Well you see Elvis died at 42

He could never get over Elvis dying at 42. Then John Lennon got shot and Kurt Cobain shot himself. He could feel the world collapsing around him. 9/11 happened and his sister confirmed that she was a lesbian, at the same time. What does a man do in a moment of crisis like that? He found solace in this girl called Marianne and they got married and divorced all in a span of three years. He was dissatisfied with his job. He liked designing, but not potato chip packets. He was an artist. Or so he liked to believe. He painted every Sunday in front of the big window facing the lake. Not the scenery outside or anything…I mean come on …it would be the same damn thing all the time then…he did that just once. Maybe twice. Once in water colours, and once in charcoal. He just liked the place, that’s all.

She battled with weight all her life. She tried very hard not to be a cliché. She proved everyone wrong by being happy. She got married and had two children. She had many friends. She had a small, but nice house. She liked to hum songs while changing diapers and cooking. Her husband stayed away a lot. Maybe for work, maybe not. But she did not fret. She was not a worrier. She believed everything happened for a reason, and she couldn’t fight destiny. She read poetry in her free time. She worked in a bookshop. But had to quit after the birth of her second son. But she was fine with that. Really.


They met at the park. Battery Park. He was walking his dog. She was out with her children. Yes, they were lonely. What else did you think? All they needed to do was to meet. And like I said, they did.

Well of course, they fell in love. But she didn’t leave her husband, and he still went to work. They both dreamed of leaving their dreary lives behind and search for a new house in Tuscany that faced the sea. But who doesn’t?

They always met at Battery Park. They talked. They dreamed. They watched her children play. He sometimes painted amidst the falling autumn leaves. She admitted that she used to play the piano and had hoped to play professionally someday. But their house was too small for a piano. And she didn’t have the time anyway. He said he wanted to be Elvis. And was. Every Halloween. They laughed often. Sometimes, if they were hungry, they had a little something from somewhere nearby. She wondered if turning vegetarian would help. He was considering asking for a raise.

Her husband did not recognize the slightly bald, short-sighted man who came to his wife’s funeral. He had something to say. He said “Well, you see Elvis died at 42. And I never got over that. She helped me to. Now I wonder who’ll help me get over her”. He missed her a lot. He was a sentimental man. He quit his job, sold his paintings, got a house in Tuscany that faced the sea and shifted into it a grand piano.