Park Bench

“Whaddya mean don’t bother coming home!?” asked Harry. He stared at his phone in disbelief. Anger swelled inside and his face grew hot. She hung up on me! His head throbbed. Bringing up his arm, he almost whipped his smartphone across the park.

“Sure you want to do that son?” asked an old man easing into the bench seat next to him. “Looks expensive.”

Harry rubbed his temples and squinted at the older man, sizing him up. The codger was about two inches shorter than him, wearing a cheap but neat wool suit. The glare off his dress shoes rivaled that from the sun. He favored his left leg and clutched a bargain-priced pine cane in his fist.

Deeming him harmless, Harry jammed the phone into his jacket. It clinked against the flask he kept in the same pocket. His father’s flask. “No, I suppose not. Getting hung up on is just frustrating. Know what I mean?” Driving his fist into the trash bin lid next to the bench, he left a large dent.

“Well it’s been awhile since anybody’s called, let alone hung up on me. But yes, I remember it could be frustrating.” The old man pointed to Harry’s pocket. “Lady troubles?”

Harry hung his head low and pinched the bridge of his nose. What? Is it that obvious? He didn’t really want to talk about it, especially with some stranger. Where did this guy come from anyway? What kind of guy strikes up a conversation with a random dude in the park these days? Freaking weirdo.

“No offense man, but I’m not really in the mood.” Harry stood to leave. He almost fell back down when the old man snagged his jacket sleeve and gave it quick tug.

“It’s alright kid. I already guessed what’s going on anyway. I’ve been around the block a couple of times.”

“Look,” Harry’s annoyance rose at the man’s audacity. “I’m sure you have and you look like a nice enough-”

“What’s your name kid?” The man’s warm smile was disarming.

“Harry.”

“Harry, why don’t you humor an old man? Hmm?” He patted the bench seat beside him.

Damn.

It was clear the guy wasn’t going to let up, and Harry didn’t have anywhere to go now anyway. Clearing his throat, he brushed off his jacket and sat back down.

The old man held out his frail, wrinkled hand.

“Name’s B.J.”

Harry shook it. Guy’s got a pretty good grip for an old dude.

B.J. released and gave him a wink.

“I know you don’t want to talk about your lady problems, so how’s about you just listen for minute. I got a story that might help you out.”

Harry fidgeted in his seat. The soft wood of the bench creaked when he shifted to a more comfortable position. The man watched him with an amused expression that made Harry forget his irritation. Screw it. The weather has finally turned nice and I can’t go home. Might as well hang here for a bit.

Flexing his back, he crossed one leg over the other and tried to look as indifferent as possible. Harry glanced over his shoulder nonchalantly at passersby, before turning he gaze to the rising sun’s light scattering in the dew on the lawn. The pond behind them came to life with fish trying to capture bugs for their morning meal. A few small ducks innocently ran interference as they paddled by. He nodded for the other man to begin.

“I had a girl once. Hell, she must’ve been about your age when it happened.” Scratching his balding head, B.J. paused a moment lost in thought.

“When what happened?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too curious. He pulled out his phone again and pretended to send a text to someone important.

“I screwed up! We’re men. We always mess up somehow.” B.J. grinned and winked at Harry again.

His teeth were straight as an arrow but with a slight tinge of yellow. Probably from smoking. Or coffee. Maybe both. Harry rolled his eyes at the thought. Hope he doesn’t wanna light up right here.

As if on cue, a violent cough racked the old guy. It seemed to come from deep within his bones, like the Grim Reaper himself took B.J. by the shoulders and shook him hard. He covered his mouth with a white hanky and pounded on his chest. Harry concentrated on a line of ants marching across the cement and pretended not to notice the spot of scarlet growing on the handkerchief with each cough.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” B.J. crumpled up the handkerchief and put it away. “Where was I? Oh yeah. I met her when I was thirty and she was twenty-three. She was amazing. Beautiful as a sunrise. Smart as a whip. Fun too.” B.J. stared off at the birch trees budding in the park for a few seconds. His gazed drifted down and sadness settled into his features.

He snapped back to life and smiled at Harry once more. “Maybe a little too much fun, eh? We were pretty wild in the beginning.” He became more animated and excited. “We wanted to paint the town every night. We went on like that for months. We were inseparable. Really in love, my boy.”

“I don’t see the problem.” Harry didn’t see where this story was going either and he regretted sitting back down.

“The problem didn’t come until later, Harry. My gal and I got real close. Moved in together. She started talking about marriage and wanting to settle down. I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to keep partying… and drinking. I couldn’t see it back then, but booze was my true love at that time.”

Harry stared at B.J. with wide eyes. Alcoholic?! The word hit him like a freight train. The same word his wife had thrown in his face just before she hung up on him a few minutes ago. “You’re going to turn out like your father, an alcoholic!” she had screamed. How can I turn out like someone I’ve never met?

Harry tried not to notice the bronze Alcoholics Anonymous token B.J. had produced and rubbed in his hand.The way the conversation had turned made Harry want to leave, but his curiosity outweighed his discomfort. “So what happened with you and her?”

“She put up with my drinking as long as she could. I wasn’t a violent drunk. Just an irresponsible one.” Chuckling, B.J. ran his thin fingers through his even thinner hair. “Had trouble holding down a job. I was a damn good mechanic back then and people would look the other way as long as they could. Then they’d can me once the drink took me too far. I’d drown my misery in beer until I found another job, then celebrate with whiskey.”

Harry thought it might be B.J.’s turn to feel uncomfortable. The old man looked up at the sky, blinked a half dozen times before his watery gaze locked back onto Harry. “She eventually got tired of it all. She threw me out and told me never to come back. I tried to fix it. I called. I even stopped by when I was sober enough to drive, but she wouldn’t even open the door. Years later I found out why.”

“Why?”

“Because she’d been pregnant.” B.J. put his token away. “It took me twelve years to get sober and by that time it was too late. Or at least I thought it was. I never got to be a father to that kid. Never taught him how to ride a bike. About girls. I never got to sit down with him and give him advice.”

Harry’s mind reeled. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he mulled over what the man said. He reached for his flask and started to pull it out before he realized what he was doing. Stealing a glance at the cheap pine cane, he eased his hand out of his pocket. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I don’t want anyone going through what I did. I see things aren’t going too good with your lady. Right now it may seem like it’s hopeless, but there’s still time to fix it.” B.J. laid his hand on Harry’s. It was warm and comforting. “Relationships Harry, the ones that really matter, are worth fighting for.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose again, Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He could be right? Do I really want to end up like this old guy? Reaching for the flask again, he pulled it out and felt its cool familiar touch in his grip. The tension in Harry’s shoulders eased up as he imagined putting the flask to his lips. He could almost feel the burn of the whiskey traveling down his throat. Saliva built up in his mouth as his imagination fueled his desire.

Another thought shattered his thirst quenching fantasy. His wife’s words came back to haunt him. What would she say if she really knew he spent the night on this park bench? And the baby. The whole reason she couldn’t celebrate with him last night. Harry stared hard at B.J. and wondered what it would be like to know you had a child, and never be able to see it. Hold it. Love it. Is that the kind of father I want to be?

“No.”

The cap rattled as it spun off. It felt rewarding somehow to watch that concern melt away from the old man while Harry poured the golden liquid on the ground. The ants underfoot lucky enough to escape the deluge scrambled for higher ground.

“What now?” Harry asked.

“You take responsibility, Harry. You fix this. You go back because she’s worth it.”

Harry stood up and offered the man his hand. He readied himself for that stronger-than-it-looked grip. It was softer this time, gentler. They shook and Harry thought he saw contentment in the other man’s eyes.

“Thanks.” Harry said.

“You’re welcome.” B.J. smiled.

Harry turned and took the first step of the long walk for home. He knew the step was more than symbolic. He knew his life had changed course. The cool morning breeze felt good on his face. Things were going to get better.

As soon as I figure out how to get out of here. Wasn’t exactly paying attention when I stumbled in last night. He laughed at the stupidity of his own thought.

People meandered by and one of them was kind enough to point Harry to the exit. Stopping near a trash bin, he looked at his father’s flask one last time. It was the only thing his father had left him. Harry rubbed the engraving on the front. Bill J. Price.

Well, this flask and my taste for booze. When he dropped it into the trash it felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

As he passed under the gates of the park, his steps slowed. Something nagged at him from the back of his mind. A thought tried to fight its way forward, though true understanding didn’t come to him until he said the words out loud.

“Bill J. Price.”

“B.J.”

Relationships are worth fighting for! Harry turned on his heel and broke out in a dead sprint. The hill with the bench grew larger by the second as he ran at top speed. A group of early morning joggers scattered as he pushed through, tears blurring his vision. When he crested the hill, the bench sat empty.

No! Not the same trash can!

Making turns at random, Harry rushed down the path in desperation. His lungs burned and his head swam. The pond came into view and he doubled his efforts. Reaching the right bench at last, Harry dropped to his knees in front of it. Tears streamed down his face as he reached for the vacant spot left by the old man.

He glanced in every direction, but saw no one.

“Dad?”