The Bench

She sits on the bench, palms covering her eyes, heads down. The sun heats her neck, the shadow covering her entire being, a dark grey spectrum stretching claws on the bright paved floor.

She sighs. Kids come, kids go. She doesn't notice, she doesn't care. She doesn't move.

The sun moves to her three o'clock. Runners pass by. She looks up, she looks down, left, right. Looking for something, finding nothing. Heads down.

Six o'clock. Nobody comes to her. She doesn't go.

A troubled being, finding no meaning. Just there, sitting.

I open my gate and walk. As I'm coming closer, I wonder. I wonder why she's there at this hour, a spectrum of a human being occupying my bench.

My slow body, wrapped on wrinkled, thin skin, descends until my bottom meets the wooden seat. She senses my weight. Her head lifts up quietly.

Our eyes meet. I throw her a greeting smile. She throws back an empty one. It immediately takes me back decades ago, back to her, reminding me of troubled moments my mind had already crushed deep down, reviving connections my soul had long forgotten. Then we part.

She's back staring at the pavement, I'm left facing forward. Side by side. In silence.

I know her type. I've experienced, through another pair of eyes, the troubles of her soul. Oh, I know.

The blue sky turns pale white, my favorite shade before it all goes dark. I sigh, cursing her presence here tonight.

"It's getting dark," I state the obvious, hoping she will get up and go home. "Your partner must be waiting for you."

"Uh?," She looks at me confused.

"The ring on your left finger." I say.

"Oh." She replies, then goes back to her static state of mind.

Yeah, she's definitely lost. Poor soul. I sigh.

"I have nowhere to go," The woman says. I follow her gaze. It freezes at one of the new townhouses on farthest corner of the park. "That place feels nothing like home. For a while now."

"I've been there before." I throw her a compassionate smile. She stares me with disdain, clearly not buying my shit. "One can never forget the inflicted pain."

Her eyes go wide then wild. Bingo.

I point at her house, then move my slender finger until it indicates my gate.

"I built my house forty years ago. When I stacked the first wood on the ground, there was nothing but grass all around."

Her body moves slightly, now attentive, grown curious. I keep going.

"It was different times. Not much technology, except for T.V., radio. Work was long hours. I liked humming, dancing. An attempt to make it lighter. Especially the evenings. I spent every night with my wife and three kids. Twenty-five long, difficult, troubled years. Three kids. Obviously there were lots of disagreements. Fights, occasionally. Depression and anxiety were unthinkable, unspoken then. But love - ah, love was always there. Even when she felt so heavy, so dry, uncapable of making it blossom from so much, from too much caring for that many people under the same roof."

I twist my torso just enough to touch the silver inscription at my bench. She squints, beating the eminent darkness, and reads out loud.

In loving memory of Maria Muniz. Mother, wife, housekeeper, cook, doctor, accountant, manager, painter, constructor, driver, teacher, salesperson, inventor, dancer, lover. For the sake of all ordinary women, may her beautiful life and day-to-day deeds always be remembered.

"In the end, I like to think that we thrived. She thrived."

A flash of hope lightens up her gloomy eyes. Her desperate face is now soft and kind, eager for me to share more. I rub my cane.

"We all face our own battles. But there's one all humans share, one that, no matter how much we fight, we will never win: immortality. When we are gone, it's not long until we are forgotten. Photographs, recordings, videos. It all exists, it all gets lost. No one can be remembered forever. So many ordinary lives are gone with the wind. But when I was thirty I noticed that living beings can extend their lives and the lives of others once they are gone. All we need, my dear, is a plan. Write a book. Command a statue. Vote for street names. Nail memorial signs to park benches."

She laughs, wiping her tears out of her rosy cheeks.

"There is only one life to live. And each and everyone of us are precious in our very own, remarkable way. Like Maria. My Maria. Our Maria."

She takes in a deep breath.

"Thank you, sir. This has been... very helpful."

I nod empathetically, as she gets up. Her energy has changed. Her spirit has started to heal. Well done, Maria. Your body may be gone, but you're still touching peoples lives.

The woman is ready to leave, ready to go back to her place, ready to try again to make it feel more like a home. Her home. Their home. But she doesn't go. Instead, she stares at me with excitement.

"May I... If this is not too weird... May I give you a hug, sir?"

"I'm sorry. I don't hug people I don't know."

"Oh, but I feel like you do. My name is Maria. Nice to meet you."

I stare surprised at the void, then at her back after she hugs me and leaves, turning back twice to wave one of those thankful goodbyes you'd throw at a beloved friend, not a stranger.

Well done, Maria. Well done.