Park Bench - draft

         She stepped out onto the front stoop of her building and looked up at the sky. ‘Spring days’ she thought as she carefully stepped down onto the sidewalk. Her legs weren’t what they used to be. In fact, most young women today would envy the legs she had possessed in her youth. It was amusing to her, as she made her way along the street, how she used to be so obsessed with her looks at one time in her life. She could remember a time when she simply would not have entertained the notion of leaving her house without first taking at least an hour to paint her face and to decide what to wear for the world. Those days were long past and Mother Nature had made it decidedly clear that there were more important things to consider.
         First, it had been diabetes. She could remember the injustice she had felt at finding out she could no longer indulge in the sweet things she had always taken for granted and the circulatory problems that inevitably resulted. ‘It’s mother nature’s jest to make old age look like a fool’ she mused as she could feel the muscles in her once prided legs start to finally loosen up. She always loved to come to park this time of morning. All the busy working people had run their morning routes and were now on their way to the hectic everyday routine of their lives. At this time of day, the interesting people appeared to take in their piece of fresh air and tranquility. There was always something interesting to see in the park. Some new face that she had not noticed before or something odd quirk about someone she did know, or at least thought she did.
         She waited at the corner until there was a space in the traffic. With her rate of pace, this usually meant waiting at the crosswalk for quite sometime. Back in the day, she would have merrily dashed between the smallest of gaps in traffic to the other side of the street. Of course, with her legs being the way she remembered, quite a few drivers would have slowed down just to admire the view. These days however, she had to wait until there were almost no cars in sight in either direction; just so that she could hurry the last few steps if a car “popped” out of nowhere. She had one advantage on her side though. It was interesting to her that no matter how much of a rush anyone was in, they always waited patiently, if only begrudgingly, for an old woman to cross the road. As if it were written, somewhere that now she was in the twilight of her life, people should give extra time, even though she had raced around in her life just as much as the younger generation does today. In fact, when she gave considerable thought, she probably had raced around a whole lot more that today’s generation. Her generation didn’t have all the wonderful conveniences of today’s youth.
         Speaking of conveniences, what about all the times as a child she had had to get on her coat and boots just to go to the bathroom late at night. It was funny how she could remembered how common it was for children to be taught to try and do their ‘business’ before the sun went down. Not to mention the winter time, well that was then you found out just how long you could hold it. Everyone always seems to bring up the chamber pot and say things like, “well you had that, you didn’t have to go outside.” What younger people today didn’t realize was that emptying a chamber pot was one of the most hated chores of her childhood. No body wanted to empty their chamber pots; definitely not one of the most pleasant ways to start off one’s day.          After waiting a considerable amount of time, she had no idea how long, there was enough of a lull in the traffic and she started across the road. She hurried her pace as much as she possibly could but as usual, there was still a car that had to slow down for her, just as she made it to the other side. Once on the curb, she turned to wave a thank you to the driver for her patience, but the car had already revved into gear and was well past her. Oh dear, she thought, another person late for something and I probably didn’t help matters.
         Once inside the park, she was again, as she was everyday, noticeably aware of how much quieter things seemed to get. Well maybe quiet was not the right word, but definitely muffled. It was as if entering the park turned down the volume on the world radio. She supposed that all the foliage acted as padding. It was even quieter than this in the winter time and there much fewer people. She made her way to her favorite bench which thankfully, was still empty. When someone was already seated on her bench, she sometimes felt like an intruder. As if they owned the bench and she was sitting on their property. As if she were invading their space and requiring them to share it. ‘Why do people do that?’ she wondered. Why we do sit in a public place and then become annoyed when someone else tries to sit there as well. Where does the feeling of ‘ownership’ come from? She experienced the same thing when she was sitting on the bench and someone came and sat down on it.
         She would look at them and smile, all the while thinking that there were plenty of other benches in the park, why couldn’t this person have gone and sat on one of those. Was it just because she was ‘a little old lady’ that this person thought she needed the company? She jogged her thinking back to the present and decisively placed herself squarely in the middle of the bench. She placed her handbag to one side of her and her carry bag to the other. She looked about for several moments, taking in all the visual familiarities and then she systematically closed her eyes and breathed in the smells and let the sounds of life in the park penetrate her skin. She absorbed all the scents of the plants and flowers and felt the warm breeze brush against her face. She breathed out and relaxed her brain and then breathed in and almost seemed to somehow merge with her surroundings. It was the most simple of her week-daily rituals and yet the one that she always looked forward to and remembered peacefully each night before closing her eyes for the last time each day.
         Even in her retired lifestyle, she still got caught up in the daily mayhem and peculiar nuances that everyone seems to be affected by. Whether it was some appointment that she had to get ready for and then get to on time, or another disappointing news update of how it seemed humanity was not doing its best on the evening news. She guessed that a lot of people might think that when you’re retired, you don’t concern yourself with such things and therefore just amble through your days without awareness or concern for the drama of everyday life. Of course this was the farthest thing from the truth. Without a job, a vehicle, children to take care of, deadlines to meet and career goals to achieve, there was more time than ever to notice what was going on in the world, who was doing or not doing what and why?
         She knew that she paid more attention to people and what they were up to, more now than ever in her life. When she was younger, she had been too busy with her own life to notice. Now she could watch the world around her without being interrupted by all those past responsibilities. Also, it was a lot more fun now than when she had taken the time to pay attention when she was younger. Back then it seemed as though life was always a struggle, there was always something to be done, something she hadn’t done that she should have, or worse, something she could have done but hadn’t arranged her schedule properly and therefore missed out. She smirked to herself as she tried to decide which of those she used to berate herself more for.
         On the flip side, there were times when she was lonely and couldn’t seem to find enough things to do to occupy her days. A few short years after her retirement, she had gotten into a pretty bad slump of waking up late in the morning, as late as 9:30 on some days and then lolling around her apartment all day listening to CNN. She did like their different news pieces and most of the time they had some really interesting stories. When she bored of that, she would futz around the apartment doing nothing in particular. It was her doctor who suggested she needed to get more active. She’d forced a sigh as she contemplated what that was supposed to mean. He suggested joining some clubs or interest groups to get her back into the “norm” of things; again, whatever that meant. Reluctantly, she had contacted a couple of groups about coming to their gatherings. She had gone to two. One was a craftwork group that got together and planned projects for no particular reason. The other was a walking club, they would plan routes all over the city and schedule dates and times to stop for lunch, breaks and so forth.
         The first was hysterical to say the least, the organizer of the club, Marjorie Swenson, was so inflated with her own craftiness, she had zero patience for anyone who could not pick up a needle and thread and embroider a masterpiece in under an hour. The second was a nightmare; anyone would have thought these ‘retirees’ were training for the Boston marathon. They didn’t take leisurely strolls throughout the city, they were races! A competition to see who could show everyone else how fit they were and how much endurance they had. She had been returning from one of those insane runs about the city when she had come upon the small park which she hadn’t known was so close to her home. Well, she had figured, if I walk to the park and then back again, maybe that would be enough exercise. She started coming to the park once a week almost six months ago but had quickly increased the number of her visits to five days a week. Weekends were not a good idea; everyone and not their grandmothers were at the park on Saturdays and Sundays.          After only one excursion she had decided without a doubt never to return again on a weekend day.
         Today was Tuesday and one of the better days of the five. Betty would surely be coming by soon with her little corgi, Bella, whom she probably dragged around with her everywhere she went. Betty could never stop and chat of course, much too many things going on her whirlwind life. She probably wanted all the other older people at the park to think that at any rate. There was another interesting thought, why is it that so many people think they have show off for other people? She watched as sure enough, Betty came around the bend in the path, with little Bella scurrying to keep up, and rushed by with just a quick, quiet ‘hello’. ‘She probably never has anything important to go to after her mad dash through the park’, she thought. Even though the woman had the look of someone who was feeling so good about what she was doing, a cross between conviction and pride, she only came to park once a week on Tuesdays. ‘Then again, maybe other days she changes her exercise routine and went somewhere else.’
         She reached into her carry bag and pulled out the thermos her grand-daughter had bought her this past Christmas. It was a bright red one with a green paisley design and a thick black cup on the top. She smiled as she rubbed her fingers over the name plate that Nona, her grand-daughter, had insisted having engraved so that if the thermos were ever lost, it would be returned. The only downside was that Nona’s mother, Josie, her own daughter, hadn’t managed to explain to the six-year-old that not everyone in the city knew who “Grandma Molly” was and for that matter, where she lived. This did not matter because Nona had made up her mind and that was the end of that. Josie had promptly looked at Molly when explaining the engraving, after she had opened the present and said, “It’s your fault she’s so stubborn!” It caused Molly a chuckle every time she read it.
         She removed the cup and set it down so that it balanced half on each of two strips of the wooden bench seat and then removed the screw top. She always brought her thermos with her to the park. She refused to give up her sweet morning coffee with cream and sugar; well Splenda anyway. After putting the screw top back on and setting down the thermos on her other side, she lifted the half steaming cup of coffee to her lips and tried to blow the heat and steam away. The perfect cup of coffee took time and patience to create, not to mention perseverance. The next most important part was partaking of the coffee when it was just the right temperature. If it was too cold then you had missed that wonderful experience and would have to settle for something less than perfect.          If you tried to drink it too soon, then burning of your tongue would prevent you from enjoying the wonderful taste. Very complicated was the perfect cup of coffee and there were so many ways of perfection. Just walk into any one of the new style coffee shops and you could see people making an art form out of it.
         Specialty coffee was a luxury she simply could not afford at this point in her life. Oh make no mistake about it, she had enjoyed her share of wasting money in her younger days. If only she could get back all the wasted money. She’d be able to waste it on better coffee today. How ironic she thought, most people complain after the fact that they wished they had the money previously wasted, only so they could waste it something probably just a useless today. It wasn’t a question of going without; just being careful. It wasn’t as if she were deprived of anything. If there was something she wanted to buy, or something she needed, she either dipped into her budget or found a way to get it cheaper. It was just nowadays, she realized that what she wanted was only really a passing fancy. Thinking on it for a couple of hours or days, depending on how much it nagged, usually resulted in her attention floating in a different direction.
         Her train of thought about money matters was interrupted when a red ball bounced from around a nearby bush and a pale yellow blur of fur came rushing at her. She immediately sat down her cup of coffee, recoiled against the back of the bench and instantly lost several shades of color in her face. The dog, paying no attention to Molly whatsoever, skidded after the ball as it bounced and rolled up to the base of tree a short distance to the side of her. A young man came rushing across the park and sternly reproached the dog for, ‘what else, but being a dog’ Molly thought.
         “Sarah, what are you doing scaring the nice lady,” he frowned as the dog playfully chomped down on the ball and then did a dance before her owner to show how well she’d done at getting it.
         “She’s not dangerous,” he smiled at Molly, “she’s really just a big klutz.”
         “So I can see,” said Molly as she relaxed and smiled at the young man and returned her attention to the dog.
         “Well aren’t you a good girl, Sarah?” The dog responded by turning toward her and promptly dropping the ball at her feet; ready for another mad dash. Molly laughed and looked to the young man for a sign that it was ok to pick up the ball. He grinned his approval and said, “Sarah, sit!” The dog promptly dropped her rump to the grass and sat panting with its tongue hanging out to the side.
Molly waited a couple of seconds and then lobbed the ball as far as she could. The dog needed no encouragement as she raced off to fetch her prized possession. The young man looked back at Molly and said, “Here I go again; it was nice meeting you.”
         “You too!” she replied and with that he jogged away in the same direction as the dog. Molly had always liked dogs, but never enough to want one of her own. Definitely too much work she had decided. Josie had suggested getting not long after Harold, her husband, had passed away. She remembered how guilty Josie had seemed about her living alone; as though it were her responsibility to resolve the inevitable. That was eight years ago, she thought as she remembered her coffee and sought to retrieve it. When she thought about the actual day he had passed, it didn’t seem so long ago and yet there’d been so many days since then, the birth of Nona, her granddaughter, and all the hours pleasantly observing her exploring this brand new world.
         ‘Darn….missed it,” she thought as she sipped her coffee and realized it was just a little too much on the side of cold. She reached for her flask and warmed it back up to the perfect temperature. Sarah and her owner passed by twice more before the young man signaled their leaving with a wave. She always wondered what younger people really thought of more seasoned adults. Not that she would ever have voiced those curiosities; veterans didn’t concern themselves with what the newer ranks thought about; even so, she did often wonder.          She could clearly remember what she had thought of ‘old people’ in her youth. Of course back in those days, respect for your elders was mandatory. It was simply expected and automatically given. Nowadays that wasn’t the case, she’d witnessed younger people racing by in sporty cars yelling at older pedestrians, trying to scare the life right out of them. She hadn’t noticed when this change had taken place, or for that matter, when respect had been put on the back burner. Maybe it wasn’t that the kids that had changed; maybe it was her, or even worse maybe she hadn’t. Had she somehow gotten mentally stuck back in a different time, when people had treated other people differently, a time when people seemed to have more patience? Or was it more of a case of her not rushing around so much any more and thereby, becoming more aware of those who impatiently did.
         She drained the remaining coffee from the cup and filled it back with the rest in the flask. She only ever made a half flask, any more than that and she would spend the rest of the day chewing on antacids. She set down the steaming cup and pulled out the remainder of a pecan Danish she’d bought on Saturday. Sure enough, it didn’t take long before her familiar friend arrived, scurrying along as he always did. He was as jittery as you could please and always wary of strangers.
         “Hello George,” she smiled as the grey squirrel scrambled down to the base of the nearby tree. He stopped to evaluate the scent of Sarah’s ball and froze as if to expect her standing there. After a couple of seconds without any discernable danger, he jumped down to the ground and looked over at Molly.
         “How are you this fine morning?” she asked as she broke off a small piece of the pasty and placed it on the far end of the bench. George, or so she’d named him, jumped onto the bench, grabbed the treat and quickly retreated to a safer distance. He munched on the pastry all the while looking around and sniffing the air just in case some savage attacker should try to sneak up and steal it or him for that matter.
         ‘I wonder what your days must be like,’ she thought, as she watched him. ‘Always on the move’ she tore off another piece of pastry and placed it closer than the last. He looked at the pastry and then around to see if there were any other takers. After a few seconds of sniffing the air and deciding if the potential trap was worth the bounty, he took too leaps and snatched the second piece and retreated back to his comfort zone. He was totally oblivious to all the chaos that went on every day. He just darted about and took care of his business without every realizing that he was not the center of the universe. Then again, maybe he thought he was; if squirrels thought about anything. Maybe that was what made his life so simple. He just concerned himself with what he needed to do to survive. There was no constant self-evaluation of his life; no assessment and re-assessment of whether or not he was measuring up to other squirrels. He spent every moment of his life in the present, never considering if where he had buried nuts yesterday was the right place. The only things that needed doing were what he was doing at the moment he did them.
         She took a last bite and tossed the remainder on the ground, “well, as usual, you get the last bite.” He darted forth and picked it up but this time, he remained in place and nibbled on the treat. After he finished, he raced off across the park, probably to find another donation of food from another park intruder. “Don’t say goodbye or anything,” she called after him. He never stopped or looked back, why would he? The moment with her was already past. She took the bag that had contained the pastry and emptied it onto the ground. She finished up the coffee and placed the cap on the thermos and back into her bag. Gathering up both her purse and carry bag in one hand, she emptied the crumbs from the pastry bag onto the ground and walked over and dropped it into the trash can.
         It was time to get on with the rest of her day. There were things to do and programs to watch, just as she had done the day before and just as she would do tomorrow. She looked around the park as she walked to the entrance. The park was, just as it has been yesterday, as it was today and as it would be tomorrow, the same as always; ever changing.