Harold's Park

The sun raised itself up to shine down on the city making the shadows move from the buildings in a way that almost made the structures rise up from the ground. The oranges, reds, yellows, and blues mixed together, and reflected off of the windows, and metallic objects throughout the city giving it an almost magical glow. It was early enough for the streets to be partially quiet, and the buzz of the early morning work day hadn't come into full swing just yet. This made the surroundings mysterious, and peaceful, and all of this combined is what Harold Shoemaker loved about being out this early in the morning.

Every day the eighty years old man had his daily routine. Wake up at five thirty, make coffee, take a shower, get dressed, make toast, fill his thermos with coffee, and head out to the bus stop to catch the eight thirty bus that drove by the park. The park was a place that held so many dear memories for him, and at his age memories were all that Harold had left to look forward to. It put a smile on his face to see the kids playing on the jungle gyms their laughter seemed as though it was intoxicating, and brought back fond memories of his own children when they were young. Sadly, however, his children grew up, and had families of their own. As time went on visits came few, and far between until eventually they just stopped all together except for holidays, and his birthday.

The bus route to get to the park took Harold across the bridge that overlooked the river. That is where he got down on one knee, and proposed to his wife. Time, however, has a way of taking the things that you would hold dear away, and all that is left is the memories of what had once been. Harold smiled as he looked out of the window of the bus, and saw the very spot where Mary Thatcher had made him the happiest man alive when she said one little word “yes”. Thinking back on those days brought a tear to his eye. He soon regained his composure, took a sip of coffee from his thermos, and looked ahead to see the park coming into view.

Once the bus stopped, and the doors squeaked open the driver who by appearances seemed to be in his early fifties looked back at Harold who was in his usual seat up front.

“We're here old man,” he gave a smile as he stood up to help Harold up out of his seat.

“Oh, no you don't. I may be old, but I'm not helpless,” Harold responded as he slowly pulled himself up, and made his way to the isle.

“Yea, I know you're not. I just don't want any law suits on my hands if you do happen to fall while getting off of my bus,” the driver laughed as he put an arm on Harold's shoulder, and walked with him down the steps, and off of the bus.

“You know, back in my day we didn't settle everything in court. That's a problem your generation started,” Harold said as he turned to face the driver.

“Well, some people have to find a way to make money somehow I suppose,” the driver laughed.

“Yea, hard work seems to be out of style now a days,” Harold chuckled, and offered his hand to the driver.

“I'll be back to pick you up about noon,” the driver said as he shook Harold's hand, and got back on the bus. Harold then turned towards the gated entrance to the park, and started making his way to his usual spot. The bench he sat on all the years he had been coming there was old just like Harold was. It wasn't anything fancy in fact it was about time to be replaced. The apeal to it for Harold, however, was that it was just close enough to the entrance that he didn't have to walk too far from the bus stop, but not too far to where he couldn't watch the children play as well.

After setting down, and taking another sip of coffee he noticed that there were people already starting to come into the park. This was his favorite part about the whole trip. All of the people coming back, and fourth saying hello, and stopping to talk with him for a bit before moving along about their own business.

He would find someone that caught his eye, and try to figure out their story as they approached him. Often times he would strike up a conversation with them just to see how close he was to being right. More often than not he was way off, and it was all the same to him whether he was right or wrong it was just the fact that he got to meet someone new. Harold Shoemaker for twenty five years made the same trip, sat in the same spot, sipped the same brew of coffee, and waited for people that he could interact with.

He sat, and listened to the playful noises of children as they ran around the park chasing each other when a man wearing an expensive looking black, and white pin striped suit came to set beside of him on the bench.

“Oh, what a day,” the man said as he sat down. He was tall, and for his height slender. His graying hair shown through the full brimmed hat he wore on his head, and the white handle bar mustache, wrinkled skin, and pale complexion told Harold that the man must be well into his seventies if not around Harold's age.

“It's not been a bad day at all,” Harold said to the man.

“No, a little warm than you would expect for March, but not too bad indeed,” the man replied.

“So, what brings you here?” Harold pressed a little more on his first visitor of the day.

“Ah, just thought that I would come take a little break. Just waiting before I have to go back to work,” the man said as he reached out a hand to Harold. “My name is Charles, but my friends just call me Chuck.”

“Harold, Harold Shoemaker,” Harold responded as he shook Chuck's hand. “What is it that you do?”

“Well I'm in the transport business,” Chuck answered.

“Like what kind of things do you transport?” Harold was becoming more curious.

“Well, this, and that. Honestly the people that work under me know the business better than I do anymore,” Chuck gave a slight laugh. “Time has a way of creeping up on you, and before you know it it's already passed you by.”

“That is true,” Harold said as he looked out towards the playground.

“Which one's yours?” Chuck asked.

“What?” asked Harold.

“Grand kid! Which one is yours?”

“Oh, none actually,” Harold said. “I just come by, and reminisce mostly.”

“Are you from around here?” Chuck asked as he scooted a little closer towards Harold.

“Not too far. I used to bring my kids here when they were little,” Harold replied.

“Really, so what about your grand kids?” Chuck pressed on.

Harold looked down for a moment, and was silent before speaking once more. “I haven't seen them in a long time actually.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” Chuck said seeming as though he was genuinely sorry to hear Harold's answer.

“Well, you know how it is kids grow up, move away, and have a life of their own,” Harold said as he looked back up at Chuck with a slight smile that hid the heartache he felt inside.

“Yea, that is how it goes more often than not,” Chuck said more to himself than to Harold.

“Do you have kids?” Harold asked.

“No, not me I've always been too busy to really settle down,” Chuck gave a slight laugh.

“Always on the go huh,” said Harold. “You know, I worked not far from here as well. Just a few blocks down the street was a factory that processed beef. I loved my job, and it took care of us nicely, but my family was always my top priority.”

“That is very admirable in its own right,” Chuck nodded. “Is your wife at home?”

“No, she's gone,” Harold started feeling a lump in his throat as he said the words.

“Oh I'm sorry,” Chuck said apologetically.

“No, it's fine, Mary's been dead for nearly thirty years now, cancer took her,” Harold assured him. “We were married just as long.”

“Mary,” Chuck said to himself, and then looked at Harold. “Forgive me if I'm wrong, but was her name Mary Thatcher?”

“Yes, it was before we were married,” Harold said surprised.

“Oh, I remember her,” Chuck said.

“You knew my Mary?” Harold asked feeling a bit confused.

“She was raised just outside of the city if I remember correctly,” Chuck said.

“Yes, she was. How is it that you know my wife?” Harold started feeling a little concerned.

“Well, I didn't know her closely, just in passing. I met her father once long ago doing business,” Chuck responded.

“Well, it's a small world isn't it,” Harold started feeling a little more at ease.

“That it is,” Chuck smiled.

The two sat in silence for a short while when Chuck looked at his wrist revealing an antique looking wrist watch. “It's almost time, and you know what they say 'time waits for no man'.”

“My bus should be here in about thirty minutes,” Harold said as he looked down at his own watch. “Time may not wait, but it sure would be nice to slow it down.” Harold laughed as he slowly stood up. His knees weren't what the used to be, and his joints ached from the sudden shift.

“That it would,” Chuck smiled as he stood to face Harold. “Let me walk you to the bus stop.”

The two walked slowly out of the gated area of the park, and made their way to the bus stop before Chuck spoke again.

“You know I pride myself on being able to tell what kind of person someone is just by talking with them, and observing their actions. I think that you are a good man Harold Shoemaker, and it was a pleasure talking to you.”

This made Harold feel a little uneasy. He was never used to being flattered, and normally was frank with people who would even try. People may say “flattery will get you nowhere,” well those were words that Harold lived by. There was a huge difference between having pride in yourself, and your work, and being too prideful. However, Harold liked Chuck, and wanted to end the meeting on a good note so he let it slide this time.

“Thank you, it was nice meeting you as well,” Harold said as he reached out his hand to shake Chucks one last time. This time, however, when Chuck grabbed a hold of Harold's hand Harold felt a tingling sensation go up his arm, and down his body. It was as though something was wrapping itself around his entire body, and he soon started to feel a little light headed. If it wasn't for the fact that Chuck still had a hold of Harold's hand he would have surely fallen backwards, but Chuck held on to him until the sensation had subsided, and he felt as though he had regained his balance.

“What just happened?” Harold asked astonished.

“Are you alright?” Chuck asked with a grin.

“Yes, I just had a strange feeling,” Harold replied.

“Look, your bus has come to take you home,” Chuck answered as he pointed behind Harold.

Harold turned to see a white bus with no markings which was by large a big difference compared to the blue, gray, and rust color of his usual bus. It stopped in front of Harold, and Chuck, and the doors swung open to reveal that the driver was not the usual one that would pick him up.

“I don't think this is my bus,” Harold turned to Chuck.

“Oh, but it is,” Chuck reassured him.

“No, this is not my bus,” Harold said feeling more sure of himself until he caught his reflection on the glass window of the sliding door of the bus. As Harold looked at it he knew that he was looking at himself, only not the present day Harold. The Harold that was looking back at him in the door window was a twenty year old version of him. His eyes widened as he felt the smoothness of his face. The gray was gone, and his frail body was replaced with that of the stronger, more fit man that he once was. “How is this possible?”

“It's time to go home,” Chuck said as he placed a hand on Harold's shoulder from behind. Harold turned to look at Chuck, and smiled. “That it is, thank you,” he said as he turned to climb onto the bus. He turned back at the top step to have one last look at the park where he spent so much time, and raised his hand to wave good bye to everyone that he saw there. No one acknowledged him except for Chuck who waved back as the doors slid shut, and the bus pulled away.

“Well now,” Chuck said as he checked his watch. “I'm ahead of schedule it would seem. I think I might take an afternoon stroll.”