The Archduke and the Bench

In a field of artificial grass, locked in the embrace of a grand Imperial palace, is a small, gray bench. If you took a picture of the palace’s marble staircase, you would capture the best angle just in front of the bench on the gravel path. Maybe you would catch the bleeding glow of the sunrise if the frame shifted slightly left. You might even listen for the clop of a hoof, signaling the approach of a horse drawn carriage, and time the shot just as the horses dash underneath the marble leg of their legendary counterpart, the steed of Archduke Remings.

But my camera lens is distracted. It already got that shot, four years ago - today, it wanted a picture of the bench, and the violet glow of early morning.

Back then, I was a student at the Imperial University, choosing to spend four months away from home in the grand capital. I always wanted to experience the world, restless as I was, and found myself growing weary of the routine. Looking back, my dissatisfaction was strange; I was surrounded by friends who supported me, by family who loved me, and yet, I felt like I was missing something. This was a dream I needed to have, or I would have become a more cynical man.

The Imperial courtyard was the last place I stopped before my return home. Like today, it was early morning, a few hours before my train left, and I was making my final rounds in the city I grew to love over my four month stay. In the months and years envisioning my return, I always imagined the place in my memory was gone, sanded into the gravel I walked on. Now, wrapping myself in the blanket of a memory I tried for years to treasure, I realize just how insignificant four years is to a place like this. I lose myself in the sunrise.

“You’re blocking the view.”

I turn around. A woman is sitting on the bench, wrapped in a bright orange scarf and green coat. Her face is hidden, but her voice sounds familiar...

“Oh, sorry. I was almost done,” I say off hand.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t see me. Feel free to sit.”

I smile, about to decline her offer, when she turns to face me. I was always a little superstitious growing up, avoiding black cats and ladders, but now I am confronted with a real life ghost. Down to the hazel eyes and small dimples, she bears the face of the woman I met in this courtyard all those years ago.

The very same woman with whom I was last on this bench.

“Sit or move, please. Sunrises aren’t forever.”

Without thinking, I lower myself next to this phantom of my past. I’m not ready…I always hoped I could prepare for this moment, with the lines I rehearsed in my head in the months after she left. The memories I’ve played thousands of times over play for the ten thousandth time - skipping through the streets of Fountain Square, getting lost in the mountains, wandering the streets of a city so foreign to us - it’s all suddenly real, as real as I wanted it to be.

When I decided to return to the Imperial City, I hoped coming here would close this chapter of my life, and I could permanently seal my confused feelings in the bench like some sort of vessel. Now, I realize maybe there was never going to be a quick solution. I turn away from her, choosing to watch the sunrise.

“How long have you been here?”

I watch as the sky goes from red to orange. I think I can see the sun’s rays break through the clouds, but I’m not sure.

“Got in yesterday.” A flock of birds swooped in to attack the Archduke. “How about you?”

I hear the rustle of synthetic fabric, and she feels further. “Four years now.”

I’m sweating. The heavy wool coat I brought out of storage, the same one I bought here, suffocates me.

“Are you a photographer?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pointing at the thing around my neck. “Oh, the camera?” Stupid. “No, just for fun. It’s been a long time since I lived here, I guess…I guess I wanted to see how it changed.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but this city’s been around since before your home was even a concept. Its changes are marked in centuries, not four years.”

“Hm,” I stall as my mind desperately tries to piece together a response, “I guess you’re right.”

Silence overcame us as the sky brightened. A smattering of wispy clouds appeared in the early morning light, all gradients of color. I know it isn’t her, yet I can’t help but feel the pull, a pull I suffocated under reality for four years. I remember that night on the bench, a culmination of our time in a shared dream, but I only remember it when I’m strong enough. I watch as the first carriage rides under the palace overhang. I think about taking a picture, but decide this moment isn’t for capturing.

“You know, you look like someone I used to know. Back from when I lived here.”

I hear her synthetic coat rustle as I assume she turns to face me. A waft of perfume rides the morning breeze, a scent I could only reexperience from passing women who weren’t her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.” Her voice is wispier than I remember. The cheerful crackle underneath is gone too. “I come to this bench every morning, you know. To watch the sunrise before work. It’s my favorite spot.”

“It’s mine too. Well, it was, but I’m probably just stealing your spot now.” She laughs, and I hear another laugh weaved in her breath like an echo in a cave. It’s a laugh I hear in the pages of a notebook, in the setting of the sun, and it’s especially loud here. But I knew it would be - I may pretend I’ve moved on, but four months of dreams coming true is something I always knew would haunt me, even at the beginning of it all. “I spent four months here. It was a dream, really. I had always wanted to live in a foreign city, and my time here could not have been more perfect. I met great friends, saw things I’d only seen in pictures, and, well, found someone. I loved my time here. Still do. The person you look like…she was an important part of that. “

I can tell the woman is staring at me now, but I still can’t find the will to turn. I pretend to adjust something on my camera.

“You aren’t together anymore?”

I smile, shaking my head. “It was so perfect too, you know. We were both from the same city back home. We tried for a bit, but neither of us were ready. Just said goodbye one day and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

I feel a terrible tug in her voice, like it was the closest I was going to get to what I needed. I sniff away a burst of emotion. “Being here again, it’s great and all, but I can’t escape this…this feeling, like something is wrong. It’s like looking back on a photo of all your friends having fun, with your best friend torn out of the side.”

“I’ve always seen photos as reminders. There’s no emotion in a photo - just colors, and the human urge to be remembered.”

I glance at the camera around my neck. I think about taking offense, but I remember I’m not even a photographer. I brought the camera for exactly the reason she said - to capture an incomplete reminder of confused feelings. Feelings I wanted to seal into the bench, like a curse.

On a whim, I turn and face my companion. She’s all there - the dirty blond hair, the toothy smile, the bohemian dress - but even if it were real, it wouldn’t be that bench, in that morning, after that adventure.

To my shock, I realize the sun is in the sky, and people are out and about. A couple has set a picnic in the grass to our right, laughing about a joke they were retelling for the thousandth time. A father and son walked in front of us, hand in hand, while the son pointed out things he read about in school. A group of three girls passed them, in the middle of telling a groundbreaking story.

“It was nice talking to you, but I have to go.”

I turn to see the woman standing, with her backpack over her shoulder. I get a flash of a train station, and a wave I didn’t know would be the end…

“Of course. Thank you for talking with me.”

She smiles and begins to walk away. Before she gets more than a step or two from the bench, she stops, and turns one last time to face me. I see an expression I’m all too familiar with. “I didn’t use to come to this bench alone, you know. This…this was my first time trying it myself, without him. Maybe we were destined to meet.”

I smile back, and laugh as a little boy comes barreling past, nearly knocking her over. “Maybe. Who knows if anyone’s destined to meet, really. Fate is an easy excuse to stop trying.”

She laughs as the little boy quickly apologizes and runs away. “Then let’s keep trying.”

“Deal.”

And so, with one last wave, the woman walks away, underneath the marble sword of Archduke Remings and through the carriage tunnel.

I decide to sit a little longer on the bench. The quiet solitude I remember is replaced with the calming din of life as the Imperial city begins another day, as it has since the days of the Archduke, and before. As I sit here, I think of another memory - the first day I arrived, I also sat on this bench, back when everything was still a labyrinth of change and excitement. It was snowing, and the grass was frosted with a beautiful white coat.

I completely forgot about that.

I glance at my watch. It was half past nine, and my stomach knew it. I recalled a list of cafes I loved, and stood to begin another journey. As I pass underneath the Archduke’s sword, I see more faces in the crowd - my friends, all ghosts in the city I love. I see their wonder, their acceptance of me, and I can’t help but smile with pride.

And as I walk through the tunnel, out from the Palace courtyard, I realize I never got a picture of the bench.