The Hermit

Before me are little pools of life. Each separate one is full of its own separate ecosystems. If I could be anything, I think, I would be a hermit crab. I have my home on my back and I go where the tides take me. I am as free as a bird in the sky. The possibilities are endless.

I pick up the one I have been eyeing. It has a brown shell that is practically purple, small red eyes, red antennae, both cheliped are drawn under its body, and the bright red walking legs protrude in front. He scurries to the edge of my spindly fingers and I rescue the fragile being before it plunges to its imminent death. The crab thanks me by climbing quickly back into its shell. I set it back into the center of my palm. One minute eye emerges from hiding, checking the security of the situation. Promptly it returns. I turn him upside down and look at the puzzle-piece figure that fits perfectly together in the dark shell.

I decide I’ve tortured him enough and slowly lower my palm into the tide pool. Sculpin scatter to the safety of the edges. The pool is covered in green anemones and algae. A cluster of blue muscles congregate in the farthest corner. The water reaches up to the center of my forearm. When I reach the bottom the once conservative crab erupts over the edge of my hand like a misty purple waterfall.

He’s gone in an instant to the refuge of an overhanging rock.

I wonder if our paths will ever cross again.

I stand up from my hunched down position. My knees pop and grown in disagreement and I move onto the next pool.

In the Park

“I just don’t get it, honey!”A small athletic woman calmly states.

“What’s not to get?” Her significant other asks.

“I just don’t get how Jennifer could to that to me! Again!” The woman’s voice becomes shrill in a common characteristic associated with whining and gossip in a female’s conversation.

“Oh…” Any interest the man had before was lost. I listen intently as he pretends to.

“She always treats me like a used... A used, “She pauses in thought.

“A used what?”

“Hammer! She uses me like a hammer, only when she needs me!”

“I’ve never heard you mention tools in anything. Do you even know what a hammer is?” The guy blurted, somehow in the conversation his filter must have been removed.

The woman’s chin drops to a gaping cave and an evil glare spreads across her features like a burning wildfire. I continue to listen, not making a sound.

We are gathered in a pretty park in the center of the hustle and bustle of a surrounding city. I’ve always personally thought of this park as an oasis, a breath of fresh air, a break away from daily life. The trees above us sway in the warm summer breeze and birds cheep joyfully in the branches. The green leaves just recently left hibernation and extended their limbs in the sun. They cast moving shadows on the faces of the couple and I focus in on them as the conflict unfolds.

“You’re a jerk! I can’t believe you just said that to me, you’re so insensitive!” She pauses, then continues. “I’m leaving! I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I like being around you right now!”

“Wait, babe! I’m sorry, that’s not what I mean to say…” The woman gets up off of my bench seats and begins to stomp away. Her boyfriend promptly follows like some sick game of follow the leader.

The park is quiet again from the absence of the two, and I soak up the Zen. It’s the perfect temperature, the perfect day, and I’m sitting underneath the perfect tree.

A moment later a man comes and sits down. He’s alone. His clothes consist of a blue pinstripe button up shirt pulled loosely over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. In his ears are loud headphones screaming lyrics to the outside world like they are trying to escape some sort of confined prison. He taps his foot loudly to the beat. I let out a subtle groan and the man looks down at me. He looks away quickly thinking nothing of my battered and used appearances.

He begins talking to himself, it appears. “Today was such a hard day. It’s nice to relax and be able to breathe for a minute.” I say nothing and sit in silence. It’s refreshing to be able to relate to someone and share the same understanding about a place, even if it’s a complete stranger.

After five short minutes he rises from my seats and walks away on the concrete path. It winds its way through this little paradise. I watch as he follows it like the Yellow Brick Road, then he disappears around a corner. Now I find myself alone yet again. I’m left to my own thoughts.

I have never left this park. I’ve stayed here dedicated to it through rain and snow. As you can imagine, I’ve observed crazy events in those thirty years. I’ve seen elaborate pranks, late night adventures to the swings fifteen feet away from me, weddings, summer parties, towering snowmen without the ability to smell, kids chasing grasshoppers… I’ve seen it all. Humans are curious beings, and the only reason I say this is because all the while I listen quietly without them knowing. I’m not a person myself, I am the bench they decide to sit on.

You can really learn about someone this way, all you have to do is listen.

Second Chances

The rain is showering down upon my vulnerable head like meteors in late August on the West Coast. My hood is made of cotton, and serves no required purpose of keeping me dry. If I decided to use it, it would be drenched in a matter of seconds regardless. Putting it on is a waste.

The oil pools in the puddles collect on parts of the sidewalk, and as droplets interrupt the gatherings the curious rainbows shiver with excitement like they were about to embark on a wonderful adventure through the sewer. The asphalt smells hot, and exhausted from the usual constant traffic that the rain and absence of sunlight drove away.

Its later afternoon, the clock read 5:48 just before I left the apartment but it’s been more than an hour since. I should be heading home soon to become a part of society again and conform to the rules and guidelines everyone must follow. I’m not ready to leave yet, though. Sitting on the curb right here and right now feels right. I feel like I need to be here taking a deep breath and reflecting.

Reflecting on what? The fact that I’m unemployed as of yesterday? That I have unpaid bills from last month and I’m two months behind on both my rent and my car payment? What happened to me?

I give in and put my hood on. The rain immediately begins to wet it in a rhythmic beating. I put my head in my hands. A drop of water that had been accumulating in my drenched scalp now cascades down my forehead and I wipe it away like a drop of sweat. I feel like I amount to little and I’m lost. I don’t even know who I am.

I lift my hands from my face and look down the sidewalk that belongs to the curb I am currently perched on. In between the large slabs of concrete a few trees stand up on the ends near the road. Garbage litters the gutters, covering them like a blanket of snow.

About ten feet away a small body disappears into a nearby bush, too quickly for me to see but enough to attract my attention. I watch intently as a small corner of an ear appears and then a head attached to that ear.

Soon enough a small puppy of an unknown breed reveals itself. Its fur looks dirty and in need of maintenance. Dark brown splotches of hair randomly scatter its body, looking like it got into trouble with brown paint. The rest of its body is white with small black spots in between the bigger ones.

I pat my leg and coo. Unsure at first it backs away, but after a moment passes it slowly eases its body in my direction. After a little coaxing I have it at my side and I’m petting its head. For such a dirty little thing it is softer than a blanket of fleece.

“What are you doing here little guy? Where’s your home?” It looks up at me with those stereotypical, gleaming puppy eyes and I feel my heart melt a tad. “Where do you belong? Nowhere?”  I know it can’t answer, but having a nonjudgmental being just here makes me feel like someone is listening. “Yeah me too. I don’t even know where I should be.” I scratch it behind one brown ear and it sits down comfortably next to me, sure now that I’m not here to harm it. The pitiful thing is soaked and I can’t help but feel bad for it.

“Everybody loves puppies, how come no one seems to love you? It’s not as if you’re not cute, because you clearly are!” It looks out into the empty street then returns its melancholy gaze back to me. “Every living thing deserves to belong somewhere. You look like you need more help than I do; you’re coming home with me.”

I scoop the shivering, dirty puppy into my arms and unzip my jacket. I hold it against my dry stomach then I stand up, zip my sweatshirt just below its neck, and take my first steps back home and into the real world filled with chaos.

“Just because I might not get a second chance doesn't mean that you shouldn't have one.”

Skipping Rocks

There’s a natural made harbor in my hometown and it lives right along the coast. One side of this harbor is covered in rocks; they were placed there initially to protect the extension of land that reaches out into the sea. The other side is sand and pebbles. On a sunny day it is a wonderful place to observe. Children lift rocks and collect small crabs as they try to skitter away, games of tag on the sand are along the strip of beach, lunches are packed and carried along, and people just come to enjoy the sun or the relaxing sound of the waves. Me? I go here to skip rocks.

Today it’s sunny. I only skip when it’s nice weather. When it rains I’ll try to but last only about three or four minutes before the rain drives me back into my vehicle. I go here because it’s close to my home, on the beach side the waves are very gentle which makes it perfect for skipping, and the best rocks naturally inhabit this shore.

I scour a patch of outcropped rocks for the perfect tool, after it will go through close inspection. I discover a round one, pick it up in my hand, estimate its possibilities of success, and stick it into my pocket. I do the same for five others then I walk down to where the friendly waves happily greet the shore. I look down and my toes are speckled with sand. They look like some sort of bumpy reptile. I wriggle them and my brightly painted toenails wave at me.

A soft breeze sways my hair over my face and I tuck it behind my ears. The pieces that are too short to be restrained rebelliously return to nagging my face. I turn into the wind and force them to my will. As I turn I notice a figure walking this way. It’s normal to accidentally bump into strangers on days like today. The sun is out and people flock to the water like seagulls on a french-fry.

I find myself staring awkwardly at the figure. As it moves closer I realize that this figure is very attractive in the most appealing ways. The young man has distinguishing and rugged features, tousled black hair, and perfect teeth that beam in an open smile as he walks. He isn’t looking at me of course, he is admiring a bald eagle that just perched on a log sticking out of the water about fifteen feet away. In his claws the majestic male bird holds a small fish; it’s wriggling like an ant under a microscope. In an instant I watch as he swallows the creature whole then takes off again in flight. His shadow is an acrobatic plane; wheeling, twisting, and turning.

I look back to my approaching stranger. He’s looking at me and I quickly drop my gaze to the rock in hand. I feel its polished surface worn down from the waves, I decide to toss it. It skips six times across the water like it were on a trampoline and with a satisfying “PLOP” it sinks into the ocean to become a part of the never ending marine-life cycle.

I look back up and he’s still looking gazing at me. I flash him a quick smile.His board shorts and t-shirt play in the breeze and his hair flies about. Even in the midst of an outside force trying to wreck his flawless image, he still manages to hold it together with ease. I mentally take note of that ability.

In my attempt to gawk at him unnoticeably the space between us slims and I catch my breath. He’s seven feet away. I have no time to turn away and I don’t want to be rude.

He stops two feet from me, his smile still greeting me.

“Hi!”

Oh geez, can I even respond?

I squeak out a quick and raspy, “Hello.”

“I see you’re skipping rocks. That last one was pretty good!” His face lights up and his stunning green eyes twinkle. They are such a beautiful contrast to his black hair.

“Yeah… Thanks…” I look down and begin to pull out another rock from my pocket. “Do I know you?” I ask him quizzically.

“Nope, but that’s okay! Sometimes a smile is all it takes!” He grins.