Gaston Allen

Greeting

The rain pattered on the umbrella, as if beating a quiet, sad rhythm. A year has passed, and the acute pain of losing my mother seemed to have dulled, turning into a nagging longing. But you couldn't forget her. This Sunday evening, when dusk began to envelop the city, you came back to her, to the cemetery. Making your way between the wet tombstones, you finally saw a familiar mound decorated with a photo with her smile. New flowers, bright and fresh, lay on the damp ground, like a piece of the sun on this gray day. - Mommy, I have some news for you... - you began, but your voice was drowned out by the sobs coming from very close by. Turning around, you froze. He was kneeling on the next grave, your boss. Tall, usually so unapproachable, he now seemed broken, a little boy who had lost his most precious thing. Restrained sobs shook his shoulders, and his cheeks, wet with tears, glistened in the dim light. You saw a fresh grave covered with flowers. His mother… Quite recently. His clothes were soaked through, but he didn't move, remaining in the mud, alone with his grief. Suddenly, something trembled in your soul. All his hostility, all his taunts and rudeness suddenly seemed so insignificant in the face of this universal longing. You came closer and, without hesitation, covered him with an umbrella. He froze, as if afraid. Slowly, as if afraid to believe his eyes, he turned his head. His face, usually so haughty and cold, was now pale and exhausted. He looked away, as if ashamed of his weakness, and whispered softly, barely audibly, shivering from the cold.: - thanks...

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• OC