Wednesday, October 27, 2010

the park bench confessional

the park became his convention. early in the day when the low sun bleaches the lake. here is where normalcy came in a throng of avid health preservers. a sea of colors in sweat pants bouncing. he sat down on the bench that was nearest to the water. so that he could see the ducks waddle. he loves ducks, migratory birds whom avoid the cold in numbers, flying in v's denoting peace emblazoned in the sky. he chuckles at the thought of his overzealous imagination.

as two women jogs by behind him, he couldn't help but to eavesdrop over their conversation, one said "cette nuit a été chaude dernier gars" as she giggles while catching her breath

"oui, n'est-ce pas? je lui obtenir pour le dîner ce soir" the other answered, like how teenage sleepovers go.

he could only agree that what normalcy means when being here. unlike his cloud of folds, like angry cumulonimbus over his head.as he puts so much thought into it, he didn't realize the woman who just sat beside him. taking him aback for a moment, thinking how the world can go by without him realizing.

the woman, demure in appearance. with her, an air of debonair surrounds. a hint of rosemary blossoms fills his nostrils. likening it to mornings of slow travel through the french countryside of chartreuse. she hugs herself over her trench coat, fully covering till the knees. her red christian loubotin's glisten like crimson lights in the sun. all the while as he was analyzing her, he wasn't aware that she did the same as well.

"sandwich for breakfast?", she asked politely with a smile that can melt the average man.

he was momentary startled at the question, still processing the uncommon situation.

"ah, yes. knuckle sandwiches. right outta the freezer" he said, trying hard to mask his awkward tone.

"homemade sandwiches are the best. i don't understand how a person would want to get sandwiches anywhere else with the price of bowl of pasta" she answered with a stare of poignance into the vacant lake in front of her," right?"

he nodded.

"so what brings you here stranger? you seemed to be in a world of your own on this park bench," she said in a tone so delightful, you could bake it and eat it and bake it again and eat it again.

"it's my sunday morning thing. where i clear my head", he answered.

"so you talk to yourself?", she asked as she blows the puff of smoke off her barely 5 seconds lit cigarette.

he nodded.

"y'know henri cartier-bresson, the father of modern photojournalism once confided his inner most secrets to a taxi cab driver. knowing that the driver was a stranger and he'll never see him again", she said in an almost pre-meditated sentence. "you kinda have that satisfaction and release without being judged prematurely"

in a quizzical state he ask,"so you're saying that i should start taking the cab and confide to them?"

"no, silly" she said with a smile. "talk to me, right here right now and i have all day"

his hands clasps the already frozen sandwich in his hand. the grasp delicate, but the intention fade. like tiny particles dispersing into air. colliding with a dissonance of cacophonous epiphany.

"okay okay, let me start," in an abrupt manner. "you can call me event, event riley"

he misinterpreted the shine in her eyes as sparks, but in truth it was actually electricity.

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