Toria Burch: The meeting

The Meeting

The girl saunters up the path, sandwich in one hand, paperback in the other. Sun filters through the bare branches, lighting dirty snow that still lingers on the grass. She shivers and pulls her scarf more closely around her neck. Then closing her eyes briefly, as if forcing herself to be calm, she continues towards the kiosk. A man walks towards her, phone held up to his face. Is he filming her? She starts and turns her face away, but he continues past oblivious, gesticulating as he argues with some invisible partner. On a bench by the far wall, one of the city’s many homeless snores beneath a heap of old newspaper and blankets. Otherwise the park is nearly deserted. A dog trots among the trees, tail wagging happily as it sends squirrels scampering up the trunks. The girl stops and watches it, a smile on her face. Then the frown returns as she squares her shoulders and looks around.

 A man is leaning against the wall of the shuttered kiosk, his face to the sun as he reads his magazine. Face blank now, the girl sweeps grey snow off one end of the bench by the kiosk and sits on the cold metal slats. She pulls the book from her pocket and flicks through the pages.

      ‘Mind if I join you?’

      ‘Oh – oh, do, of course, there’s plenty of room’. She moves up a little, eyes focused on her book. The man sits, dropping the magazine on the bench while he unwraps a sandwich.

The girl stares at the cover of the magazine. She is holding her breath, waiting…The man turns towards her.

       ‘So many holly berries left for the birds’ he murmurs.

       ‘Oh – yes – yes, and the ice is still thick enough for skating’ she replies quickly, her voice high. Her eyes dart to his face, then quickly back to the magazine.

       ‘You breed chinchillas? So does my brother! Is that interesting?’

       ‘It has some good articles – take a look if you like’. He hands her the magazine and returns to his sandwich.

The dog lopes past, tail still wagging as it sniffs the ground. Then it pauses, head cocked, and scrabbles at the grass where the snow has melted behind the kiosk. It shakes itself and flops down in the patch of sunlight, scratching an ear lazily.

The girl is flicking through the pages of the magazine. In the centre she finds the folded note which she slips into the palm of her fingerless mitten. Her hands are shaking and she clutches her coat collar, as if to steady herself.

       ‘That is so interesting – thank you. I wonder if my brother takes it?’

She hands the magazine back.

         ‘I find it informative’. The man slides the magazine into his pocket.

         ‘The office beckons- Good afternoon’. He stands, nods his head and walks slowly up the path toward the side gate.

The girl sits and stares intently at the grass. She seems to have forgotten her sandwich. Two small boys zoom past, wobbling and laughing on rollerskates and an old lady puffs after them, imploring them to slow down. The girl checks her watch then stands stiffly, and hands deep in her pockets, walks quickly towards the far gate.

The dog twitches as the tiny camera on his collar swivels to follow her. Then at the single electric buzz delivered by his master, he shakes himself and trots after her,  past the gate through which she exits, to the bench by the wall.

The sleeping figure stirs. Throwing off the old blankets, Simone sits up, shakes out her long hair, and punches three numbers rapidly into her phone.

‘Good boy Rufi!’ She ruffles the dog’s coat and feeds him pieces of broken biscuit as she snaps the camera from his collar, slipping it quickly into a pocket.

‘Good squirrel hunting today eh, Rufi? Home now!’