Smile

It is cold outside. I am sitting on the stairs, holding a cup of tea in my hands, this is my break out of office. I look at the river. The sailing boats are still, all in a row. Sipping over my paper cup of tea, I whisper an old Iranian song to myself, for a change. It the first Friday evening of October. It is exactly one year an one month and eleven days that I am living in the US of confusion. My face must be telling it all; since a stranger, a wanderer approaches me. He must be in his mid-fifties, his clothes are worn out, his shoe laces are following him from a distance. He could be drunk, or else, he might come and ask if I have a cigarette. I look the other way, at the river again. He is close now, when he points to me and says: "How about a smile?". I look at him, and Smile comes and sits on my face, on my lips, without any effort. "Don't you feel better now?" He says. His witty way of looking at me makes me nod: Yes. "See? I had to come and tell you what to do to feel better!". He then walks away, and I am still smiling. He was right. He had to come and tell me what to do to feel better. I do feel better. I think to myself perhaps I should keep smiling when the cascade of thoughts invade my mind. He is gone, his smile though is still sitting on my face. I should go back to my office. It is cold, but it feels warmer when you have a wide smile on your face...