Until the Sunset
Audrey was 94 years old. Her husband was 4 years even older. Both were sitting in a bench in front of their vacation house, a house they had built themselves back when their children were still in primary school.
They were holding hands and remembering a bunch of times they’d done stupid things together. Audrey was amazed at how easily they could still laugh at stuff they had remembered a thousand times before.
— Remember when we first met? — said her husband — . You were so focused on your stuff you didn’t even pay attention when I introduced myself.
Audrey smiled. She did remember. Because she was actually trying to play it cool, and look indifferent.
— Have you imagined how our lives would be if we had never met?
— Not really — she said, and then she stopped holding hands with her husband, to say something she had planned on saying around 60 years ago.
By the time they met, all her friends had already met the love of their lives for quite some time; or at least that’s what they thought, half of them had divorced anyway, but in any case, she had these words saved for a perfect time like this.
She raised her right arm and punched her husband as hard as she could on the shoulder. He gave her a painful gaze, although he had been victim to these punches all along, he had to ask:
— What was that for?
— What took you so fucking long? — she asked with a whiny voice and frowning face.
At first he was surprised. Then he just smiled and hugged her. Then they remained there, quiet, until the sunset.
