Frederick & Lucy

Chaos.
Franklin Tennessee's well-off inheritance beneficiaries and credit card wielding single mothers have the ravenous look of hunger swirling deep in their retinas. They stampede the storefront of a quaint little mom & pop's delicatessen, and the line from register to entrance bears resemblance to a crinkled spine of impacted disks. You grow perpetually numb to the collective chatter of record industry executives strategizing their artist's future into oblivion, old friends catching-up, and trust fund babies planning their travel destinations. The floor is traffic-worn as if a gaggle of worried mothers had nervously paced the wooden boards waiting for their daughters to come home from their date with some sketchy looking hoodlum.


Curiosity. Do these nine-to-fivers, house-wivers and just-staying-alivers pause for even a blip in time to give thanks for their provision? I know a fraction do, because I see them bow their heads to say a blessing. Or, is that just ritual and routine? Does that twenty-something couple near the hearth dine silently because they know each other so well that there's nothing left to talk about, or do they communicate through gestures, glances and mannerisms? You start to notice minute details that your conscious automatically dismisses as trivial, or insignificant. But you secretly horde them away in the sentimental archives of your memory. A sort of folk-harvesting whereas most would let the first frost smite the abandoned acres of these extravagant treasures.


Completeness. An elderly couple takes a seat by the window. Frederick and Lucy. These two aren't just riding out the remainder of their years, or waiting for death as they lose count of how many grandchildren carry on their legacy. No, this union of complimentary spirits must have splintered from the same Siamese soul, forged in celestial plasma from burgeoning star nurseries. His honest brow still held the same expression of awe as when he first laid eyes upon her all those years ago, and her gentle countenance still reflected the halo projected by the crackling fire of passion between them; the foundation they'd built everything on. Something strikes your attention. You notice Frederick reposition his chair so that instead of sitting across from Lucy, he's sitting next to her. Could he not bear occupying the space that was only an extra few inches from her? He couldn't? He couldn't. He needed to feel that much closer to Lucy. He needed to feel that much closer to home, and she reciprocates the longing. The rest of the world vanishes as if the Hollywood backdrop fell from behind us. Frederick and Lucy are the stars on this day. Not us. They neutralize the chaos. They quench the curiosity. And supply hope for completeness.