Laughter and Tears

            Margret shuffled along the sidewalk in her usual way. She was slow and deliberate as she finished her morning walk to the corner store for Frank's newspaper. She felt autumn in the air as the breeze settled in her bones. There was a certain quiet in the mornings with a few people on the boulevard at that time. Frank used to be the one who went on morning strolls not so long ago. She began to see the appeal of making the short trip before the city truly woke. The slumber of dawn was full of possibilities and things yet to happen. Her future was not full of sunshine but the complete opposite.

            As she passed the café she peered through the windows. She always hated the trendy addition to her beloved boulevard. She would always think of this spot as Joseph's Emporium with all its trinkets. Not this horrible café full of pretentious youth on their portable computer devices. Whatever compelled someone to sit in public and act like they were alone? What was the purpose in that she thought? Although today she noticed something different as she glared into the café. A young girl in her twenties with soft curls framing the delicate curves of her slender face smiled broadly as she spoke with a long haired boy that she had seen there many mornings as she passed the place. There was a certain comfort in the way the girl looked at the boy and how he reciprocated. Margret was taken back to her own youth when she met Frank on this very street. He was rather dapper in his fedora, leaning against the light pole on the corner of Boulevard and Main. He was smoking and peering out from under the rim of his hat. How she loved that devilish twinkle he had in his eyes. Frank had grinned from the corner of his mouth and tipped his hat. She knew from that moment that she would be with no other.

            As she shuffled by the café she caught her reflection grinning back at her. She could not recall the last time she had smiled. The world began to cloud over as she fought back tears.

            As she got home she placed the newspaper in the corner with the others, discarded remnants of old routines. The apartment was stuffy and stagnant but she knew the fresh air would only chill Frank. She found him in his chair by the window where she had left him. He was looking out the window yet his eyes seemed to cast out beyond the row of buildings that framed the boulevard.

            “It's a beautiful morning for a walk” she said.

            Frank did not even stir at the sound of her voice. His eyes were fixed on the window or somewhere beyond deep in the recesses of his mind. She stroked his thinning white hair and kissed the top of his head.

            Margret stepped into the kitchen, resting her palms on the yellowing Formica of the counter top; she tried to steady herself as the tremors began in her gut. She tried not to cry, to be strong for Frank but she found herself mourning her husband. He sat in the other room and yet he was already gone. That devilish twinkle long ago faded into a distant stare. But the tears came today and she didn't hold back.

            She recalled the pretty young girl in the café and how enamored she had been for the boy. It reminded her of why she dedicated herself to what was left of Frank. She realized she never gave up on him. He had to be in there, his soul trapped behind a traitorous mind. Her cries came in gasping sobs as she chocked back, hand cupping her mouth. Frank might hear and she didn't want him to worry. She laughed at the absurdity of her concern - laughter and tears.

            She felt she was now losing her mind. She took a deep breath to calm herself and stood in the dank kitchen wondering if she could find a way to bring her Frankie back. She wanted to see his smile and hear his dry jokes as he gave her that sly smirk. She found him still staring blankly into the sunny morning air.

            “Would you like me to go to Demeres' and get a nice mango?” She asked.

            “I know you love mangoes the most and the fruit market has the best” She continued.

            It was then she caught a shift in his gaze. He scanned away from the window toward her voice. His eyes transfixed on her and he simply stared.

            She had not seen any glimpse of acknowledgment in so long it was like a prayer being answered. A miracle of muscle turning Frank's eyes in response to her voice, she would later question if her imagination had gotten the better of her but she thought she caught a glimmer of the devilish glint in his eye.
            She almost forgot that her seventy-eight year old legs would not support her rush out of the apartment – searching her handbag without an upward glance. She stumbled down the last steps and into a small fair haired boy with his hands over his ears. He didn't even have time to dodge as he fell onto the concrete. There were no tears. The boy quietly sat on the pavement observing his torn jeans and bleeding knee with disinterest. Margret felt horrible that in her excitement to retrieve a mango she had been oblivious of others.

            “Are you okay, son?” She asked.

            “I've seen worse” He whispered. She barely heard his words - he avoided her eyes.

            “I need to get to school” He said, scurrying up and checking his palms for additional wounds.

            “Can I help?” She asked.

            “Help with what?” he said in confusion. He never got any help any other miserable day of his life. What could an old lady do to help? He hurried off and left the lady without a further glance back.

Margret’s concern for the boy turned to her mission for fruit and a heart full of hope.