The meeting

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It was a typical Wednesday afternoon in September. The New York City was still in its summer stage, although you could feel the fall coming by the change of the smell and it now reeked of leaves and damp trees near Central Park, where our office was located.

I ate my lunch alone, sitting on the park bench, observing the passerby senior couples and soccer moms with kids, busy to get somewhere, and businessmen having an outside meeting, dressed in suits, as I devoured my BLT with a Diet Coke.

'Mommy! I don't want to go!' I heard and looked up. A boy kid– five? Seven? – dressed in a navy-striped shirt and a beanie hat stopped and sat down on the asphalt, making a sad grimace. 'I am not going!'

On my right, I saw his mom – a pretty-looking woman in an orange coat and long brown hair that also seemed to have an orange color to it – smiling patiently.

'Let's go, Josh. It's time to go now,' she said.

'I am not coming!'

'C'mon Josh. I'll show you the birds. You want to see the birds?'

The boy sat down and wiggled his head sharply as in giving a definite 'no'.

'Joshie, let's go. Hey look!' The woman looked somewhere up and pointed to the canopy of a nearby tree. I was always bad at plant names so I can't recall what it was. A large tree. I also turned and looked but couldn't spot anything.

'What is there?'

The boy – Josh – looked at the tree, then back at mom, and smiled. He seemed to like the game they were playing.

'Is that a penguin?'

Josh got up, touching the asphalt with his bare hands, wiping them together. 'Where?'

'There. C'mon. I'll show you!'

Then the woman started running, looking back at her son. I watched the boy run towards his mom and let out an involuntary smile. I let out a sigh and was about to get back to my sandwich when I suddenly felt a strange presence nearby. It was like I was being watched.

I looked around, saw nobody, and looked down at my sandwich. As I was about to take a bite, I heard a voice.

'Kids are so curious, right?' said a male voice, young and soft, but full of confidence and energy.

Briskly, I looked to my left, BLT in one hand, can of Coke in the other. A man in what looked like his early thirties was sitting beside me, on the bench. He was wearing a black coat, black pants, and was looking somewhere in the distance, as if trying to spot something. He was handsome and looked like a Hollywood actor that has just gone off the set.

'Wow,' I said, startled, 'I didn't see you come. You sure are quiet. Help yourself,' I moved an inch to the left, then added: 'And yes. Kids are very curious. I was one too.'

'What happened?' asked the voice that seemed to be detached from the person speaking and ignored my comment. The man was still not looking at me but staring somewhere in the distance, his eyes squinted. He looked deep in thought.

'What do you mean?'

The man sat quiet for a moment, as if waiting for me to understand without him saying another word. He sure was cheap on words. The wind blew and almost dragged my BLT out of my hand. It seemed not to bother the mysterious stranger next to me.

'You know exactly what I mean.'

I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Was this an unsolicited psychotherapy session? Is the guy a shrink? I've had lots of those in my early twenties, not going to go there again. Yet, before I could gain back my composure, a mysterious force made me reply in all frankness.

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