Touch and Fade | A Short Story by Tanuki
The man wakes up at the same time every morning.
He toasts a slice of bread, and
only the sound of the butter knife echoes through the room.
He does not turn on the radio.
In the corner of the dining table, there is always a picture frame turned face down.
At nine o'clock, he picks up his cane and leaves the house.
It is exactly three hundred steps to the park.
The bench is by the pond, under a willow tree.
It is rare for anyone else to be sitting there.
The man sits there and just gazes at the pond.
Occasionally, he tears off pieces of bread crust
and tosses them to the pigeons gathering at his feet.
The pigeons are not afraid of people,
coming right up to his leather shoes.
＊＊＊
On Tuesday, a young boy was playing nearby,
kicking a ball around.
The ball rolled with too much momentum
and came to a stop at the man's feet.
The boy ran over and picked up the ball in silence.
Without even looking back,
he returned to his mother.
The man just watched as the mother gave a small bow.
＊＊＊
The next day, it rained.
He spent the whole day watching the wet, glistening, empty bench
from his window at home.
＊＊＊
On Thursday, the park was dry.
As he sat on his usual bench,
he saw that boy again.
Today, he was playing with soap bubbles.
Rainbow-colored spheres rode the wind,
flying toward the man one by one.
One of them
touched the back of his parched hand and quietly popped.
A small, wet mark remained.
The boy was staring intently at the man
from a short distance away.
The man looked back at the boy.
Before long, the boy was called by his mother
and left without even waving goodbye.
The man stared at the almost invisible dampness
remaining on the back of his hand
until the sun began to set.
***
I return home and prepare dinner.
Only the sound of dishes clinking echoes.
After finishing the meal, the man reached out to the corner of the dining table.
The face-down photo frame
slowly rises.
This story was inspired by an article by clutch. Thank you for the wonderful article.
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