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An old man sits on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.
Besides him sits a beautiful, young woman. Next to the woman sits a teenage boy, his face covered by a dark hood.
“How are you feeling?” She asks the old man.
“At ease. Is that strange?”
“No.” She answers softly. “I’ve often seen different, but the idea of rest can be comforting.”
“Can you remove this hood?” The boy says. “I can’t see anything.”
When she pulls off the hood, a relieved face shows. Shiny dark curly hair falls just over his ears. Penetrating green eyes are set below thick eyebrows. A small grin appears on his face.
“What about these ropes, missy? Can you untie me?”
The old man laughs and asks who the boy is, while she unties him.
“He’s an idea.”
“I’m no idea at all.” The boy says when standing up, shaking his shoulders a bit as if relieving tension from his muscles.
“I’m very real.”
“Yes, you are real. But an idea all the same.” She returns.
“What idea?” The old man asks.
“The idea that people should be free and encouraged to chase opportunities and speak their mind. The idea which you worry about that might be in danger when you are no longer here.”
“But isn’t my worry legitimate? Isn’t the idea fragile?”
“No, it is not. People are fragile. They might change. They may fall. They might die. Ideas are bulletproof. And they will live on in the minds of those to come.”
The boy slowly claps his hands.
“Touching. You mind if I leave you to this and I carry on with my life?”
The boy winks at the lady, after which he taps the side of his head while looking at the man.
“Don’t forget about me, old man.”
The boy laughs out loud and walks off into the night towards where ever time will guide him.
“He will be alright.” She says. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I am.”
An old man sits on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.
He doesn’t breathe.
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