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.”