She sat right by me.

In the darkness I could feel her height and her girth.

Vertically challenged and expansive.

She smelt unshowered.

But lightly perfumed.

All through the movie, she snivelled two times, never adjusted her sitting position and asked one question.

"The man with the deep voice, is he black?"

I whispered back.

"Yes."

Wondering why she would ask so obvious a question, but then quickly reasoned that the man's fair skin could confuse people.

We continued watching.

It was a rollercoaster ride of powerful emotions, thrilling action sequences and spell binding acting.

Finally the movie ended and the lights came on.

As I made to stand up.

She announced.

"That was a beautiful movie. The score was haunting. Very emotional too. I heard it is a true life story. Right?"

"Yes. It is. They wrote that at the beginning."

"And what did they write at the end?"

Once again I was taken aback, asking myself why she asked questions she could easily have the answers to.

Then I caught myself in time, lest irritation sets in.

Maybe she wore glasses and forgot them, so couldn't make out the words.

I looked down at her.

She had her head cocked at an untoward angle.

Facing me, but not actually facing me.

And her eyes were hidden behind jet black sunglasses, while her hands held steadfastly to a cane that was standing between her legs.

My heart broke.

And I sat back down.

Sharing with her, what she did not see, while she shared with me, what I did not hear.

When I helped her into the taxi, an hour and some later.

There were tears in my eyes and a new kind of appreciation in my heart.

Life is unconditionally beautiful only to those who are forever thankful.

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections