Saving Seats
It was cold. James thought seriously about putting his coat back on. No, he thought, the weather wasn’t that bad. Besides, his discomfort would be alleviated once the seat was occupied and he was wearing his coat again. The wind blew, and he shuddered as did the large oak behind him. Acorns pelted the sidewalk before him and rolled into the grass, free to pursue their purpose in life. He jammed his hands into his pockets and pressed his shivering arms against his sides. He stared at one of the acorns that did not quite make it past the edge of the concrete. Birds rustled in the overhanging branches, settling in for what was becoming a long afternoon.
Shoes, leather and expensive, came into his tunnel of vision. The older man looked as though he might break and run when James bolted upright in surprise. His pace quickened considerably and he glanced over his shoulder more than once on his way down the sidewalk. As the footsteps faded, James turned his attention back to the acorn. Leather Shoes must have crushed it as he came by for there it laid in several pieces, its life-giving power ground into the unyielding stone. Oh well, James thought.
A light drizzle began to fall. James sat in the shelter of two trees, untouched, and watched those around the park begin to move towards cover, some complaining about the turn that the weather had taken in the last couple of days. Pansies. No, pansies enjoyed this kind of weather. Dirt. Dirt’s lower than the pansies. That’s where they ranked. He remembered hearing somewhere that people were made from dirt. Must be true. Dirt certainly described several people he knew. That must be why they didn’t like the rain. It melted them, showed them for what they truly were. Their castles get washed away in the rain. Not her, though, rain had no affect on her. She was a rock.
It was a day not unlike this, though the rain had pushed a little harder through the leaves and branches, when his downcast gaze caught sight of someone coming down the sidewalk. A girl with no urgency in her stride, even and straight, she took the beating the rain provided. He lowered his head and rummaged through his bag looking for nothing. He watched her through the corner of his eye noting the blue jeans with frayed edges and the well-worn running shoes. He pretended not to notice as she drew nearer. He panicked when her shoes stopped and turned instead of splashing by. What was she doing? While he was hunched over his bag, he felt her touch his shoulder.
His involuntary escape plan of jolting backward through the 2 x 4’s of the bench failed, but succeeded in allowing him a view of her face. An angel’s face. Mountainous clouds gave backdrop to the profile as rays of sunlight broke the grey canvas with the resounding stroke of a brush. Or maybe that was his spine snapping. He grimaced and . . . she laughed! He was in pain, and it was her fault, and she was laughing! She must have noticed his expression. While suppressing a smile she said, “Sorry. Why are you so jumpy?”
She sat down as James glared at her and said, “I wasn’t expecting you to hit me.”
“I barely touched you, you pansy.”
“You’re insulting me, and I don’t even know you.” She stuck out her hand and said, “Sorry, my name is Mary.”
Flip Flops? The stupidity of the scene before him brought his attention back to the present. He could barely see the pale toes protruding from the darkly soaked hem of the baggy jeans. He glanced upward as the drenched, muscle-bound goof made his way quickly by. Water ran down his bare arms and his blue lips quivered like a small child in the cold. How admirable he looked. He felt sorry for the guy’s situation, must not have checked the news before he left that morning. He wanted to offer the poor dope his coat; that’s what Mary would do if she were here, but then the man might feel obliged to sit.
The rain began to pick up a little as water trickled through the lattice above him. The rough sidewalk shimmered as a thin, translucent layer began to fill the cracks and depressions, evening the surface. James’ hair was beginning to get soaked as were his shoulders. She was never this late. Every weekday for the last two months they would sit on this bench and regale each other with the oddities of life they had encountered since their last meeting. These conversations were not all ludicrous and shallow, quite the contrary actually. About a month after they had met, she had pushed him into the deep end of the discussion pool where his feet had trouble finding the bottom. Then she popped his floaties.
She had come up in her usual cheery mood; her smile was unrepressed by the permanent scowl on James’ face. She fired off her typical peculiar question with the demeanor of an invading battleship. “What do you think happens to us when we die?” she inquired as she slid his coat over and sat down. The shell hit. A strategic counterattack was called for.
“You’re a psychology major aren’t you?” He asked slyly.
She foiled him with an ‘I’m-not-taking-the-bait,-and-quit-changing-the-subject’ smile and said, “I asked first.”
With his defenses broken, he needed a reply that would appease her or at least give him time to bunker down for the attack. “I dunno.” He muttered, knowing he had come up a little short. Her prepared response would definitely be one of vigor, depth, and religion, but she must have noticed James begin to tense up and cancelled the barrage.
“Maybe people turn into butterflies,” she said cutting the impending silence short. The absurdity of the comment softened James up and brought immediate condemnation.
“That’s stupid.”
Undaunted she launched into a flight of fantasy.
“Wouldn’t it be great!” she said as she grabbed his hand and yanked him out of his seat. She danced and swung him in circles. He began to feel uncomfortable.
People were looking and laughing and James wanted to sit back down, but Mary looked him in the eyes, smiled, and continued, “Free to fly around as high as you dare with no consequences since you’re already dead.” “What if you get squashed?” James asked looking around cautiously. She spun them faster, barely seeming to touch the ground. “I haven’t thought that far ahead!” This comment struck James as incredible. He was always thinking ahead, especially about how others would interpret his actions. He slowed to ponder her statement, but she continued at the same rate throwing them both off balance. She laughed as they collapsed in a heap on the grass. That was last week. That was the first time that he really hadn’t cared how the people around the park saw him. Later, he had told her so, and she had chided him, “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
He explored his coat pocket for the watch with a broken wrist strap. He needed a new watch as Mary had told him on many occasions. She had accurately guessed that he hadn’t had it repaired because if it were on his wrist people might ask for the time. While he excavated, he felt a piece of paper. He didn’t remember putting that in there. As he began to unfold the program, he saw a cross and he remembered.
Yesterday he had worn a suit and tie for the first time since graduation. The church seemed an unfriendly place. He remembered thinking he heard the wrought iron gate creak as he passed through. He knew at any moment it would swing shut locking him in, but he had to press on. The smell of old ladies' perfume and candle wax hit him like a smoky bat when he walked through the doors. He heard soft sobs throughout the building. No one there knew him, except the one who could not greet him. He had approached the pulpit when the offer was given to the surprise of everyone and began to speak about Mary. He continued through the whispers and scowls from the crowd. She would have thanked him for interrupting the prearranged order of monologues of distant relatives. She always loved the spur of the moment. When he finished he left that place not knowing where to go. He went home long enough to change clothes and then . . . . How long had he been here?
The program was disintegrating in his hand as the rain slowly devoured it. She was the only person who had ever taken the time to stop and talk to him when he sat here. She had helped him more than she would ever know now, but she had checked out before telling him what happened when the butterfly dies. How was he supposed to find out by himself? A flash of color in the tree above captured his attention. In awe, he watched a butterfly slowly flutter through the soggy branches and leaves and light on his coat. The shock subsided, and, as he leaned over, the tears that had been welling in his eyes spilled out, mingling with the rain that ran down his face. His throat was constricting when he squeaked out, “So what happens now?” The butterfly sat for a minute and then took to the air. James watched it wing its way up through the rain until he was unable to follow the movement. He remembered hearing somewhere that heaven was above us. Maybe Mary told him that.