The perfect day, what did that mean? To some it meant spending time with the person who loved the most, or their passion. To other's it meant just about everything had gone pretty well for them that day. Lastly, there were the people who thought the perfect day had to do with the weather.
Jack's perfect day, well that was days like today. He wasn't just a one genre of perfect day kind of guy. Nah, to him it was the days that where the spring air was warm and inviting, the memories of the ones he loved, the passion of his art.
Jack shifted in his spot on the bench, adjusting the sketch book that lay across his lap. His weather, tired hands held a small bit of charcoal between two fingers; he began the smooth lines across the rough textured paper. Jack didn't have to think about what he was going to draw, his hands already knew as they recounted every detail of her grace and beauty.
His faded blue eyes looked out over the lake in central park as the lovers rowed in their boats. He drew in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Part of him wished that he could be out there now, her sitting at one end of the boat going on about the day's events and what she expected for them in their future. He'd row the boat and they'd just spend all day lazing about on the lake. He could hear her sweet laugh, a melody that floated through the air. Her personality was warm and welcoming to everyone. Even to complete strangers who Jack often saw stop to talk to her. And those eyes, who could ever forget those big beautiful eyes, full of adventure. When Jack thought of her smile he couldn't help, but let his own smile dance across his own lips.
Jack chuckled slightly, recalling the time the two of them had come to central park. It was the first time the two of them had picnicked in the park.
He had heard some of the girls gossiping one day, about how romantic it would be to go on a picnic. Jack wasn't too sure what the big deal about eating some food on the ground was, but the girls seemed to like the idea. He had saved up a few extra coins from selling that week and bought a real nice sandwich from Jacobi's for them to split. He even had enough left over to buy her a red carnation.
Armed with his sketchbook, the best blanket he could find in the lodging house, a sandwich and the girl he loved they set off into Central Park. It was that day they had come to this very lake. Jack the gentleman he was set out the blanket. She sat down at one end, and he a few feet away from her. He could spend hours just studying her, every curve, every inch. As he was busy watching her watch him sketch, a cheeky white goose had waddled its way up onto the shore. Neither of them had noticed. Until they heard some crinkling of paper, "That damn bastard's stealin' our lunch!" Jack called, dropping everything as he rose up to stop the bird. The goose waddled quickly, with a stifled honk, back towards the lake holding the sandwich tightly clasped in its bill. Bits and pieces of filling laid down a trail right to the pond.
And then it happened, Jack hadn't been paying attention to the slop in the ground and tumbled forward. Before he could catch himself he was soaked to the gills. A gasp came from the shore followed by a fit of giggles, as she quickly approached Jack, "Ya think it's funny, do ya?" He question with mock anger and a silly pout.
She nodded, "Let me help you." Extending her hand down towards the sopping newsboy from the very edge of the grass. Careful not to pull her in with him Jack accepted the help. She reached up and pulled a few strands of weeds from various parts of his clothing, "It's a good look for you."
"Think so, huh?" Before she could say anything he wrapped his arms around her. She gave a small playful scream, "Maybe I'll share the look with you." His face inches from hers, then centimeters, and his lips brushed hers. She didn't pull back, instead wrapped her arms around his neck closing the mere space between the two.
She was his perfect day.
He looked down at the drawing he was working on, a picture frozen it time. It was how he remembered her, his one true love. With that Jack carefully closed the cover and returned the bit of charcoal to the handkerchief he kept it wrapped in. He tugged his cabby hat down over his gray hair; rising to his feet his tucked away the last of his supplies into his pocket. He headed back towards the lodging house, the boys would be returning from their day's work of selling the news.