Grey Day (snippet1)
Written by Alexander Aspinall on Thursday the 24th of June 2010
A
couple walk arm-in-arm through the park. They haven't noticed the rain's fall
increasing. They walk along, talking and looking and laughing. They aren't
aware of the wind and the cold. They don't notice the miserable expressions on
the faces of the people walking past; people on their way to the bank; or to
the supermarket; or the doctor's; people returning home, or going to visit
friends. None of it means anything because nothing registers outside their
bubble.
In
the distance a car screeches to a halt, a dog might bark and children are
running around with unfastened coats, having been recently collected from
school. But inside the park, the couple take themselves further and further
away, following paths here, and cutting across areas of sodden grass there. It
is their day to do with as they wish. He is going to meet her parents for the
first time over dinner tonight. But thoughts of awkward conversation and
embarrassed silences are distant as they progress through the green and grey
expanse of the park.
Reaching
a spot where two main paths cross, they find a puddle blocking their progress.
The man takes off an imaginary cloak and ceremoniously places it over the
water. He then turns to the woman, bows, and beckons her across. Grinning, she
curtseys and slowly takes his hand before pretending to push him into the
water. Anticipating her playful attack, he grabs her arms and pins them behind
her back before placing a delicate kiss on her forehead, one on her nose, and
finally one on her expectant lips.