for June

3. Learning the Lingo

Chad stood on the very edge of the grass with a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag with a croissant in the other. He was fearful of the park. Was he sure he wanted to do this? Absolutely not! But was he serious about doing anything to please Terry? Yes. Was he so desperate to have his writer's block brought down by a bulldozer? Most certainly, but Chad wasn't fortunate enough to get carried away with fantasies. He stood there feeling a gust of wind push him towards the park as if it were a hand nudging him ahead. At least that's how he took it that chilly June morning, that he had a friend coaxing him to treading on into unknown territory.

Chad squared his shoulders and moved ahead, telling himself it was only a conversation, and Terry had never specified how long the conversation had to be to qualify. So he would approach the bench, knock twice and wait for a response. If the girl was there, he'd be civil, say hi, and give her the peace-offerings, and then wish her a pleasant day and walk away. If she wasn't there, then he had at least tried and his conscience would be clear.

As planned, he walked up to the bench and looked around consciously, to see if anyone was taking a keen interest in what he was doing. They weren't, in fact, nobody was looking at him. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Hello? Are you there?"

He waited cautiously, hoping the girl would not jump at him again, but nothing. "Hello? The girl I almost hit with my bag the other week?" He felt silly calling out. He walked around and peered under the bench where the shrubbery had a little pocket an adult could easily fit into. It was empty, and oddly, he felt a pang of sadness. He wasn't sure why.

He sat on the bench and slowly picked at the food he'd brought for 'her', and drank the coffee, staring at his café, and towards his window seat. How long had he been going there? Seven years? Eight? Why hadn't he ever looked across at the park, to that bench? Or noticed the people who called it home?

That morning, Chad didn't feel like writing and it had nothing to do with his block and everything to do with the girl and the guilt he felt. He had a home to go to, and this girl, whoever she was, wherever she was, didn't have a place that was safe, sound and warm. He shivered as a gust of wind snaked through the park, slithering across his face with its silky touch that chilled his bones.

He threw the rubbish in the nearest bin and headed for the street, disappearing into the throng of office-goers, head hung low, wondering what happened to the girl with the beautiful brown eyes. That day, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Even when Setal rang later that afternoon, he had barely paid attention. He'd hung up, and he wasn't even sure he'd said goodbye. Instead, he sat on his lonely couch till the sunset, and took himself to bed, wondering, always wondering. What is she doing now? Why is she homeless? What happened?

Next morning, he stood outside the café way before Tylor got there. The whole time Tylor went about setting up for the day, Chad kept an eye at the quiet park. "Pack two croissants and two coffees, will you Tylor?" he asked, eventually.

"Found your muse?" Tylor joked.

"I'm not sure what I've found."

When Tylor had the coffee machine ready, he popped out Chad's order and watched him leave as Laila entered, turning the 'Open' sign as Chad passed her.

He could hear Tylor ask, "You know what's gotten into him?" as the door closed behind him.

Chad wished he knew too. Alas, there he was, with two coffees and croissants in hand, waiting for the light to turn so he could go make a fool of himself once more. He hoped she was there today, under that bench so he could strike her off the list of things to do. The thought of finding her under that bench, in the cold, huddled perhaps to keep her warm, however, had a part of his heart wring in pain and anger. No one should have to live like that. No one.