It’s All About Perspectives

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Perspective 1

The old woman watches as the couple walk  by as the man cries, pulling his hand away and covering his face.  The woman doesn’t say anything, but continues to walk as if nothing is happening.

The old woman sits and watches the couple in a distance.

The man stops walking and says something to the woman.  The woman looks at him and shakes her head.  She continues to walk but the man stops her by putting his hand on her shoulder.

The old woman doesn’t want to stare, so she pretends to knit her sweater.  The old woman watches the couple for a few minutes. The man is talking to the woman and crying and the woman is just staring at him and not saying anything.

The old woman shakes her head at the couple and wishes that she had brought her hearing aid with her so she would be able to hear what they were arguing about.  It seemed that these young people these days, were always arguing about something.

Perspective 2

I yank my hand away from Sara’s. I don’t understand how she can act like nothing is wrong with this whole situation.  She has always been like that.  Calm in the storm.

We continue walking and I know that old lady on the bench is probably watching us now, but I am so angry that I don’t even care to make a scene.  I glance over at Sara and her expression hasn’t changed.

The woman has just told me the most horrible news and she is acting like she just told me she got some milk from the grocery store.

I stop walking and I stop her in her tracks by touching her shoulder.  Sara stops walking and looks at me.  “Are you not afraid? Are you not upset? Are you not mad at the universe?”

Sara looks at me, there is a tear that has fallen on her cheeks.  She shakes her head, “What good would that do me?”

“I don’t know,  Sara.  Maybe it would show me you care!”  I say to her under my breath.

Perspective 3

Stan and I just passed the old lady on the bench.  She gave me a little wink and I couldn’t help but smile back.  It was a bit awkward to smile while your husband was crying,  but there was no reason to be angry anymore.

I just told Stan what has been going on for the last few months.  I was hoping that when I told him the truth, it would be with us being thankful that it was all behind us.

My doctor told me that I had to tell Stan myself or he was going to.   Stan let go of my hand and continued to cry.  I couldn’t feel anything, it was his time to grieve.  I had already done that.

“How much time?”  Stan asked me.

“A few months….” I began but trailed off. “I don’t want to focus on that, I have so much I want to do.”

Stan stopped me gently by placing his hand on my shoulder.  He always does that when he wants my undivided attention.  He looked so crushed, so small and so alone.  I couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Are you not afraid? Are you not upset? Are you not mad at the universe?” Stan asked me.

I wasn’t even sure what to say.  I was all of those things.  I was afraid to die.  I was afraid of the cancer in my breast.  I was upset. I was angry! I was mad at God.  But none of those things changed the fact that I had cancer and that I was dying.

I was more sad for my husband, who was standing in front of me crying because he valued my life and me so much.   I know how lucky I was to have  a man who loved me for so many years of my life.

I continued walking and took hold of my husband’s hand in mine.  It was so beautiful out today that I wanted to enjoy it with Stan before it was too late.

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