Coincidence

“I’m telling you, the nation is controlled by little mice on exercise wheels!” His eyebrows do a little jig on his face like they have John Travolta's dance routine in Saturday Night Fever.

“What makes you so sure of that?” A six-year-old puts her hands on her hips and asks quizzically.

“How do you think electricity gets to you? Every time you turn on that nightlight the mice work overtime to make sure you can sleep at night!” The dad points at a horse nightlight across the pink pin-striped room. At the foot of the light bowed cats with mittens, dogs with bones, and more horse. Stuffed animals flow over the girl’s bedspread, the dam broke and it just couldn’t handle the compression of so much synthetic filling!

The little girl, in her one piece pajamas, begins tapping her foot in thought. With one hand still on her hips she brings the other to her chin where it rests thoughtfully. At the end of her tapping foot a white pompom bounces in excitement like a Jack Russell Terrier about to receive a treat.

All at once she stops. “I don’t believe you!” She’s the Cheshire Cat; her lips part to expose huge ivory piano keys. A giggle escapes her mouth.

“I’m your dad, Little One. Would I try and trick you into believing something that wasn’t true!” The dad smiles and walks from the doorway over to the child cemented like a statue in the center of the room. He picks her up and holds her close. She smells of flowers and dirt. She was probably playing in the garden earlier, he thinks to himself. He tucks a strand of dark brown hair behind her minute, delicately pointed elf ears and notices a smudge. You can always count on this girl to be outside!

“You were out in the garden today weren’t you!”

“How did you know that? Did Mommy tell you?” Her smile breaks like a wave and calmly reaches shore. Her face in no longer like the Cheshire Cat, just a curious cat.

“Yes she did!” He lied. He would hear all about it whether he had heard it from Mom or not.

“What were you’re adventures today? Did you find Mr. Wormy again? Or did you see Samuel the ladybug?”

`

Her eyes light up intensely like when a light bulb goes out, there is one last bright surge of energy before the darkness. “No! I made a new friend today!”

“Tell me about her!” The dad walks over to the bed, still holding the child. He sweeps the bed clear just enough to squeeze the girl under the comforter and in amongst the animals.  

“It was a boy Daddy!”

“Oh excuse me, tell me about him!” He shoos a mouse with a piece of cheese away. It lands on the floor by the nightlight. He sits down replacing it, just right of the little girl securely tucked into her blankets.

“Well he was really fuzzy. And he had a pink nose. That’s my favorite color so I was happy! He made a noise that made me laugh. Mommy said it was a puppy. Since I’ve never seen one in real life I didn’t know what it was until Mommy told me! He had a tag and a bell on a necklace around his neck. Mommy said it was a collar like the one that Lucy has but bigger and especially for dogs. She said that dogs and cats are different and that this puppy wasn’t the same type of animal that Lucy is. I told her I already knew that because Mrs. Schermer at school is teaching us about animals. Mommy went inside for a bit because she said she needed to call the owner of the puppy on the telephone. I sat outside and played with him while she did! We’re friends now!” She speaks with pride on the last sentence.

“That’s good Sweetie! I’m glad you had a fun day! Now get all snug, it’s time for bed!” The dad tucks in side in again for good measure kisses the little girl on the forehead and begins to stand up. Right as he is about to turn the big light off in the room the little girl pipes up like a silent butterfly.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Little One?” He turns around and looks at her small little body outlined in the sheets. The inordinate amount of stuffed animals still parade around the little girl and her eyes mirror sleep.

“Do mice really run the world?” She yawns once; her piano keys make one last appearance before turning in from a long day of performing.

“That’s what I hear. Sweet dreams now.”

He turns the light off, and eases the door closed until just a crack remains. He glimpses once into the room before retiring for the night. He sees the stuffed animals congregating at the base of the nightlight; the mouse with the piece of cheese is sitting perfectly erect, facing him. He grins and begins walking down the hall.

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.

Expectations

A fuzzy bumblebee sways to-and-fro, hovering above a violent red rhododendron. It lands daintily on the outside of the center and gracefully crawls inside of the chosen flower to take care of its business. It reemerges, dusted in yellow pollen and takes off to its next victim. The bee is a steady independent worker. It completes tasks efficiently and productively. The next flower quivers as it reemerges again and then it sways back in relief as the bee flies to the next.

He sits on a bench directly across from the activity watching different black, orange, and yellow workers compete in their disappearing acts.

“If only life were that simple,” he whispered aloud.

His eyes squint into focus on the insects and he leans forward resting his elbows on the tops of his knees he exhales loudly and inhales a large enough breath to make Michael Phelps envious.

“Why can’t life be like that… I know who I am, I know what I have to do, and I know what’s expected of me by others...”

He leans back again and relaxes against the back of the bench.

Alternate Reality

A folded up paper sits quietly next to me. I open it. It reads: 

"Think of the word alternate. What does it mean? What is its dictionary meaning? Now think of the word reality. Our own realities are events in our lives that we acknowledge. Reality is our personal perception of the world around us. Every single reality is different for each individual person. Now what is alternate reality?"

I neatly fold the piece of lined paper back into its original creases. What a concept. I think to myself.

The bus stop I’m waiting at takes me to work every morning. I walk two blocks here in rain, sleet, or snow. Today it is sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The station sits right near the corner of Pilot Street and Ramsey Boulevard. Ever since I got my current job I’ve been using this particular bench to spend part of my mornings. Colorful graffiti greets me to my right. It’s an extinct language, speaking in tongues but expressing its emotion and meaning through color. Below me are scattered cigarette filters and discarded pieces of gum in all hues. A filthy trashcan sits to my left, obviously unutilized. At a bus-stop in a busy bustling city this is the norm. A sad cracked flower box with wilted flowers is perched on top of the garbage can. It looks under watered and neglected. I look down the racing concrete strips that stretch far into the distance to see if the bus might be on time for a change. My watch reads 7:03 am; not a chance.

In a city like this what is an alternate reality? Green? Clean air? No pavement?

An elderly, friendly looking gentleman that arrives out of nowhere sits down next to me. His white moustache is curled up at the ends and mimics the corners of his mouth.

“Great weather today…” He looks to me and mumbles.

“Yes it is. A shame I don’t have the day off.”

“Mmm,” he paused. “Yes, that is a shame.”

I fold and refold the note, and then I open it and clumsily fumble with the corners. I read it again, then I return it to its original state and shove it quickly back into my pocket. On its way in, the paper crumples and makes an uncomfortable noise. He looks over and I avert my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me. I look up and our eyes meet. His wrinkled face screams comfort; his soft brown eyes sparkle with knowing and an intense sense of wisdom. His smile still a part of his personality he says, “What have you got there? You look a little thoughtful.”

“It’s just a note I discovered when I first sat down…” I trail off and sheepishly look away, almost ashamed to share.

“Not to be nosey, but I’m a little curious…” His gaze flashes at me.

I reach into my pocket and pull it out, his hand extends. There are creases on his hand telling me that he hasn’t worked an easy day in his life. He unfolds it gently and begins to read. After a moment he finishes and hands it back. I quickly crumple it back into my pocket, almost as if it were a secret note for my viewing only.

“Interesting,” his furry brows are knitted showing deep contemplation.

“What are your thoughts?” My personal confusion of the letter might be solved if I involve another mind. I ignore my inner voice telling me to keep quiet.

“It’s interesting,” he repeats. “Alternate reality for me would be a cubicle.” His features loosen and he looks to me for feedback.

“I think of green… Mountains… Birds… Flowers…” His face wipes blank and I wonder if I have said the wrong thing.

“Why?” He states with no adjustment in his voice.

“Well we essentially live in a concrete jungle here.” I look down to my shoes and the concrete for some sort of approval. I look back up and he’s looking down the street at the approaching bus. I continue.

“What do you think about the environmental crisis?”

The bus pulls up and we both stand to our feet. I follow him to the folding portal into the crammed public transportation vehicle. He begins to enter the bus and stops on the second stair. He turns around to face me. His face is crumpled with thought and abruptly and quite loudly he says, “I don’t!”

He turns around and disappears in the crowd of people standing closely together like a heavily populated forest.