tender is the night

Tonight I decided to take the 12:40 bus home from Union Station and this left me with an hour or so to loiter at the lobby of the Royal York. I leaned back on the big armchair and I thought, what a fine evening I had, very good friends, thoughtful conversations, dreams, a walk along the waterfront in a healthy optimistic body. A group of tourists filed in to the lobby. They were all senior folks and they were lining up and waiting around the reception to check in to their rooms. What struck me was they were all very happy-looking. And I thought, from a distance, what is it exactly that characterizes them as old folks? And I saw, yes, they had grayish hair and the way they dressed was more conservative, and the one thing I suddenly noticed was all the men had hunched backs. I thought about if I kept exercising to stay healthy whether when I get to age seventy I could still keep my back straight. Most importantly, these old folks were all happy and light and none of them showed any tired eyes that many young people (including I) had in this past-midnight hour after a night of living it out. They were waiting happily for their hotel rooms. And me, I was waiting for my bus.

The lady sitting on the armchair next to mine struggled to stand up and she stuttered while she walked. Her husband clasped her arm and led her slowly to the elevator. I saved this image in my mind.

At the far end of the lobby was the banquet hall where a party was coming to an end but they were still playing some contemporary pop in their very loud speakers and a few women in fancy low-back dresses passed by here and there. The so-called love songs they played were nothing more than the repetitive tunes I hear in donut shops. I questioned what could be so special about dancing to clichéd songs like that.

I felt more at peace watching these old folks wait so pleasantly for their hotel rooms. And there I was, comfy in my armchair, amongst them.

I put my head back and the bronze lights around the lobby blurred and smeared a little when my eyes got watery. It felt like a Fitzgerald novel. Right above me, at the upper level veranda, a custodian was wiping the railing. I watched him start at one end, a bottle of spray cleanser in one hand and a white cloth on the other. When he got to the end of the railing, he moved back and I couldn’t see him anymore. Then it was about time for my bus and I got up and went.