He smelt of jasmine, an unusual smell for an old man, and not his normal one. Normally he smelt of, well, old man, like my grandfather used to smell: a warm, comforting, knowledgeable smell like a mix between old chests of drawers filled with treasures and shaving cream. Yesterday, it was jasmine though. He kissed me hello, as he does every Tuesday, and I smelt the jasmine and it made my heart swell.
He’s had an air of sadness since his beloved wife died eight months ago. It had been a whirlwind office romance, years ago, before I was here. When I started working here and met him for the first time twelve years ago I knew I’d met a kindred spirit. He’s an oddball, no mistaking. His passion (beside psychiatry) is Oscar Wilde. He’s writing a book about the man. When he retired, he made me cry at his farewell, mentioning me in his speech. I felt his affection for me.
I think he would’ve been gay in a different time, like now, but he loved his wife, with all his heart and it shattered when she died. His weekly visits to us showed a thin, sad, man, his Grandpa smell tinged with heartbreak. Each time he came, he seemed to be a little more transparent, as if he was slowly fading into nothing. I wondered if he’d come back to us.
Which is why his jasmine smell yesterday made my heart swell.
1 day ago