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A gently Caress
Michael and I hardly noticed when the waitress came and placed the plates on our table．We were seated in a small deli tucked away2) from the bustle3) of Third Street，in New York City．
Our exchange was lively，if not profound．We laughed about the movie that we had seen the night before and disagreed about the meaning behind the text we had just finished for our literature seminar．He told me about the moment when he had taken the drastic step into maturity by becoming Michael and refusing to respond to “Mickey．”Had he been twelve or fourteen？He couldn't remember，but he did recall that his mother had cried and said he was growing up too quickly．As we bit into our blueberry blintzes，I told him about the blueberries that my sister and I used to pick when we went to visit our cousins in the country．I recalled that I always finished mine before we got back to the house，and my aunt would warn me that I was going to get a very bad stomachache．Of course，I never did．
As our sweet conversation continued，my eyes glanced across the restaurant，stopping at the small corner booth where an elderly couple sat．Her floral print dress seemed as faded as the cushion on which she had rested her worn handbag．The top of his head was as shiny as the soft－boiled egg on which he very slowly nibbled．She also ate her oatmeal4) at a slow，almost tedious pace．
But what drew my thoughts to them was t heir undisturbed silence．It seemed to me that a melancholy5) emptiness permeated6) their little corner．As the exchange between Michael and me fluctuated7) from laughs to whispers，confessions to assessments，this couple's poignant8) stillness called to me．How sad，I thought，not to have any thing left to say．Wasn't there any page that they hadn't yet turned in each other's stories？What if that happened to us？
Michael and I paid our small tab and got up to leave the restaurant．As we walked by the corner where the old couple sat，I accidentally dropped my wallet．Bending over to pick it up，I noticed that under the table，each of their free hands was gently cradled in the other's．They had been holding hands all this time!
I stood up and felt humbled by the simple yet profound act of connection I had just been privileged to9) witness．This man's gentle caress of his wife's tired fingers filled not only what I had previously perceived as an emotionally empty corner，but also my heart．Theirs was not the uncomfortable silence whose threat one always feels just behind the punch line or at the end of an anecdote10 on the first date．No，theirs was a comfortable，relaxed ease，a gentle love that knew it did not always need words to express itself．They had probably shared this hour of the morning with each other for a long time，and maybe today wasn't that different from yesterday，but they were at peace with that，and with each other．
Maybe，I thought as Michael and I walk ed out，it wouldn't be so bad if someday that was us．Maybe，it would be kind of nice．
by Daphna Renan
