Tears in Autumn

"What advice do you generally give these women?" She asked.

"I listen mostly. Most of the time, the solution is already in their subconscious mind. They just needed the confirmation to act upon it." He said.

"Is it an easy job since most of what you do is only listen?" She asked.

Now, he turned towards her somewhat in awe. Most of the time, it would hurt his ego to say that his job was more of an Agony Aunt. He listened, offered them a cup of tea and nodded at intermittent intervals of five minutes. Yet with her, he felt pulled to honesty because he knew she was not judging. She was just asking as a matter of fact.

"Yes, it is rather easy. Sometimes, to be honest, when I am tired, I do not really concentrate on the long tirades of patients. I just pretend I am listening." He said.

He did say it. He felt as light as a feather now that the burden was lifted off his chest finally. Not that he was thinking about trumpeting to the world his dirty little secret.

"We all have tired days. At least you don't prescribe medication. The worst you can do is put them on the charge list for a hefty consultation fee. Then again, mostly paid by insurance. Not hurting anyone." She said.

He realised that she was trying to make him feel better about the fact that sometimes he did not listen to his patients.

"You're right." He said.

"...but it is not professional." He continued.

She shook her head.

"I have a duty of care to my patients to give them the best treatment possible." He said.

Now she nodded.

He felt her acknowledging everything that he was saying in those few words. By not saying much, he felt that she was really listening to him. It gave him a sense of comfort and of warmth for he had never talked about his work to anyone. Not in the past five years at least. He was in his mid-forties, and he had known it in his heart that he was weary about his job. He himself was not sure if he was suited to this field anymore. All the same inconsequential yet complicated problems. All took its toll on him. Year in and year out.

He lived alone, was single and had relationships on and off over the years. There was also a pregnancy scare by one of his girlfriends ten years ago, but luckily it was a false alarm. He was just not ready to be with that woman raising a child together although he did enjoy her company. He was indifferent towards children. Never felt the desire to raise one, although he felt proud of his nephews and nieces from his brother's side of the family.

"I'm sure you have a high patient satisfaction rate." She said.

"I guess so. Sometimes the less you say, the wiser your patients think you are. Give them some Eastern mantra and they go home and think it over." He said.

"Perhaps you feel that you could do better." She said.

"Yes, I do." He said.

"Don't we all?" She had replied.

"As long as I live, I want the best for myself." He said.

What he did not say was that he did not know what was best for himself. He was disillusioned with his life. First it started with his unsatisfying career, then it seemed to have crept into his love life and finally whole life. He felt like he was living a mundane experience.

Then the conversation ended. They had driven right up to her house in Glenville.

She thanked him and wished him a good night. He watched until after he entered her front porch and closed the door behind her. She was aware that he was looking out after her so she tried to speed the process of getting in the house as quickly as possible.

The next day at the exact low-peak hour, he was back at her coffee joint. She treated him as she always did. There was no mention of yesterday's dinner. He would like to meet her again and chat with her more after work, but he did not know how to bring it up.

He saw that there were other customers behind him. He was not sure if she was comfortable talking to him in-between serving other customers. So he kept quiet. As was the joint's routine, she wrote out his name on the Styrofoam cup and when his coffee was being made, she called his name and almost immediately he rose from the left hand corner of the joint to collect his due coffee.

He thanked her, and she smiled. It seemed to the both of them that their eyes lingered a little longer than necessary. The unspoken moment was over as soon as it began. He walked out of the café getting his coffee but not the conversation he so craved. She did not expect him to linger long although if she were honest with herself, she would have liked the attention.

Mr. Radkin asked her how the sushi was. She told him in all honesty she did not know if she were the best judge for sushi as all sushi tasted the same to her. She rather liked the artistry put in it. The atmosphere was good though, she said. Elegant yet comfy. The lighting was perfect; not too glaring or too dark.

What did Ron think about the sushi then, asked Mr. Radkin. She thought he found it delicious, although he did not say so.

"Did he say it was delicious?" Mr. Radkin asked.

"No, but he did eat a lot and I think it was a sign that he liked it." She replied.

"Are you meeting him again?" Mr. Radkin asked again.

"Oh no. It was a one-off thing." She said.

"I don't go out with customers." She continued hastily.

"As long as it is outside your working hours, it is fine with me." Her boss said.

"Ok." She replied.

Mr. Radkin could not read her expression in the sense that he could not tell if she wanted to go out with Ron or otherwise. She was always very guarded in her facial expression, albeit in a pleasant way. He knew that she had gone through a lot, and thought that a distraction out of routine might do her some good.

"He seems like a nice person. It's always nice to make new friends, no?" He asked.

"I agree." She said, wondering what all the fuss was about.

At seven pm sharp, she was on the verge of pulling down the joint's blinders when she saw Ron walking towards the joint. Surprised, she stopped midway.

"I did not get the chance to speak to you today." He said.

"I'm sorry." She said, again wondering what this big fuss about getting together was all about.

She was used to people treating her indifferently. She was also used to people who pitied or looked down on her because of her disability. Never had she met anyone who was inspired or wanted to be like her. She did not care anymore. Her automatic response was to apologize and decline every statement of friendship or invitation.

"Don't say sorry. May I drive you home or maybe we can have dinner together again?" He asked.

"That's really nice but I am afraid that I have to decline." She said.

He wondered if she was declining only the dinner or the drive home.

"I'll drive you home?" He asked.

He chose one option and she shook her head.

"I'll wine and dine with you?" He then proceeded to ask.

He smiled at her, wondering if she appreciated the phrase wine and dine. It sounded grand to him.

With option two, she shook her head yet again.

She was however conscious of not wanting to hurt his feelings. She did not want to have any impact on anyone.

"Why?" He asked.

He appeared concerned yet there was no reason for him to think she needed food or transport.

She was not sure how to answer. She just did not want the extra emotional baggage which comes with being disappointed after friendships had left. She had done that, experienced heartbreak and decided that any more deep feelings were only bad for health. After her accident, she had lost a lot of friends. She had spent three years after the accident going for physiotherapy in order to get to where she was today.

In the beginning, many of her friends accompanied her, but they soon wavered off. She realised that she had not been able to join her friends for activities anymore. She was a really sporty person, and so were her group of friends. Now she could only provide emotional support. She was not able to go swimming anymore, something which she and her best friend shared. Maybe she had never formed deep friendships in the first place.

He saw that she had difficulty articulating her answer. He was patient. He did not want her to feel uncomfortable with him for whatever reason. For this reason, he need not wait for an answer. He knew she was trying not to hurt his feelings.

"Option three - can I have the honour of walking with you to the train station?" He asked.

Her heart skipped a beat. Not at all had she seen that remark coming.

"Yes." She said, and promptly placed her hands on his arms.

"Shall we?" She asked now.

"Yes, princess." He said, also smiling.

She liked that he called her princess. She never had high confidence of herself, even before the accident. After the accident, she felt like a toad instead. The very gesture of her hand on his arms made him call her princess, as if she were being chaperoned into a ball.

"Then you must be the prince." She said.

She tried to stifle a giggle. She had wanted to say "my prince" but decided against it. After all, they were too old to play princess and prince.

He laughed. He had not thought of himself as a prince. They all came in tall, dark and handsome. They always came dashing in. He only dashed in. He had rather harsh features and was not handsome in the conventional sense.

It was a rather languid but pleasant walk to the station. The streets were quite devoid of people, and they were able to chatter without being conscious. They both felt at ease. She was at ease because it was only a short walk of twenty minutes, and she was not going out of her way for anything. Less chances of getting dumped, in her own terms, whether by a friend or a lover. It does not matter. All types of people wearing different hats were the same at the end of the day. He was at ease because she was at ease, and for the fact that he was able to have an unfettered conversation with her.

"How's work today?" He asked her.

"You already know my standard answer." She said playfully.

"I do, but really..." He asked again.

He appeared genuinely interested. He caused her to stop midway, and she appeared to be in deep thought.

"It is rather monotonous. Roughly the same crowd comes in every day. And the occasional tourist. It's a business district here so you don't see new people. Most people are in a hurry. You know about the morning and noon rush here. Some just grunt out their order. Others do try to make small talk, like you. After lunch, it gets quiet. We make most profit in the mornings so we can afford to keep the joint open till seven." She replied.

He wondered about the other friendly customers and how much she liked them, or they; her. He knew that he felt an affinity with her. He wondered if those customers felt the same.

"Do you like your job?" He asked.

"I do." She said, beaming.

"I know it is not interesting or a particularly fashionable job. But at least I have a job. In this condition, I am lucky to be having a job in the first place. Most employers prefer an able-bodied employee." She said, obviously referring to her disability.

"There are laws protecting people who have physical disadvantages. You are equally entitled to all the same jobs." He said.

He felt a little pained saying the word disadvantage because he thought that she was simply perfect. Yet he could not find a better word.

"I am a cripple. I am handicapped. I am lame. Whatever terminology used, it doesn't change my condition. It's ok. I accept that. People have grown more politically correct over the years." She said simply.

He looked deep into her eyes then.

"You're so much more." He said in a firm voice.

Their gazes locked and she pulled her gaze away, looking down.

"Subtly the employers just don't employ you. They tell you that they have found a more suitable candidate." She said.

She mentioned then that she had gone through a three hundred job applications before she got this job.

"That's their loss." He said.

She appreciated the way he was being kind to her.

"Mostly I like the job because it follows the same routine every day. I feel calm when I have a routine. I had a nervous breakdown after my accident but this job kept me sane. The routine is what I need." She said.

His other free hand gently touched her hands which were upon his arms.

"Do you mind if I became part of your routine?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" She said, barely registering the meaning of his question.

"I would like to book a time slot with you after work. I would like to walk with you to the station every evening. It gives me joy to engage in your routine. Plus I do enjoy talking to you." He said.

"Perhaps after a few conversations, you would find that I am far from interesting." She said.

"Well, I dare say you would find the same about me." He had answered.

She did not reply but looked ahead. So did he then. They walked towards the station arm in arm, oblivious to the world around them.

Her train arrived within ten minutes of them arriving at the station. She got in, and felt really light and happy to be alive in the now. She had not felt that way for a long time. Light as a feather.

He walked out of the station to the wellness centre car park. He got in the car, and felt really light and happy to be alive in the now. He had always felt light when he saw her at the coffee joint. Now spending even more time with her, he felt even lighter. There was no logical explanation, and he thought perhaps he might be infatuated with her. He tried to drown that out by thinking that perhaps it was misguided compassion. After all, she was physically disadvantaged.

The next few weeks saw them meeting each other twice a day. The first during his mid-noon break and the second after she closed the joint for the day. During this time, they found that they really had a good rapport with each other. She considered him a friend for the moment, not daring to wish for more, while he considered her someone he had grown fond to. He thought of the possibility of getting too involved but he brushed it aside. Perhaps it was just that he never had someone whom he could talk to so freely before.

He had friends but along the years, they had grown estranged due to career and family. Along the years, he had found himself increasingly alone while his friends started families and naturally spent more time with them. That said, he liked the contents of her mind and thought that she was very intelligent yet did not want to appear so.

On her part, she enjoyed him as a routine. At the back of her mind though, she worried that this routine would not last, and she would be alone again. She thought of stopping this before it went too far, but could not bring herself to as she was enjoying it a lot. She enjoyed the fact that he seemed genuinely interested in everything she had to say, and he never once mentioned her disability after the initial conversation. He made her feel pretty and more confident about herself. Sometimes she could almost forget about her disability.

Winter made its slow but tiring descent onto earth. Gradually the trees shed their leaves and daylight became scarce. It was now three months into their friendship. They met five days of the week yet never once had they exchanged phone numbers and never had they spoken for longer than half an hour a day. Be it rain or shine, they walked. Sometimes with an umbrella, sometimes just soaking wet for want of an umbrella. This usually meant that they both foresaw not that it would rain later in the evening.

On one of these rainy days, he just did not turn up in the afternoon and when she closed the joint. It made her wonder in the beginning, and then she thought he would definitely turn up in the evening. Yet he did not. She grew worried after waiting for half an hour. She chided herself too. Perhaps he was just busy. After all, they never made arrangements to meet. It was always impromptu. This was the one time she felt that it was really handy to have his cell phone number. That evening, she walked alone to the station; drenched and sunken. She had missed him.

The next day, because she was utterly and reprehensibly worried (in her own words) she decided to drop by at his practice. She was not very confident navigating through the posh building. She was bad at directions. After wrong turns, she found his office and was met by a cheerful woman at the reception.

"Is Doctor Drake in?" She asked.

She had just known his surname from the board outside his office. She realised how little concrete stuff she knew about him. She only knew abstract, inconsequential things about this man.

"Yes, he is in. Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist asked.

"No." She said, feeling absolutely relieved by the fact that he was alive and well.

"Would you like to make an appointment?" The receptionist asked again.

She shook her head, said her thanks and was going to leave. So he was alive. Nothing to be worried about. He just did not feel like meeting her yesterday. She felt calmer now and was chiding herself for being overly worried when of all people he appeared at his consultation door.

As providence would have it, they stood facing each other. He was surprised to see her, and vice-versa. She did not expect him to appear out of the door just that moment. The timing was bad enough!

"Lily." He called out to her.

It was short and curt. Very professional.

"Dr. Drake." She said, smiling as she tried to manoeuvre past him to get to the corridor.

"Did you come to see me?" He asked, speaking hastily when he realised that she was about to leave his practice.

What agility in her which he had not seen before! For one with a limp, it was really impressive. She was after all a former athlete.

She did not want to say that she wanted to check if he were alive and kicking. It sounded so stupid now. For there he was, so alive and kicking up a fuss at the door.

"I was just passing by and thought that I'll drop by and see where you work." She said.

"Well, here I am and this is my office. Would you like me to show you around?" He asked.

His voice was much gentler now, and it sent shivers to her spine. She just found it odd because he had never spoken to her in such a tone before. Therefore she found his remarks bordering on sarcasm.

She shook her head.

"It's a nice waiting area." She said.

She made brief but succinct comments on the paintings he had on the wall and the aquarium with big, fat-bellied goldfishes swimming around.

"Do come in to my office. There is a similar pre-Raphaelite painting inside." He said.

They were both aware that the receptionist was paying attention to their conversation.

"Nell, could you get both of us a cup of coffee?"

He turned to the receptionist. She nodded and proceeded into a room opposite his.

"About yesterday...I am sorry I was not there." He said.

"It's ok." She said.

"I wanted to call you but I did not have your number." He said.

"It's ok." She said again.

Yet she did not offer to give him her number.

"Let me make it up to you. We go for dinner tonight." He said.

She shook ahead. She thought it best that they not meet again, but she was never good at telling people things which were unpleasant, because she knew how it felt like to be on the receiving end.

"I'm busy tonight. But who knows, I'll see you for coffee soon." She said.

"Please do come see my office before you go." He said.

"Ok." She said.

She made a mental note of how many times she had said "ok". She felt that she should really widen her vocabulary with some longer, more sophisticated words which basically meant "ok".

He showed her in, and at once she saw the painting he meant. It stood out as it was huge and beautiful. She liked it in a sad way. The scenery was wild and there was so much passion in the painting. It showed turbulent seas with high waves. From the rocky shore, a young woman; her head half-turned, was looking at a ship struggling to keep afloat.