one sunny Sunday afternoon

A few weeks back, a friend of mine invited me to a Sunday afternoon concert with Fred Eaglesmith. Given that I love this band's music and I enjoy spending time with friends, I readily accepted. The concert was in Black Diamond, at the Hotel, and it was a perfect way to spend a Sunday. The sun was shining, it was a 40 minute drive - long enough for me to be alone in my thoughts but short enough for me to not get lost in them.

When the band took the stage, the place erupted. I guess I was not the only one who liked this band. Fred Eaglesmith is not just a singer/songwriter - he is very much an entertainer. In between songs, he talked about the band's escapades and even told a few jokes. It was fun to watch an entertainer effortlessly segue from one thought to the next and I found myself laughing, drinking (it was Sunday afternoon, afterall), tapping my toes and singing along to the music. As the music played, and the crowd relaxed into a blissful folk music-type revelry, I found myself lulled into a state of bliss myself - doing my favourite creepy thing - which is people watching.

I recognized the people that were just at the point of too many wobbly pops - they were loud and their eyes were bright, their leers at the waitress becoming more pronounced. I also saw the ones that had passed that point at 10 a.m. that morning - these ones were loud, slobbering and slurring - laughing at something they thought (and thought that they had said), and oblivious to the deep dagger-stares that were coming from people sitting close by. It was fun to watch - and then my eyes found a couple across the room and I found myself being just as drawn to them as I was to the band on the stage. No, it wasn't because I knew them. And thankfully, it wasn't someone I had dated and forgotten (that's an embarrassing story and one I may share another time). This was a couple in their sixties.

She had longer grey and white hair. She was wearing jeans and a cute corsette-type top with little flowers printed all over it. Her hair was pinned gently at the sides, and her jewelry was silver and plain, stylish but not overbearing. She was watching the band, tapping her hand to the beat of the music and bobbing her head from side to side with the rhythm of the drums.

Her companion was a man about the same age, his hair was combed back into a ponytail, his face clean shaven except for a greying goatee that framed his mouth and jaw. He wore wire rim glasses, and behind them were bright eyes that were glancing between the band and the woman seated beside him. It was the look in his eyes that caught my breath. He was enjoying the music, much as she was, but he was also - equally - enjoying watching her. He watched the band - and beamed at her.

She was not indifferent. As I watched the couple, I saw the exchange of the knowing glances, the casual - yet intimate - touch of the hand on the other's arm, the squeeze of the fingers as they held hands briefly, the colour on her cheeks as he leaned into the nape of her neck and whispered something meant only for her. These gestures, these moments that only two people who truly knew and loved each other could share. Most of the time, when I am people watching, I find myself creating a story for them - perhaps it's the writer in me, but I always seem to want to imagine a storyline for the people I watch. In coffee shops, it's quite easy to spot the people meeting for the first time. It's also entertaining to watch the body language of people and imagine how they got to this particular point in time...but this couple was different. I was not interested in what their backstory was - I was just interested in this very beautiful and tender afternoon when I was able to witness the beauty of intimacy and love.

It's hard to admit, but I was overcome with this awe of what I was witnessing, and that growing ebb of sadness that washed over me as I realized that this is something I am not likely to feel myself. If you have read any of these blogs I post, you know that I am not the luckiest or accomplished when it comes to matters of the heart. That sadness was hard to take.

I watched them for quite some time, at least until my friend leaned over and asked me 'where did you go?' and I realized that I may well be the creepy person in the bar who is gawking at someone across the bar. Not wanting to let on what I was thinking and feeling, I told my friend that I was enjoying the music. Hard to say why I didn't want to tell him about the people. Perhaps, I just wanted to revel in that moment I shared with this couple, and selfishly didn't want to share it.