A Moment's Silence, Filled With Not So Silent Things
It's in the 1930's and an old, dinged up pick up truck sits quietly while a boy around the age of seventeen leans against it's side, filling up the tank at the local gas station. The boy's eyes are a bright baby blue, with a twinkle of mischief thats always hidden in their depths, just waiting for a moment's oppertunity to spark to life. The old gas station sits in front of the him, it's paint peeling and fadded, the sign making a creeking sound, on a Summer afternoon in the small town who's name is unknown. The sun shines brightly in the New Mexico sky. A cool breeze, ladden with Fall's threat and the scent of dust and chopped wood mingling with the sharp smell of gasoline, ruffles the blonde hair that hangs over the boys forehead in stubborn refusal to stay out of his eyes. A girl, no older than fifteen comes running around the corner of the rickety gas station, her gaze held by something over her should that hides in the field beyond and her laughter dances through the air, a clear and infectious sound that takes hold of your heart and you can't help but smile at.
She slows down and as she turns her gaze is caught, and with her laughter still dancing around them, they smile at each other. Two strangers in a near abandoned town.
While growing up I would hear my aunt and uncle talk about how they first met every now and again, although I never heard the entire thing. I would be sitting in some chair attempting to entertain myself at another family reunion or gathering of some sort, completely bored out of my mind, and my unlce would sit down next to me to rest his leg, probably just as bored as I was. My Uncle Earl would then tilt his head close to mine as if sharing a secret, his eyes tracking my aunt around as she visited with the rest of the family, and he would say to me in his deep, rough voice, "You know, your aunt is still as pretty as she was when I saw her come runnin' around the beat up ol' station." He would then straighten up and beam proudly at her, his baby blue eyes still bright, and that twinkle still more than apparent. My aunt still has the same laugh I hear with that image
Now, that image with the old gas station may not have happened, but everytime my uncle and aunt would smile at each other across an entire mob of relatives, eyes shinning as if sharing a private joke, it was this image that would pop into the forefront of my mind. They had been married for fifty-some-odd years and would still act every bit the courting couple. At this gatherings I would be delegated to a random corner where every one would pass by every now and again to comment on how pretty and intelligent a young lady my parents had raised. When I was fifteen I was considered too old to be horsing around with the other kids, but too young to really have any interest in what the adults were talking about. As my uncle's health declined he was soon delagated to the same corner. When I finally grew up enough to find interest in adult conversation I still found it much more interesting to sit with him and listen to his stories. He would always flirt outrageously and laugh at everything. Even when his memory dimmed and his mind lost the ability to focus on a certain subject for an extended amount of time, he never forgot to mention at least once how they first met and how he knew that she was the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
I constantly find myself wondering what it would be like to spend nearly sixty years with someone and still be so dedicated. In an age where divorce is as common as a hang nail, I find it hard to imagine. I only hope that I can find something as long lasting and fulfilling as what they had together.
The last time I saw him he didn't know who I was. Every so often during a lull in the conversation he would lean towards me and ask who my parents were. I would tell him and he would nod like he understood even though I could see in his eyes that he didn't. He would then pat my hand and comment on how pretty he though my eyes were and how they reminded him of Mary Fox's grandson. Mary Fox was my father's grandmother.
Earl Moore died January 11th, 2006. His 60th wedding anniversary would have been next week. I will always remember him as a kind man with a great sense of humor and see him when he was young, leaning up against that old truck, smiling with the young girl that is now my aunt, while the sun shone brightly and a fall breeze danced around them.
She slows down and as she turns her gaze is caught, and with her laughter still dancing around them, they smile at each other. Two strangers in a near abandoned town.
While growing up I would hear my aunt and uncle talk about how they first met every now and again, although I never heard the entire thing. I would be sitting in some chair attempting to entertain myself at another family reunion or gathering of some sort, completely bored out of my mind, and my unlce would sit down next to me to rest his leg, probably just as bored as I was. My Uncle Earl would then tilt his head close to mine as if sharing a secret, his eyes tracking my aunt around as she visited with the rest of the family, and he would say to me in his deep, rough voice, "You know, your aunt is still as pretty as she was when I saw her come runnin' around the beat up ol' station." He would then straighten up and beam proudly at her, his baby blue eyes still bright, and that twinkle still more than apparent. My aunt still has the same laugh I hear with that image
Now, that image with the old gas station may not have happened, but everytime my uncle and aunt would smile at each other across an entire mob of relatives, eyes shinning as if sharing a private joke, it was this image that would pop into the forefront of my mind. They had been married for fifty-some-odd years and would still act every bit the courting couple. At this gatherings I would be delegated to a random corner where every one would pass by every now and again to comment on how pretty and intelligent a young lady my parents had raised. When I was fifteen I was considered too old to be horsing around with the other kids, but too young to really have any interest in what the adults were talking about. As my uncle's health declined he was soon delagated to the same corner. When I finally grew up enough to find interest in adult conversation I still found it much more interesting to sit with him and listen to his stories. He would always flirt outrageously and laugh at everything. Even when his memory dimmed and his mind lost the ability to focus on a certain subject for an extended amount of time, he never forgot to mention at least once how they first met and how he knew that she was the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
I constantly find myself wondering what it would be like to spend nearly sixty years with someone and still be so dedicated. In an age where divorce is as common as a hang nail, I find it hard to imagine. I only hope that I can find something as long lasting and fulfilling as what they had together.
The last time I saw him he didn't know who I was. Every so often during a lull in the conversation he would lean towards me and ask who my parents were. I would tell him and he would nod like he understood even though I could see in his eyes that he didn't. He would then pat my hand and comment on how pretty he though my eyes were and how they reminded him of Mary Fox's grandson. Mary Fox was my father's grandmother.
Earl Moore died January 11th, 2006. His 60th wedding anniversary would have been next week. I will always remember him as a kind man with a great sense of humor and see him when he was young, leaning up against that old truck, smiling with the young girl that is now my aunt, while the sun shone brightly and a fall breeze danced around them.
posted by Crystal at 9:45 PM
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