, with him and with family and friends.

Walter was still staring out at the open road that stretched wide and far alongside this quiet diner, almost cliché in how it looked and ran in the usual customers it got. He pondered to himself what life would be like if life wasn’t what it was. His kids were role models that they’d never been anything less than proud of, and even after his injury all those years ago he’d found himself a proficient steel worker for so many years in the local community. Mary had always been a wonderful teacher too to so many of the local children who, by now, had grown into adults far and wide across the state but both had been long retired. Their age meant it was time for them to slow down and slow down they had. Yet Walter still wondered how different it all could have been, how different life still could be, how different he would be without the woman he loved sitting opposite him. His head slowly turned back down at the steak and the soup opposite his plate, and as it rose ever so gently he awaited the longing look of his darling wife in return.

The seat was empty.

His head lowered once more and a brief tear began to fabricate. It’d been three weeks since she’d passed away. Every single second of the day he missed her company. He didn’t want to go back to that diner, that diner they both loved so much, in fear of himself but he needed to do this.

As he began slicing his steak, Walter stopped. This wasn’t what he wanted. He pushed his plate back ever so slightly and allowed the quiver on the bottom of his eyes to settle down as he composed himself. His body may be old but he always felt his mind was always as young as he wanted it to be. Walter gradually regained his serenity and reached out for the soup he’d always order for his wife regardless of her absence. She wasn’t there in person but Walter most certainly felt her in presence; his mind continued to refuse to allow him to miss someone whom he felt had never left him. Reaching out he took a spoonful from the bowl, bringing a smell rich in flavour with it, and sipped gently into his parched and cracked lips.

His eyes closed.

As they re-opened and the soup soothed tenderly down his throat, it suddenly hit him how right she truly was, how right she always was. That diner really did have the best soup.

Walter saw her smiling back, even if no one else did.