The Man Sitting On the Bench
A Story Dedicated to Three Great People
Amy F.
Beau H.
Nick R.
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Who's this person sitting here, under this large oak tree, on that brown wooden bench staring out towards the ocean in the background? He's not moving, just sitting there with that blank expression, somber and defeated. His story must be great, as he seems to be experiencing such great sorrow. Those bags under his eyes tell a large story, each line etched forever across his forehead as he furrows his eyebrows together as if concentrating on the past or one precise moment. He looks familiar but his hair is covering his face, that distant look, those hazel eyes, the furrowed brow, that hopeless exterior… maybe he's waiting for someone, hoping for an answer? Only God knows the real truth. Oh, I think he's about to break. Who's going to be around to pick up the pieces? No one is here to help him out he seems so alone what is he stressing out about?
I always find myself wondering what is going on in another persons mind, not all the time just tid-bits or at random moments. It's the whole curiosity inside of me… Yes, yes I know it killed the cat and what-not. Recently, I have noticed that I have been questioning all the goings on in my life, evaluating my past and present. Pondering the question of my future. One thing to say to all of you who haven't done confession. It doesn't help with a short oath being said, well mine was rushed and I didn't get a chance to talk to the priest, but still I don't feel like it solved anything who knows maybe I'll try it again.
Anyways back to the story of this person sitting at the bench, this whole familiarity of his face, his expression… also I think I'm empathizing with him, I feel his embarrassment, anticipation and confidence… but the strongest one trumping the rest is his sorrow. It's as if he's bottled it all up and now he's drowning him, and now all his feelings that I experienced before all are warped… his anticipation, now in my perspective, seems dark, dreary, and dull. His confidence is laced with resentment and unresolved repentance. His embarrassment is a cover for his nervousness and his need and search for acceptance. Those three emotions are laced together to enable him to compose himself even for a short while.
Watching him suffer, it's painful, to a near inhumane manner. It's as if I'm getting forced to watch this scene for all eternity… people in pain drowning in a pool of their own guilt, depression, or naivety. As I turn away to watch a large blinding flash of pain whacks my head…
I open my eyes, and all I can see is this darkness… Oh wait never mind it just got late. I suddenly realize that I'm still near the person on the bench, he's rubbing his eyes now, he still hasn't moved, he's worrying me.
I guess he realized that he fell asleep. Hmmm… he just checked his phone - must have missed a call, then why is he feeling so guilty? -, he's gone distant once again, and my heart is breaking for him. I can sense his anger… but it's not because he's been abandoned, it's not directed towards the people he's waiting for… I think it just might be towards himself!
I hear something, he looks at the same direction as me, and I think it's those people he's been waiting for. The people he's been waiting for are finally here. I didn't notice it before but he's been shedding silent tears for awhile maybe before I blacked out, those red puffy eyes, the streaks of dried tears, the slight quivering. The tears and sobs intensify as his friends encase him in a circle, but unlike those past tears, these were brought upon by relief, hope and compassion.
Wondering why I know all this? I can only answer this now, as the man on the bench runs his hand through his hair revealing his complexion, I saw myself, those same lost eyes, waiting for that acceptance. These revelations hit me hard and it makes it hard to breathe as I finally notice the condition I'm in.
I wonder why I can see myself, am I dead? Is that even me? I finally give up the answer to these questions, as I just leave them alone, the answers will come in time, and I'll settle for this little white lie; my conscience forcing me to perceive my own self-infliction to allow myself to heal, and I guess, with the help of this 'bubble' my friends have created, I'll be able to handle the pressure, even though the problems aren't solved or disappeared it will at least, help me start over allowing me to divide and conquer the difficult events in my life.
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I wrote this story to show those three people how much they mean to me, even though I have told them I feel as though I didn't really convey the whole truth, so basically I love them dearly and I'd rather sacrifice myself to save them in anyway. They truly do mean a lot to me, and I hope they understand this.