A Day in City Park

“Hello there,” a voice from behind me said.
I was sitting on a stone bench in the middle of City Park for about an hour, holding my head in my hands and resting my elbows on a sketchbook in my lap. The voice startled me for a moment as I pulled my head away from my hands to see if I was being greeted.
“Hi,” I said looking up at a kind-looking old gentleman.
He stood almost six feet tall, but a slouch in his posture made him appear much smaller. In his left hand, he carried an intricately carved wooden cane. He smiled at me.
“You’re sitting on my seat,” the old man said with a small chuckle.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” I said grabbing my sketchbook and purse.
“No honey, stay where you are. You don’t have to move,” he said putting his delicate hand on my shoulder, “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
I cracked a smile, acknowledging his kind gesture to share the park bench. Normally I prefer to sit by myself; however, this time I took my seat next to him.
Through the cool breeze in the air this afternoon, I caught a whiff of his after shave. It reminded me of what my grandfather used to wear, musty but with a sweet smell. His attire was much the same as my grandfather’s as well: a variation of brown colors in a plaid button down shirt with a breast pocket filled with an assortment of pens and pencils; gray slacks with deep pockets that jingle with change every chance a hand could disturb their resting place; and worn black shoes that really looked more gray than black. He wore a friendly smile, just like my grandfather. I only knew my grandfather for a short time before he passed away when I was only ten years-old. The old man even wore the same closed-lip smile that my grandfather always greeted me with.
“I come here… every week…,” he said speaking a few words at a time and licking his lips every once in awhile, “…and I sit here… in this very spot.”
“This is the first time I’ve been to this park,” I found myself saying, “I recently moved nearby.”
“Well…” he said licking his lips again with a smile, “Welcome!”
For awhile, we sat together without an exchanging of words. Any time someone would walk by the bench he smiled at them. Making eye contact, he’d nod his head, smile, and greet them with a friendly ‘hello.’ The passer-bys would either acknowledge his kind gesture or simply return with their own verbal greeting. I sat quietly with my chin resting in the palm of my hand gazing out onto the lake in the park. I could hear him sifting through his pockets for something. I sat up and leaned against the back of the bench, still keeping my hands on my sketchbook. I could hear the change jingling in his pocket as he continued to search for something.
Eventually, he pulled his hand out of his pocket with a piece of candy clutched gently between his two fingers.
“Butterscotch?” he said breaking the silence between us.
“You remind me a lot of my grandfather,” I said to him taking him up on his offer.
“Oh?” he said curiously, “Well… I am pretty old.”
“Oh no,” I said, “I didn’t mean that… I meant…”
“It’s okay, dear,” he said, “I’m only kidding with you.”
“Ahh… right,” I said. “Well, my grandfather loved butterscotch candy, too.”
“As he should. The finest candy the world has ever seen,” he said proudly.
I pulled the wrapper out and watched the butterscotch candy roll as the wrapper released it. I popped the candy in my mouth and closed my eyes for a brief minute.
“Good isn’t it…” he said to me taking notice that I was closing my eyes.
“Yes,” I said, “The flavor is one of my fondest memories of him. We used to eat a bunch of these when we’d watch a movie together.”
“That’s great,” he said.
Again we found ourselves sitting quietly, allowing the sweetness of the butterscotch to melt in our mouths.
He still smiled and nodded his head when someone passed by. I tried to be as friendly, but I could only sit quietly clutching my sketchbook.
“What you got there… a… a sketchbook,” he said.
“Oh… yeah…” I said looking down at the sketchbook resting in my lap.
“Are you an… an… artist perchance?” he asked.
“Yes… well, no… I… well…,” I said, “I used to be.”
“Used to be?” he asked.
“Well… for a number of years I worked in uh… uhh graphic design… but I…” I said.
“Ohhh… I didn… I didn’t mean to pry,” the old man said.
“No, no, no… it’s okay… it’s okay… it’s… uhh that was a while ago,” I said, “I’ve… moved on… You see… well… I had a nervous uhh… nervous breakdown.”
“Ohh…” he said turning his head out to the lake.
I found myself opening up more. It felt good to hear myself say out loud, ‘I… had… a… nervous… breakdown…’
“My mother… and my husband of… twenty years or so… were killed in a car accident a few years back,” I said. “I was in the accident with them, but… While I survived the accident, they… both of them slipped into a coma. They… they never recovered.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sorrowfully.
“I’m Charlotte,” I said after realizing I just spilled the beans on something I had kept silent about for years.
“Rufus,” he said shaking my hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said smiling.
“If you don’t mind… me asking of course…” he said, “how…”
He paused, rubbing his fingers around his chin.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I lost my train of thoughts.”
He let a smile grow as he lightly laughed his wandering mind.
“I used to paint a lot, too,” I said, “Almost every day.”
“I used to carve a lot,” Rufus said, “Carved this cane here.”
Holding up the cane, he drew his hand along the carvings in the handle and along the pole.
“I made this after my wife died,” he said, “It was my memorial to her. She lived a wonderful, wonderful life.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said admiring the intricate floral carvings in the wood.
“You know we had a party at her funeral,” Rufus said.
“A party?” I asked.
“Oh yeah… my wife, Sylvia was her name, would have haunted me for the rest of my life if I didn’t celebrate her life,” he said laughing. “My two daughters didn’t like the idea, but I assured them this is what their mother would want.”
“I didn’t go to my mother’s funeral,” I said.
“No?” Rufus asked.
“No… I didn’t attend my husband’s either,” I confessed. “Truth is… I locked myself in my mother’s bedroom. I couldn’t cry.”
It was true. For several weeks after the accident, I felt emotionally detached from the world. No matter how much it hurt inside to know that I would never see them again… I couldn’t cry. I could feel the stress building up inside of me. I wanted to release it…
“I couldn’t cry,” I said again.
“I couldn’t stop crying,” Rufus said. “My daughter’s thought I was losing it. But they were tears of joy.”
“Of joy?” I said stopping a potential tear from forming.
“I was happy that she was able to live the life she wanted. I cried because it pleased me that I could have been an important part of her life,” Rufus said.
My husband and I always spoke about our future, wholly anticipating a splendid life together. After the accident, I saw my future shatter. I was lost.
“My breakdown occurred just about the time when I realized that the life my husband and I had planned was now gone. All the things I wish I told my mother… never got to say them…” I said looking down at my feet.
My sketchbook fell out of my lap and hit the ground. My knees went numb for a moment. Rufus outstretched his arm and put it across my shoulders. All of a sudden the chill that had found its way under my skin had dissipated, replacing it with warmth that transcended throughout my body.
“It’s okay, Charlotte,” he said to me, “Sometimes we just have to let things be as they are. They are out of our control.”
My knees remained numb as the sensation in my legs started to fade. The stone bench was a little cold and uncomfortable so I shifted slightly to hopefully make things more comfortable.
“I had failed them,” I said holding back a small wave of tears.
“No… Charlotte,” Rufus said, “Just let it go.”
Through my tears, I couldn’t help but notice Rufus’ voice had changed. His frail voice had disappeared. He no longer licked his lips. He spoke clearly. The numbness in my legs began to spread. The warmth I had felt before was becoming like a heavy blanket spreading across me tightly, restricting my movement.
Rufus released his arm from my shoulder and I felt my body collapse as I fell to the ground. Several people nearby watched me as I fell and rushed over to assist me. I could see their mouths move, but I heard nothing. Rufus still sat on the bench watching me with a hopeful smile. He motioned the words with his lips, “It’s okay.”
The light around me began to fade. The acceptance of darkness was difficult at first, but the more it enraptured me, the more it became my comforting blanket. I felt myself sitting deep below my physical body. The faces around me were beginning to transform as I slowly felt myself rise from my body.
“Charlotte…” a familiar voice said softly, “If you’re listening…”
The voice went silent.
“I’m listening!” I felt myself scream. But I heard nothing.
“…if you’re listening,” the voice said again, “It’s okay. You can let go now.”
I recognized the voice as my husband. His face faded in as I found myself hovering over my body wrapped in blankets and hooked up to God knows how many machines. He sat by my bedside with my mother who was in a wheel chair on the other side. She held my hand, rubbing it softly.
“Honey…” I heard her say, “It’s time.”
“No…” I tried to say loudly.
My husband kissed my hand, “I love you. It’s okay… you can go now. Everything will be fine.”
I slowly floated back into my body lying peacefully on the hospital bed. I felt the numbness disappearing.
“Her brain activity is weakening,” another voice said.
“Dr. Royce?” my husband said, “Will you…”
He choked on his words as he held back his tears.
“Will you please? Take her off… let her go.”
“Okay,” Dr. Royce said.