The car is new, bought by their grandson just two weeks ago. It smells expensive, feels expensive, and the touch is expensive too. She is sitting behind the wheels, about to pull out of the parking space. Like him, she is wearing big glasses, but unlike him, she is actually looking through her glasses while his are hanging just below his direct field of vision. He is wearing an old people's cap, wearing old men's jacket, way out of style unless you believe it is part of the new old people's style. His tie is by now very loose, not like when they first stepped into the hospital. The lenses of the glasses exaggerate both their wrinkles, magnifying them, almost in a ridiculing manner, especially those bags underneath their eyes. He seems helpless, sitting in the passenger seat, his arms folded. His body is small, has been shrinking for decades now. He has forgotten about it. But he resembles a small child, embracing himself as if he wants to look even smaller. He has the look of someone who always has something to say but, for the past twenty years, he has been a pretty quiet person, nothing much comes out of his mouth. But he seems otherwise. She is watching the side mirror, making sure that there is no a single car in view before she dares to pull out. They are in front of the main entrance to the Medical School, which isn't exactly next to the hospital, but when he spoke, the few times today, he insisted on parking in front of the school, not only is there a handicap area for their handicap-plated car, but he wanted to walk to the hospital. Many many years ago, many, he would repeat, many years ago, he used to sit in that cafeteria with the few friends he had. It was the beginning of his stint in this city that seems insignificant to the outside world besides its world class university. He was working for the Medical School, and hence her friends were from there. He hasn't been back since then, since many, many, many, many years ago. Today they went to see their first great grand son. It's ironic that his grand son be working in this city, but then again, it's not that ironic given the reputation of the university and the line of education-loving people in his family. He recognizes the main entrance, whose façade hasn't changed since the school was built, but everything else is changed, people have changed, their expressions have changed. He remembers, in his rotting and thinning brain, all the faces during those years, especially the pretty girls, especially the ones he fell in love with, especially even those he had connected with. None of the people he saw on the sidewalk looked like them. On the other hand, like a few decades ago, most people looked foreign, he heard foreign languages, some sounded even familiar.
The walk took very, very, very long because he was at a stage in his life where a cane was his third leg. She was in a slightly better shape than he was, slightly more fit. She has never been here before, but despite her annoyance that he had to park there, she understood that it was important for him, so that she didn't just drop him off and park inside the hospital, but instead, she walked with him. It was, as usual, a quiet walk. He pointed to a little park across the street and said, nothing, he wanted to say something, but he didn't end up uttering a word. The park used to be smaller, and there used to be lots of cheap ethnic food carts around. He never thought they would disappear; they were so popular with the doctors and researchers and everyone else in this medical area. He wanted to say this, but the throbbing sound of his fragile heart beating on the rhythm of the past memories warned him to remain quiet. He is constantly walking on a thin wire, he feels. Every step needs to be taken carefully.
The journey to the hospital had a length of about half a block, but it took them a good twenty minutes to get to the hospital door. He also remembers the small dining area behind the reception, which was now gone as this part of the building has been completely redone since many, many, many, and many years ago. But in his mind, he remembers one of the girls he had lunch with, how eager he was to have lunch with her, how readily he dropped all his work and appointments just to have lunch with her. It's strange that she is not the driver of their new car and their current life now. But he says nothing. She asks for the directions to the maternity ward, and they proceeded.
Seeing their first great grand child is a joyous occasion, but it was somehow overshadowed by the memories that are filling up his old, tired heart and his nearly blind eyes shielded by layers and layers of old man's years. He could hardly see the details of the little child, or even his own grand daughter-in-law, or hardly could hear people screaming at him in joy and amazement that they actually came. His heart was and still is in this new car distracted by that time in his life when everything changed so much and yet seems so short, and to tell someone how it fundamentally changed him to become the person he claims to be the past decades, well, that would take too long, take too many words, more words than he has uttered in the past twenty years since retirement.
Finally, the coast is clear and she pulls out gently, as if she was afraid she would hit someone dashing in front of them without warning. These young people, especially the busy ones, never look before crossing. And in silence they proceeded out of the medical area and back on the highway home.
