The old man

The old man sat in his chair. It was his chair because no one else ever sat there. And it was similarly his living room because no one joined him in it. And the regularity with which he awoke, showered shave and retired to his chair had grown so natural to him that many days he felt as though he did nothing more. Many days in fact he didn't truthfully do anything other than sit there and read, or watch the news. Of course the monotony was somewhat broken up with interjections. Around noon he would ask his wife about lunch, and around 6 o clock he would ask about dinner. And she would bring his meals to him in his chair. She would first open up the tv tray beside his chair and then bring his silverware and glass of milk. And finally return with his plate of food. But they wouldn't talk much. There wasn't much to say. And the old man had never liked conversation, though he did like the sound of his own voice. His wife however after 60 odd years of being talked at had cultivated the ability to ignore the sound of his voice, and rarely responded to anything he had to say. She too watched tv with great interest, from her chair in the kitchen. But they did not watch the same programs and did not share the same interests.

But once a week they got dressed, and went out dancing and the other seniors marvelled at the way they moved together, so very much together. They didn't notice that they did not speak. There was no need for conversation. They were simply dancing after all. And they had been dancing this way for years.