Mister Novak,closed his bakery doors. Turned the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’ and walked over to his wife.
Standing in the center of the room. She rested her head on his shoulder. They found each others hands.and began a dance.Swaying between the tables. And chairs. Choreographed by time and familiarity.
Mister Novak smiled And looked over at me,
“In those quiet moments
When we first came to America..
And you forgot everything else”
“So far it has been keeping us together.For a small amount of years…”
His wife whispered over his shoulder.
“It helped You forgive the small offenses of the day…and remember each other.”
They almost looked younger suddenly…this wasn’t just the polish baker…who always ran the shop..the place was transformed into a house of images. And I could see them …
The first dance …after they opened. The dance when the war was over. The dance,on the 4th of July..when after closing…Aniela turned and said she was pregnant.
This was dances
A time clock.
Of 52 years.
Something my mind couldn’t grasp. Much less comprehend. More memories than my entire life…two times over. More sadness and more happiness.
They finally stopped swaying. And kissed. Then turned to me. Checking the doors once more. Aniela smiled…
“Well,time to go.”