I have always been attracted to the images of the impressionist painters depicting picnics and lazy Sunday strolls in parks along the riverbanks. People were talking and relating in those.
In literature, at least up until the mid-twentieth century, there are descriptions of drawing rooms where people sit, knit, paint and talk. Maybe, some of the conversations are banal or interesting, no matter. Paintings, drawing rooms and such had something in common: they involved communications.
Those concepts may be relating to the yesteryear.
Check this out (and pay close attention): the other day I am in London at a posh restaurant on Regent Street. As it was a hot day I decided to sit on the outside. On the other side of the restaurant window, next to me, was a table for two. At the table, there was a couple seated. In their late thirties, maybe early forties. Both relatively good looking.
One could tell there were well to do. Dressed for the occasion, the lady wearing a smart dress while the man had a jacket over a stylish shirt. Nice shoes on both. On the table he had a pack of Marlboros and a mobile while his, say, female partner just had the phone. They had ordered a bottle of red wine which they were sipping. There was some bread on the table and, it appeared, they had already ordered the food.
During the time it took me to observe the above, which involved not staring but glancing occasionally as if disinterested, not a single word was spoken between them. He kept looking at his phone; she was looking around and our eyes met inadvertently. She then picked up her phone and looked at it. As if searching for something. Those two were miles away, disconnected and, it appeared, disinterested.
When the appetizers arrived, there was a lively conversation with over-animation and smiles. The conversation lasted maybe thirty seconds, no more. Then, the man proceeded to eat and look at his phone. She didn’t right away but looked around sheepishly and then started to consult the mobile. This lasted for the duration of their main course.
Is it possible that two people had nothing to say to one another? To have run out of any conversation this early in life? Of course it is, but why go out then? Why not stay in, be alone, stay with the phone? Why drag oneself and another person through it?
After the main course was done, he stepped outside to smoke and took the phone with him. I watched him smoking and checking the phone, reading something. Meanwhile. she was alone at the table and attempted to call a number. I knew it was ringing somewhere as she held the phone horizontally to her ear. I thought she might have been calling him, but no. There was no answer to her call. She made another call. Same result. No answer. She didn’t look disappointed but remained forlorn. I thought she may be calling her lover. I never figured out if these two were married.
The dessert arrived, chocolate and strawberries. How romantic. She waited patiently.
He returned. Another animated conversation as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Many smiles, sparkling eyes. I thought the crisis may have been over. Maybe hoping for a better future. Who knows! This, too, lasted no more than forty-five seconds. Then, phones and silence. Exclusion. and non committment. Searching, searching,
He left again leaving his cigarettes on the table but, of course, not his phone.
I couldn’t figure out what he was up to. Either one of them, really.
I wondered if someone was after him and if she was ever going to connect with that imaginary lover.
I, too, lost interest and concentrated on my meal. By the time I looked in on my restaurant neighbours again they were gone. The table was empty as if no one was ever there. Maybe the whole experience was a mirage. Maybe not.
I couldn’t wait to call my wife. I had so many things to tell her.
by Mike Djordjevich
Address :
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