Nov 10

On the Bench

Charity took the late train home that night. Normally she went straight home after work—she left the office promptly at 5:00 so that she could arrive at the train station at 5:15 to catch the 5:30 train. She never talked to anyone in the train station, nor did she look at anyone. People didn't interest her. People didn't notice her. She was invisible to them. Every day was the same. Same boring job. Same predictable co-workers. Same faces, blank and flat as a blanket of fresh white snow. Same empty apartment, large and lonely without even a cat to welcome her home. Same unsatisfied boyfriend. Same silence.

They'd had a fight the night before. He was looking for something she couldn't give him—passion. He wanted adventure, flight, joy. She wanted nothing. She was happy with what she had, what they had. She was content; he was restless. She was late because of him. She went for a walk after work to prove to herself that her life wasn't boring. She could change, be spontaneous, have fun. She knew how to live.

You never take any risks. You're too stuck in you're routine. You should want more out of life. I can't understand why you settled for being someone's secretary. You shouldn't be so afraid of change. You should strive for more. You need to find something you love to do. You always play it safe. Something more important should make you happy.

She wished she had been able to fight back, but she had no answers he would understand. Her rationale was stuck inside her head and it did not translate into words. His voice played round and round in her head for an hour and a half until she found herself at a bar. His voice was like the song that the ice cream truck used to play as it drove around her childhood neighborhood. So repetitive that you can still hear it after it's driven out of range.

In her head she screamed back at him. Why can't you be happy with the way things are? Why can't you love me the way I am? Why are you always trying to change me? But no matter how loud her thoughts shouted, his voice persisted. It could not be pacified. She went into the bar hoping the ambient noises would drown him out.

She took a seat near the door and looked at the bartender. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a scruffy brown beard. At first he looked tough and hardened, but when she examined him more closely she noticed the tell-tale wrinkles of happiness spreading from the corners of his eyes. It was the first time she had really looked at someone in years. She loved him and at once hated him. She was jealous of his happiness and his monotone skin. Her was cluttered, hidden by more freckles than she'd ever had the patience to count. She wondered if her boyfriend had ever looked at her the way she was looking at this strange man, she was staring at him as if in a trance.

All of the sudden she was startled to realize that the bartender was looking back at her. She glanced nervously around the room at some rowdy football fans and the overwhelming smell of beer wafted up her nose. She decided against ordering anything and wandered back out into the cold November wind. The voice began to play again. She wanted to scream but there were people around. She felt trapped inside her body, unable to escape from this memory. She sat down on a park bench and the cold of the stone slowly crept its way through her coat. She stared straight ahead, not looking at anything. Barely moving. She loved her boyfriend but hated the way he treated her. Hated that he wanted to change her. Hated that he expected more from her.

It was from this state that she emerged to make her way home. She walked blindly down the street, not knowing or caring about the time. She arrived on the platform just as a train was whistling its approach. She looked up and a blinding light encompassed her as the train screeched to a halt. She stepped on board and took a seat, unconcerned with the existence of any other passengers.