Moon Sonata | A Compilation Of Stories

(EN) 5th Avenue of the Silent Park

5th Avenue of the Lonely Park

"Of course, I will be there. Don't worry, honey," the lady moved her lips, forming clear words, allowing me to read them.

I didn't know the answer at the other side of the phone, all I listened was silence, but the lady, she didn't like what she heard. Her too small nose wrinkled in a very displeased gesture, her dark brown eyebrows furrowed together while she ran her pink long nails through her equally dark brown hair.

Very displeased, indeed.

Yes, the lady could use some silence too.

I moved my attention from the irritated and now boring lady to a gentleman not very far from her. The gentleman didn't look much nicer either, with his dark expensive suit, dirty blonde hair, square and perfectly chiseled jaw and straight nose, he was the personification of money. He was also the personification of fury and power, and the perfect example for the words handsome, too.

Too bad he didn't know the meaning of silence either.

"I don't care what you have to do to get it!" the gentleman almost screamed at the phone. I knew this, not because I heard him, I didn't; but because his thin lips formed an even more thin line before he opened them wide to mouth very furious words.

I also knew then that, whoever was at the other side of then phone, would do as he said.

Taking a deep, steady breath, the gentleman moved his long fingers through his blonde hair, messing what used to be perfectly styled hair strands. His ear never left the phone in his hand while he heard carefully what the poor victim at the other side of the line had to say.

But what I had to say was that messy looked good on him. I didn't understand why people wanted perfection so badly sometimes.

And to be honest, I didn't understand why people wanted to talk so much all the time, either. Talking seemed to be a very useless waste of time when you could always show them what you really meant to say.

Or maybe I just didn't understand people at all.

The gentleman, I realized, wasn't at the phone anymore, but sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden behind his strong hands, rubbing at it as if all his problems would disappear with that simple gesture.

He looked angry, but more strangely, he looked lonely.

I stood from the bank I was sitting on just a few lamps from him. Carefully looking from one side to the other for the usual reckless cyclist practicing on the park and deeming it to be safe, and crossed the path to were the gentleman was, two banks at the right from the boring and irritated lady from earlier.

The woman still didn't look nicer, but, I noticed, that she, for once, didn't seem lonely -or angry-, anymore.

Surprisingly, the gentleman didn't look up to see who was the person who sat next to him, but he did spoke angry words I never heard. The wind took them away for me.

Gently, I tapped his shoulder, trying to bring his attention from the poor innocent floor to the equally innocent me.

At least the floor won't suffer now, I thought. He seamed to be very intent on making someone suffer for his problems. It might as well take the poor pavement place.

Yet, he didn't look up.

I huffed, a little angry with the man for ignoring me -since I couldn't precisely call him a gentleman now, could I?-, scoot closer on the bank to him and tapped him more firmly on the shoulder.