The Bench and The Boy
The various lilies and roses were a new masterpiece each day, altering the frameless scenery by gazing upward at the ever-present sky; the ones providing warmth to our land, thankful for the warmth of the sun. Each day of these playful months came in moments, the gift of the present, lived in barefoot dances, wind-tousled hair, laughter and songs, the layers of spring left in some forgotten closet.
JUNE 1ST 1980
The relief of waking up in the morning without having to glance up at the nearest clock every five seconds to make sure I wasn’t late for school was something I was going to miss once autumn took a peek into this world. However, this summer wasn’t going to be like the previous summers. I was adamant to amend my physical imperfections and be pretty like my sister. In the farm, every girl seemed apple-cheeked and milk-fed and I had to be the one given the features of someone whose skin had taken on the vitamin-D deficient pallor as if I were unfamiliar with daylight.
Before granting my insecurities gruesome hours to pick themselves out, I decided to head over to my favourite bench perched at the top of the hill to merely ponder about anything and everything I could pinpoint. I glanced out of the kitchen window from where I could discern the bench and was taken aback when I saw the outline of a figure fixated there, upright. That was impossible – no one ever sat there apart from me; the bench was referred to as ‘The Death Bench’ around here because a rumour formed that five corpses were buried underneath which is why I fancied sitting up there, I didn’t have to withstand any rattles or the usual complaints of the sun being too hot or not being hot enough as if I were the son’s personal assistant.
I strode off promptly to identify who that was and whether some new rumour had been manifested that if you sit there, you’ll have all the money in the world because if so, I should be the first one to call dibs. Upon getting closer, I noticed it was a boy around my age and also someone who I hadn’t chanced upon at school.
“Hello! Are you new here?” I started once I reached the top and took a sufficient inspection. of the boy to be assured that he carried no knives in his pockets for you could never be too cautious around here. He lifted his head from his shoes to meet my gaze. He had an obvious frown on his face and despite seeming thirteen, had dark circles under his eyes.
“No…I’m here to visit my grandparents for the summer…,” he responded with a disturbed edge in his voice.
“Are you okay? You seem upset.”
“I’m fine.”
Silence. A prolonged and slightly uncomfortable silence.
“You’re pretty.” He finally said, smiling ever so slightly. Now it was my turn to frown. Was he blind? I’d been referred to as numerous things but pretty wasn’t one of them. Still, the sincerity in his eyes provided no room for any doubt.
“Really?” My pitch ascended as I blushed.
Over the course of the next few days, he opened up to me and I felt like a mini therapist. He told me his grandparents had decided upon moving here permanently to spend their last few years away from the bustles and skyscrapers of the city and this was the foremost time he was visiting them here. He prayed they would despise the farm and ask to move back with his parents but on the contrary, they absolutely adore it here and frankly, he saw why. I was aware of how he felt. When my Mother approached me one day informing me that grandma had ventured off up somewhere, I took a ladder, placed it by this bench and climbed up to await her descend. She never materialised though. Perhaps because I never ate my vegetables.
Ultimately, it was time for Caleb to leave. He promised me he’d visit every summer. He apprised me that he’d be by the very bench every year and that all I had to do was look out for summer. It didn’t sound very convincing to me which is why I suggested the brilliant idea of locking him up in my closet and feeding him occasionally but for some reason or another, he declined this offer.
A promise is a promise and he kept his like I kept his drawing of us right under my pillow. Every morning on first of July. He never overlooked a single day. Over time, I witnessed his sheepish grin reform to a playful smirk. I witnessed his thoughtful words revamp into fruitless mutters. Even so, he never overlooked a single day. His appearance modified into that of someone manly, the youthful light his features possessed fading as the grass continued to grow. But he never overlooked a single day.
JUNE 1ST 1986
The dorms had begun to empty gradually and I felt like I had the whole campus to myself. My mum and dad had moved to Manchester recently, around a mile or so away from me so I needn’t fret about the likelihood of visiting them for the exceeding number of projects at were enough to grant me sleepless nights. Additionally, I had a date the following day with some guy I met off of an online site called Jake, I think. Life was significantly easier when it was merely about me being pretty or not. Life was easier when it was solely about a stupid summer fantasy.
JUNE 1ST 1991
My wedding was in three days. THREE DAYS. All the banners indicated that they had been hung by a drunk man at four in the morning, and don’t get me started on the cake that tasted like cupboard. Jake clearly wasn’t taking this seriously considering that fact that he still slept until noon like a useless piece of furniture that he was. This whole thing was a complete disaster.
JUNE 1ST 2001
5 am and Jake was still not home. Another ‘meeting’, I suppose. Left looking after the kids with my career pushed back into an abyss of darkness was what my life had arrived to. Who would’ve thought, huh? Dreamt of chasing the stars and here I was chasing babies. And not the babies of a golden retriever, no. My own human versions.
JUNE 1ST 2015
My spine made it extremely excruciating to walk at a faster rate than 10 km per hour. The familiar farm I’d grown up in had adapted to the modern age expectations. The antique and vintage houses replaced by marble-filled landscape. Everything was ripped to shreds, the memories brushed aside as if they meant nothing to anyone. I trudged to the top of the hill. Surely, my bench was there? My beautiful Death Bench. Ironically, I needed for it to give me a form of life.
The bench was there and fixated on it was a man. A man about my age. A man who resembled a little boy I once knew and the little boy who’d slipped my mind all these years. The little boy who was staring at his feet and looked up to meet my gaze.
“You’re pretty.” He said with the same, exact grin.
“Really?”
#summerlove
