On my last weekend in Berlin, William and I wandered along Unter den Linden, a wide boulevard closed to traffic at the time because it was occupied by an army of plastic bears. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the fellows, each about two feet tall. Separated into blocs of yellow, green and blue, row upon row of the animals stood facing the same direction, as if frozen in a military parade.
They could have been a symbol of reunification, or a precursor to the upcoming fiftieth anniversary of the Berlin International Film Festival, or something else. We never found out why they were there, but there was no missing them. We stared agape at this fantastical menagerie of plastic beasts.
Across the street, a mother wheeled a stroller and stopped to show her toddler the bears. The tot struggled out of his carriage, careened on chubby legs towards a blue bear and wrapped his arms around it. With a hefty tug he picked it up and dragged it back to his stroller.
The mother caught up to him, pried the prize from her child's clutches, and replaced the statue back in line. The boy broke loose from her grip and raced back to grab the bear. Once again he got his arms around the bear's tummy and pulled the bear along the ground. That bear was going one place and one place only. The mother spoke what could only have been useless logic. She picked up the screaming, bereft child and plopped him back into his seat with tears streaming from his eyes. He stretched his arms to his blue friend.
Seriously, there are hundreds here....Who would miss one little blue bear? I suggested. I know, William said, we should grab one and stick it in the back pocket of the stroller. Otherwise, he'll never be able to look at any blue plastic bear without trauma.
As we watched this picture of loss and longing, William and I were holding hands. I kissed his cheek. He turned to me and our mouths met. The afternoon sun was warm. The bears stared away and we smiled at the whimsy of this happenstance discovery. The mood of the afternoon was more tender because it was time for me to go. William brushed tendrils away from my eyes.
You're growing your hair.
I touched my head. Yeah, I guess.
Women always cut their hair after a breakup or when they're depressed.
Oh, that's your little theory, is it?
It's true. You're in love and you're letting your hair grow. That's no accident.
Hmmm. Just me in love?
Nope, not just you.
No comments:
Post a Comment