I wasn’t allowed to walk for a
month. A severely busted leg brought
this upon me. It wasn’t too bad at the
beginning. I got caught up on my
favorite tv shows and read a lot, but soon it got old. I was bored.
Not just bored, but crazy bored.
Two weeks passed and I had nothing
to do. It was then that I began looking
out my third story apartment window.
I had a pleasant view into a park
across the street. Right on the edge of
the park sat an old, somewhat dilapidated, bench. As I watched this bench a man with a
wonderful fedora (I was rather envious of it) came and sat down. He held a newspaper. And then he just sat there.
It was almost an hour of staring at
the same page of his newspaper and every so often checking his watch. After a while he stood up and left.
I soon forgot about him and
continued to sulk about the boredom that I now had to deal with.
The next day the man was back. He still wore his fedora. He was carrying that day’s newspaper
though. He sat on the same bench and
stared at a single newspaper page checking his watch more often than the day
before.
I soon found that this man sat on
that bench every day. He wore the same fedora, placed carefully at a slight angle on his head.
After a week or two I finally got a
look at his face. He was a dark-skinned
man with wrinkled skin. His face was
clean-shaven and a round pair of glasses magnified his narrow eyes. He looked weary.
Each day he grew more and more
agitated and impatient. I supposed him
to be waiting for someone or something.
I wasn’t quite sure which it was.
I thought maybe he was a drug dealer, but there was something about him
that seemed too honest. He was…hurting,
at least that is the impression I got from him.
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of
him. I was beginning to think that maybe
I should stop watching the man. It felt
like an invasion of privacy. After a
while I once again forgot about him as I began to heal and was allowed to move
around more. Soon it was time to begin
therapy and walking again and he was erased from my mind altogether. That is until the one morning.
I woke to large drops pattering
against my window. I looked outside and
there was the man sitting on the bench.
He was stooped over with his newspaper in his lap. As I watched the man stood and placed his
fedora on the bench. The man turned so
that his face was towards my window. Wet
drops clung to the lens of his glasses.
They could have been tears but it was hard to tell with all the
rain. The man took one last look at the
fedora on the bench and then tucked his newspaper under his arm and walked
away, his shoulders slumped in sorrow.
I tried to forget about the man, but
every time I looked out the window I saw the fedora getting further drenched by
the rain. As evening arrived I finally
gave in and made my way down to the bench.
It felt strange standing by the bench I had been watching for so
long. It felt like I was entering the
man’s home without his permission.
Water was pooling in the
dented top of the fedora. I hesitated
before picking the hat up. As I gently
drained the water, something caught my eye.
A folded piece of paper lay on the bench where I had picked up the
fedora. The man must have placed it
beneath the fedora in an attempt to keep it dry. For the most part it had worked but for the
few drops now splattered on it.
I picked up the paper. I didn’t know what to do. So, I did what I think anyone else would have
done if they had been in the same situation.
I unfolded the paper. Four words
greeted me.
“I still love you.”
That was it. No explanation. No name.
Just four words that meant the world to this man.
Who was he? I don’t know.
Who did he love? I didn’t know that either.
I just knew he loved
unconditionally.
I want to be more like this
man.
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