immortal | one shot;

Immortal

[ This has been an official entry for Romance's Challenge 20: Perfect Date ]

Albay, Bicol

Philippines

PM

. . .

Grandpa examined the landscape of our ancient garden; skinny acacia trees, dying grassland, damp soil, and our old-aged Labrador.

It is a pretty, old world, he said unexpectedly. It is one of the bravest statements I have ever heard.

Grandpa knew that he and Grandma will have a lot of burdens in front of them – inclining to forget special memories, vulnerable aging bodies – but still, it is a pretty, old world.

Grandpa went to Grandma, leaving me making club sandwiches and grilling barbecues.

They are sitting alone at our tea table with party hats under their chins. I guess, it was not the way you had imagined a perfect date.

You would have dreamt of having a perfect date inside a large white tent decorated with flowers and a symphony orchestra.

Or. . .

Drinking saffron champagnes on the deck of a cruise ship.

Or. . .

Going in an expensive, aristocratic restaurant and a violist would play Ed Sheeran's Thinking Out Loud, and you and your boyfriend or girlfriend will sway together on the dance floor.

It is Grandma and Grandpa's 50th wedding anniversary today, and yep, they are having a not-so-fancy date at this point.

50 years. There had been a time when they would have gotten a standing ovation for being together that long. Their ideas, stories, and attitudes have blended to such an extent they barely knew where one began and the other left off.

They love each other a little, I guess? A little too much? A little too often? Or maybe, a little bit more each and every day?

Sometimes, my classmates will drop by and see them.

They would whisper to me that Grandma and Grandpa should have left the romantic love behind them a long time ago, but I would tell them that love never gets old because it is immortal.

As I approached their table to give them their simple food for their date, I heard Grandma laughing at Grandpa's stories of youthful pranks, and Texas goat drives.

I laid the plate of club sandwiches and barbecues on the table, sat in front of them, and watch their cute shenanigans.

Grandpa gets a barbecue from the plate. You want this? He asked Grandma, and she popped it in her mouth.

This is delicious, she said.

Do you know that our neighbour bought an expensive diamond ring for his wife and his wife bought him a pricey mackintosh coat when they had a date yesterday? Grandma informed him.

What the hell would I do with a pricey mackintosh coat when it is midsummer and it is scorching hot here in the Philippines? Grandpa replied. His wife is a complete sicko.

Grandma and I giggled.

I remember Grandma telling me that she and Grandpa had gone through 34 misunderstandings, six addresses, two children, six cars, 27 funerals, 20 jobs, and 32 road trips.

She also told me that she had turned Grandpa's 132 pieces of underwear 35,367 times right side out, that Grandpa was the one who bathed her during her pregnancy on my Mommy, and she had bought him 105 pomades to make his hair look shiny, and in it's perfect condition all the time.

They also shared toothpastes, shampoos, blankets, bills, and wardrobes. They have given one another fairness, faith, and adoration.

Sweet heart, I got you a present, Grandpa abruptly stated to Grandma who is currently eating club sandwiches.

She stopped munching and wiped the mayonnaise on her mouth excitedly. What is it?

Close your eyes first.

Grandpa is sneering at me when I saw his gift. I smiled on how simple it is.

Open them now, he exclaimed.

Grandpa is holding a simple sampaguita that came packed in a transparent, jam jar.

I know how you love sampaguita, sweet heart.

Grandma smiled her brightest, and gave him a peck on his skeletal cheeks. Thank you for this date, my love.

Maybe, love is that simple.

Maybe, they do not necessarily label ❛perfect dates❜ being in an exclusive restaurant.

Maybe, Grandpa is not perfect because he has no bucks to treat grandma in a fancy diner.

Maybe, Grandma is not perfect because she does not know how to cook, and that is why the cooking is all on me.

Maybe, these are all perfectly true.

But what they care the most, is that they are perfect together.

I went inside our house for a moment to get them a pineapple plum juice to quench their thirst, but when I got back, they were not in the garden anymore.

I entered through the ward, the garret, their living room, the dining room, and even the toilet, but they were nowhere to be found.

After a short span, I finally found them in the den.

They were sitting shoulder to shoulder in their recliners, holding hands, enfolded in each other's arms, and fast asleep. It felt like the universe is circumnavigating around them.

They are both 80,

both young,

both ageless,

both immortal.

I closed the door of the den, letting them be in their own world; letting them hear each other's heartbeat beneath the hot, closing stages of the daylight.

I headed back to the garden and set my eyes on the skinny acacia trees, dying grassland, damp soil, our old-aged Labrador . . . and the love of Grandma and Grandpa that transcends through the breathing spaces of this beautiful, ancient place.

And I came to the realization that Grandpa is right; it sure is a pretty, old world.

In every tranquil heartbeats of the clock,

time sails.

Flames will turn the days on calendars into ashes,

but Grandma and Grandpa will always be immortal.

. . .

april 2016 © reichelle torres