A Breath not taken

A Breath not taken

By Thomas Curtis

The old man walked down the street, no longer knowing why he walked. Just that a doctor years ago told him he should walk more. He doesn’t look side to side, just at the stop sign at the corner. His leg extended further, stepping over a hole in the path. Not seen, not even looked for. Mind numb, he lets his body take him to the stop sign. As he turns the corner, he is distracted by a flash on the ground. Stopping from his routine, he bends down and picks up a bottle cap. He looks at it for a long time.” Barge's root beer,” he reads it twice. not comprehending what it says.

“Barge's root beer? I used to drink this as a boy”. The old man turns the bottle cap around in his hand. “What a thing to find in the dirt, what a thing to pick up.”

Holding it in his fist, he continues to walk. Stopping, he looks at the bottle cap again. Unfamiliar memories churning in his mind. Taking his place on the bench overlooking the lake, he stares out over the water. Watching a duck dive below the water. For the first time in years, seeing the duck. Fascinated, he watches a flock fly in over his head and lands in the lake, feet stretched forward, they looked like they were skiing across the water in front of him. Again, looking at the bottle cap in confusion, the face of a young boy. eyes closed, counting over a silver can on the ground. a memory. Gripping the bottle cap hard in his fist, he feels the pain in his palm,

Heart racing, he watches the ducks fight over some floating objects in the water. “What on earth?” Looking down, he sees his fingers scratching the head of a dog. “What on earth?” he stops only to have the dog lick his fingers. And he realizes he’s smiling. Petting the dog, he looks out over the pond, the ducks now gone, on any other morning, he would hardly notice, but this morning he searched the pond till he sees them hiding under a low-hanging branch towards the back of the pond. A commotion focuses his attention on a group of birds diving down on a rabbit eating close to a large bush. They dived at the rabbit while a lone bird screamed from inside the bush. Obviously, trying to protect a nest.

His grip on the bottle cap brings him back to the discomfort he has in his palm. “What a thing to find.” Sensing the dog’s departure, he watches him play in a pile of branches. Grabbing hold of a branch, he starts to run along the edge of the pond. Glancing back towards the rabbit, he looks past the swooping birds and is startled by the color of the sky; it’s the brilliant blue from his youth. Standing, he walks to the water’s edge. The water he threw rocks into as a boy, the water he would ice skate on in the winter, and the water he once rode his bicycle into.

Shaking his head. he returns to the bench feeling the pain in his hand he once again opens to find the bottle cap pushed into his skin picking it up with two fingers he sees small blood drops where it dug into the skin. “what a thing to pick up” startled he looks down to see a large branch on top of his foot and a dog furiously shaking its tail looking at him. When he just sits there, the dog steps back and barks at him. Picking up the branch, he tosses it, and the dog eagerly runs after it. Dragging it back, the man tosses it again. After a few tosses, the dog happily runs around holding the branch in his mouth. Looking back at the bottle cap, “What a thing to find.” Looking at the pond, he sees himself pushing a small sailboat he made as a kid. watching it skim across the water, smiling. The man gets up, wondering if the path along the side of the pond is still there. Shaking with anticipation, he brushes away some overhanging branches. No longer numb but excited at what he might find down the path. After a few yards, he searches to his right. The tree is now much larger. But still standing. Looking at the trunk, he walks around it but does not find what he’s looking for, of course, looking up he finds, faded and closing from time passing his name carved in the wood. Some letters are gone but still readable. Further down the path, he is forced to sit on a large stump. His body was not used to the stress. But his awakened mind was eager to continue. Breathing labored. A small movement catches his eye. A drop of water hits the surface of the pond. Then another, another small movement moves his gaze up. Watching a large praying mantis moving slowly toward a small frog. Another drop of water causes the frog to shift its position on the leaf. The praying mantis stops its movement and then moves toward the frog, only to be stopped by another drop.

The man sits as still as he can, watching the scene before him. He looks up to see where the drops are coming from and finds a moss-covered branch soaked with water. Again, the mantis moved towards the frog and again was forced to stop. The mantis turns its head towards the water in what appears to be in annoyance. As the man watches, the mantis moves into position to strike when another drop hits the water and the frog jumps. Faster than the man can see, the mantis jumps to the water and catches a drop of water in its front legs. Staring at it he tilts his head towards where the drops originated from. and moves into the weeds and disappears. The man sat in amazement for a long time. Then he moves towards the water. The old man digs in his pocket and pulls out what looks like an old penny and places it on the exact spot where the drops of water hit the surface, and watches the water flow over the sides. It’s the bottle cap, and it disappears. Was it a gift, payment for entertainment? The old man smiled as he stood up. It was a tribute to finding he still has the capacity to feel wonder.

Finding his way back to the bench, the dog runs up to him This time he has an old tennis ball in his mouth. The man stands and starts towards the corner to go home. After a few feet, stops and turns towards the dog, watching him. “Come on boy, let's go home.” The dog runs after him

Leaning down he scratches the dog’s head. The dog wags his tail and jumps up and tries to lick him. “So do you have a name boy. Tell you what let’s call you Bargs. Come on Bargs lets go home.” As he turns the corner a group of ducks fly over head looking towards the pond he smiles as they ski across the surface.

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