TaJuan is an aspiring writer hoping to gain experience and growth through publishing passionate works, like this one, online for the world.
The first day of the winter solstice, and, as expected, it was freezing. The sun tried its best to give some heat, but as the day dragged on, the temperature followed until night had arrived, and hope became futile. The chilly wind cascaded across the land, penetrating the multiple layers people were dressed in. You could not escape the cold. There was simply no reason to be out that night, it was not even worth it to come and see me. That was why I found it so peculiar when I watched these two men outside conversing.
Yes, these two were just standing outside as if it was not the coldest day in the year thus far. Couldn’t this conversation be held somewhere inside, where it was warmer? But then I took a closer look at the two gentlemen. They shared similar complexion, height, heck, they could have been twins if it were not for the apparent age gap in their appearance. Thus, I concluded them to be father and son.
The fact that this conversation is not only being held outside but also between father and son raises the peculiarity of the situation… so I looked deeper. I first took a look at the father. I would imagine he would reveal the answer to my question given his age. He moved like a cartoon, so animated and bubbly. He seemed so thrilled to see his son, so I theorized that this might be a reunion of sorts. Okay, I thought, that somewhat clears some things. I theorized that the father might be returning from work or a trip or something. So why then continue this conversation outside? Why not retreat inside in comfort?
That’s when my gaze shifted to the son. His posture is much more stiff than his father, more reserved. He seemed tired, but not as if he wanted to sleep. Was he even happy to see his father? I then decided to take a look at his eyes. A person’s eyes can tell so much. They tell stories the person does not want to reveal, emotions that the person may be unable to express, or choose not to express. What I saw was a strange mixture of sadness, a hint of anger, and most importantly, serenity. Yes, the boy was calm even though his entire demeanor speaks otherwise.
The differences in their approaches to this reunion allows me to theorize their relationship. The happiness and the bubbliness of the father and the sadness and the calmness of the son made me believe that this is a strained relationship. That would explain the odd location of the meeting. The discomfort of the cold did not phase them because it could not have. They were too used to discomfort.
I could not hear the specifics of the conversation of course. I can not even confirm if any of my theories or suspicions could be correct. All I could see was the influx of emotions throughout the conversation. The father became progressively more and more emotional as the conversation went on. He would go on and on while talking. Was he trying to prolong the moment? That I probably will never know. The father tried his hardest to fight back tears (he must have not wanted to appear weak in front of his son), but, like a broken faucet, one by one the tears fell. The son stayed more or less the same in outward appearance, yet again, his eyes told a more complex story. For stretches of time he refused eye contact with his father, as if it were a strenuous act. Throughout the father’s long stretches, annoyance peered out of the son’s eyes, but also a sense of understanding. He truly empathized with the him, which is strange for a son to do towards a father. It was not to be confused with pity, but almost like the words “I hear you,” as an emotion.
They ended the conversation with a hug, and they went their separate ways. I wonder if I witnessed the final meeting of a father and son. As the father drove off, the son looked up at me with teary eyes, though I saw no sadness anymore. All I saw was hope, just hope in its purest form. Maybe I did not see the death of this relationship. Maybe, no, hopefully, I just witnessed the rebirth.