The Bench

“So, what’s the catch?” he asks.

“There isn’t one.”

I try to smile at him across the bench, but he doesn’t see it.

His thoughts trail must be trailing off again. 

I watch the wrinkles spilling from the corners of his eyes squeeze into tight lines as he squints off into the distance.

“It’s completely up to you, though,” I add, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. 

“But.. why would you? I mean – after all the pain that I’ve caused you.”

He drops his face into his hands and rubs his forehead. I catch him stealing a quick look over at me through the gaps in his fingers. His back eases into the bench. The rotting boards whine and crack beneath his weight. 

He closes his eyes, giving me the opportunity to scoot closer to him. We sit in silence as two boats drift out towards the horizon, their sails look like little black triangles etched into the dusking sun. A warm breeze comes off the water sending his neatly combed gray hairs into a wild dance above his forehead. The sea carries a heavy smell of salt and memories towards us. 

I finally glance over at him.

“Hey, no one has the power to change their past. Right now is your chance to write the future. You have the pen. What do you want this last chapter to say?" 

I give his bony shoulder a soft squeeze. He nods slowly, processing my words. His steel blue eyes search mine. He scans the lines in my face searching for any trace of indignation. I smile softly, knowing he won’t find any – not anymore. He wrings out his shaking hands and begins to rub them up and down the cloth of his khaki pants. I can feel my heart breaking, as I watch him grow older right before my eyes. 

We have sat on this particular bench many times before. There are other newer benches in the park, but he always prefers this one. Early on in our Sunday chats, the weight of my hatred and his regrets threatened to break this rotted wooden bench for good.

I remember sitting here and studying where the intricate scars of time slowly crawled across his face as he hopelessly searched the horizon for the right words to say. I already had my hateful words prepared for him – I had them memorized by heart at this point. They lingered at the top of my throat like warm bile, ready to spew out at any moment. People often say miracles happen every day. I always chalked that up to some bedtime story told in the homes of real families. But, one day, just as ordinary as this one, he looked over at me with big wet shimmering eyes and fell over into my chest crying. He sobbed and muttered endless apologies as his tears soaked my through my shirt. It was that day, sitting on this rickety bench, I witnessed a miracle disguised in the form of forgiveness. All of the hurt and betrayal that I built up in my heart towards him fell between the seams of this old wooden bench and was lost among the grains of sand.  

A red frisbee glides over our heads and lands with a soft thud on the patch of sandy grass in front of him. He slowly bends over and picks it up. He studies it curiously, rotating it with the tips of his bony fingers – as if seeing a disk for the first time. A girl wearing a green dress skips up from behind us and stands in front of him. I smile at her and watch his hardened face soften before the child's pleading eyes. Her smile reveals two empty spaces where her adult teeth are starting to come in. She nervously rocks back and forth in her sandals tugging at her skirt. I pull my leg up over my knee and sit back to watch. His mouth widens into a big smile revealing his own missing teeth. Both of their blue eyes light up with an unmistakable joy and my hand shoots to my mouth as I fight to suppress a laugh. 

“Is this your frisbee young lady?” he asks, inching closer to her so that they now are eye-to-eye. 

”Yessir,” she nods, her french braids bounce up and down the ruffled shoulders of her dress. 

“Close your eyes and open your hands.”

She wriggles in her sandals and keeps sneaking quick peeks at him. I let out a big laugh this time, watching him pull the frisbee in and out of her grasping hands. 

“Nope, not quite honey. I can still see you peeking.” 

She breathes out a big huff and closes both of her blue eyes tight this time. He chuckles, laying the frisbee gently in her hands and pats the loose hair flying away from the top of her braids.

“There you go sweet child.”

“Thank you mister,” she says, hiding her blushing face behind the frisbee.

My heart can’t handle the serendipitous moment. Who was this kind gentle man sitting next to me? I fake a cough and fight back the tears forming at the corners of my eyes. The world goes blurry for a moment.

We watch the little girl run back to the field behind us. He turns to me while I’m still watching her and asks me, again – hopefully for the last time. 

“So, what’s the catch?” 

I catch the change of tone in his voice and turn to him. He’s still wearing the big grin that she gave him.  

I let out a big huff like she did and hold out my hand winking at him. 

“Like I said, dad, there isn’t one.”

His soft hands grasp mine and I help him up to his feet. We slowly step through the grassy landscape towards the parking lot. I feel his hand squeeze the top of my knuckles as he gently steps down from the curb onto the pavement. I pull him to a stop right there.

He realizes that I’m holding him back and lifts his shaking head up to see why we've stopped. Standing before us are his team of nurses lined up in front of the black transport van holding colorful balloons and homemade signs. One of them brings his wheelchair out of the van and parks it next to all of his luggage they packed for him at the home. Standing behind our suburban next to his suitcases is my beautiful wife crying, holding the hand of my sweet daughter wearing her favorite green dress. They both smile and wave at us. He gently waves back and looks up at me with trembling lips and tears running down his wrinkled cheeks.

“You are coming home to live with us now, Dad.”

”I love you, son.”