The Life of a Bench

It’s warm outside this morning. I feel a steady trickle of water running down my legs. The pressure from the winter’s heavy snow has ceased. My frame is now frail and weathered due to the lack of maintenance I have received these past few months. The dedication plaque I wear is beginning to rust. I would think that the people, whose names are engraved upon it, should have my best interests at heart.

Although I was once said to have the ability to withstand all weather, the changing seasons have caused my health to steadily decline. My once sturdy wooden frame is now decrepit and worn. I am forced to withstand the blistering ice and snows of winter, the torrential rain of spring, the searing summer heat, and whatever other challenges get thrown in my direction. It is not an easy life. 

Pedestrians have taken a toll on my well-being almost as much as the weather has; but that I suppose is just the purpose of a bench. I have been scratched up by children wearing their soccer cleats, vandalized by graffiti and gum, and have the constant concern about what my weight limit really is. For some time now I have been forced to watch those around me decay and be removed only to be replaced with stronger more agile benches. The problem with these latest models is that, come the hottest months of summer, their metal surfaces attract so much heat that the public cannot bear to sit on them. In those instances, I am the preferred seat. 

It is now getting to that point in the summer when the community would rather keep me company then the likes of the sleek yet sizzling benches across the way. I love this time of year. People are out and about around the park all day and night. Some are exercising, playing games, painting, and having picnics. The children can be seen frolicking in the fields. It is a beautiful scene. In the background the sky is scattered with kites and Frisbees flying about. I supply comfort for the children’s parents who are relaxing in the shade. The parents of the young kids playing in the field right now are talking about Jimmy and Timmy, “Oh its Timmy’s birthday tomorrow, remind me to call and see if they got the card. Wow, he is eight already? Have you talked to Denise lately? I saw she left a voicemail the other day.” Then they will get up and walk away. That is how it always is; I only ever get to see glimpses of people’s lives, whether they sit for a while, or are just passing by. I never get a long time companion. It was years ago when I used to have one; an older man about as weathered as I am would come just to sit and watch the leaves changing. 

This man would come for days on end and visit with me for hours. He would never say anything, but I gathered his story – I understand what being lonely is like. The man seemed gentle and kind as he would sit gingerly on my lap. Sometimes he would bring with him a book, other times he would just sit in solitude and gaze at the scenery. It was an entire summer that he came to keep me company. Seeing him was a part of my day to day routine. At least when fall and winter rolled around there was something to look forward to come spring – but that aspect of the summer months never came back. 

It is cold outside this morning. A stinging coat of frost covers my legs. My arthritic frame creaks as the brisk autumn wind brushes over me. The activity in the park begins to die down now as summer is over and children start to go back to school. If the weather permits, people will bundle up to venture out to the park for some fresh air. Parents will take their children here so they can play in the leaf piles. Some of the high schools’ sports teams will come and practice at the park as well. A group of girls are running by now. I hear the leaves crunching underfoot with each stride they take. A few stop to rest and stretch under the tree next to me. Two girls come over to sit while they wait for the others to continue. No words were exchanged and in a few short minutes they are on their way again. As the days continue, the park becomes more silent. It is almost time for my hibernation again – to be buried under mounds of leaves and snow.  

Now I sit planted in the frozen winter ground. I am cut off from the world by an impermeable layer of snow and ice. At times if the wind is strong enough I can catch glimpses of the outside world. Unfortunately, I imagine there must be at least a few feet concealing me at this point. From time to time I will hear people trudging around in the new fallen show. Where is everyone going? I wonder if anyone can even see that I am here. I will just have to sit and wait until spring begins again.