A Warm Summer’s Evening

                   A Warm Summer's Evening 

             by

                   Steven L. Wright 

     They arrived Paris well-tanned but exhausted from the frivolity surrounding the overly-rich food, generous cocktails and self-absorption of the beautiful people in the South of France. The couple looked forward to anonymity. Americans would make themselves known but the couple would find tucked-away bistros enjoyed by Parisians.

     After changing clothes they walked through Luxembourg Gardens which their hotel overlooked. Flowers were in full bloom. The park seemed quiet for an exceeding hot July afternoon. Century-old chestnut trees provided needed shade. As they sauntered hand-in-hand along the sandy footpath, they shared intimacies married couples rarely discuss. Before entering the garden cafe, she stopped and kissed him slowly and truly. She ran her fingers through his lengthy hair, tenderly kissing him again. He took her hand gently and found an outside table. Both ordered gin martinis with a twist. She took his hand again, held it and kissed it. Removed his wedding ring and slide it onto her index finger. She caressed it. And before returning it to his finger she read the inscription out loud: "Forever together, never goodbye." He smiled, recalling fifteen years earlier when she placed it on his shaking finger--both naive but eager for a shared life.

     They had decided rather suddenly to holiday in the South of France. He believed it a trip of renewal, hoping to regain a physical ability lost years earlier. She considered it an escape from unfortunate decisions. They shared a few words before sipping their drinks. Since the dryness of the gin and the lingering aftertaste of the vermouth had been described often in literature, the couple had agreed long ago to forego superlatives when sharing something exquisite. Simply enjoy the sublimity. 

     He could not ignore her look of regret. The incident occurred when he was a young man; wasn't his fault but he blamed himself. She never became upset but he understood her lingering frustration. The couple had made adjustments but everything seemed inadequate. 

     After finishing their cocktails she came over and sat on his lap, smiled and kissed him. He reciprocated, first caressing her lower neck and then lips. She looked at him, playfully slapping the right side of his face and giggled. He watched as she walked toward the washroom. Odd that she had left her phone on the table, he thought. Never liked anyone, including himself, reading texts that arrived with the intrusive 'ping.' She returned and recognised his crushed expression. Something she had seen often in their marriage. The phone had been moved from where she had left it. She didn't intend it to happen but it had. There was nothing for her to say. She reclaimed her chair, fiddled with her wedding band and remained quiet. He looked away. The intense heat was peaking. Sun worshipers shed unnecessary clothes. Dogs lapped water from nearby fountains. Birds sputtered and flapped their wings joyfully in water baths.

     He turned towards her eventually, tapping an extended right hand twice lightly on the table. She raised her head, tears descended slowly. She began to speak but stopped when he stood and walked away. She did not follow, deciding instead to discuss it later in their hotel room.

     She returned to the hotel room to find that he had changed into his running gear and left a note leaning against a bottle of champagne they had planned to enjoy later: A new life beckons for you. Someone perhaps will pick-up my belongings later.

     He had found the best way to reflect and to plan was to run. Things always made sense around the three or four mile mark. After completing about eight miles alongside the Seine he found a wine shop. Purchased a bottle of burgundy from a young lady with auburn hair and turquoise coloured eyes. She voiced concern at his physical state, pleading with him to drink water, even handing over a bottle at no charge. He paid for the wine, left the water. 

     He took a generous swig before climbing atop the wide parapet of the Alexander Bridge. It began raining. He walked fast along the narrow ledge, drinking from the half-full bottle in his right hand while waving the left hand above his head. Tourists on barges looked in curious wonderment. Concerned passer-bys urged him to get down. He paid little attention.

    "I'm a lost man in a lost world," people recalled him mumbling. "If I make it to the other side I'll begin a new life. If I don't . . .then my old life killed me."