If this Bench Could Talk

Lime green grass struck my ankles like needles pinching my skin, it crawled up the brown old wooden bench I was situated on. Screaming children seemed to move rapidly from the left corner of my eye to the other. Children ran after a black and white squared ball like birds flying in a flock. Jerseys in two different shades seemed to dominate the green patch of grass that was spread widely. This was the park located a couple of blocks away from my house. There was a middle aged man standing in the middle of the grass with a white and black striped shirt, he seemed to blow the whistle every time the ball flew out of the assigned line. I took a deep breath as I let in scents of flower mist dew and a breeze of barbeque. There were men and women surrounded around a tiny fire with a couple of sausage and steak over it. They giggled while inserting food into their mouth. Trees struck as high as the skyscraper downtown. The wind blew in my ear and raised its arms to hug me. The memory of my father was fresh, random flashbacks of him and me running, biking, and laughing seemed to dominate my thoughts, which seemed to motivate my vision of the outdoors.

My father brought me to this place often when I was a young girl. I remember like it was yesterday, we laughed and ran, our jog of the day was often in the afternoon. When the birds seemed to come out and sing as if they knew we would be coming, flowers spread open with petals as bright as the highlighter in my school bag, and clouds looked fluffier than a cotton candy. The sky was clear and creamy and the sun seemed to stand out as an oasis in the middle of winter. No one loved the park as my father. He too had memories hidden inside each bush that surrounded it.

Every where ...

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... Though I now felt connected to the bench, my fathers memory would always be here, where it belongs. I concluded that I may not have him physically here, but what is left are joyful memories of him in the one place that I will always be able to contact, priceless. Birds seemed to disappear as the night got darker. The trees seemed lonely and grass felt cold. Oddly, the bench felt older than usual and rougher than what I felt earlier. The park was telling me goodbye. Night critter seemed to disappear as the wind got heavier. The wind blew the opposite direction and to my surprise there was only three cars left in the parking lot, one being my car. I took a glance at the community garden and the flowers seemed lifeless, dark and sinister. I slowly walked to my car and turned the engine on. As I drove off I let go of my fathers ashes in the one place I felt close to him.