Park Bench
Joshua Chen
T
he wind was cold and fresh. A man shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled down the sidewalk, letting his eyes glaze over the
trees and houses as he moved along. He reached the sidewalk’s end and
crossed the street to the local park. Standing at the border, he surveyed
the area. A group of children playing kickball in a dusty field. A couple
empty playgrounds. The back of an aging man with graying hair and a
jacket too thin for the biting wind. He was hunched over on the bench,
chin down, as if trying to hold the warmth in with his shoulders. He
looked up when the man sat down on the other side of the bench.
“Will.”
The younger man grunted in reply. “Pat.”
“Heard you were back in town.”
“Yep.”
“Well, what for?”
Will casually brushed an ant off the bench. “Just passing through.
Thought I’d stop by, give my old man a visit.”
A sparrow landed on the ground in front of them and they watched
it hop about and look around curiously. The grass was mostly dying.
Only a few green patches had survived the trampling of countless children; the rest was dirt and pebbles. The two watched as the bird stared
back at them for a moment before flying away.
“What’ve you been up to these days? It’s been too long, huh.” Pat
let out a laugh that sounded more like a smoker’s cough. “I don’t even
remember what you were into back then.”
Will shrugged.
“Jill told me you had called.”
“Yeah, Pat. I talked with Jill. I didn’t know you made a new friend.
What happened to Martha?”
Pat grunted and rummaged through his pockets for a cigarette. The
flinty strikes of a lighter mixed into the breeze, and the smoke joined
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