Yesterday she sat in a near vacant, large patch of grass. She was in the park. The park that is situated centrally in the dense city she calls home. Or rather, she was sitting on a bench that allowed her to almost hover over the patch of grass. Surrounding the grass on three sides was dirt. Perhaps there once was grass there as well, as the grass beneath her looked dappled and a touch dry, as if it too was about to become dirt. On the forth side was the concrete path that had escorted her to that bench on which she presently sat. A navy blue duffel bag sat next to her on the bench. Protruding out of a gap where the zipper stopped on either side were the end grips of a metal baseball bat and a tennis racquet.
Three identical benches, wooden and painted green, curved around the edge of the path to the left of her. On the furthest one from her sat two men who were facing towards the path to look at a third man who was smoking a cigarette.
This made her want a cigarette as well. She was nervous someone who didn't know she smoked would see her in this public space, so after she lit the end of her camel she smoked covertly, watching the three men.
They seemed young enough. Somewhere in their late twenties. One of the men had a white styrofoam cup in his hand and would periodically slurp its contents through a straw. She secretly wanted to be closer to him, so she could hear the slurping sounds.
But they soon left. Even before she stomped out her cigarette, she watched them walk away with a frisbee until they disappeared around the corner.
Birds and pigeons are everywhere. Most of them are a dark brown or grey. But there is one pigeon that is a lighter brown, almost a beige. It looks like the color of a milkshake and suddenly she is craving a subtle, chocolate milkshake. Not too much chocolate, but just a touch, so that its color would match that of the tan bird. The pigeon stumbled over to where the men had been sitting, searching for a fallen crumb or perhaps a drop of sweet liquid. Then, quite casually a small plop of thick, white shit escaped from underneath its folded wings, landing on the path. This is when she thought about him.
She is not sure which him she is thinking about. She is aware that she is consumed with the thoughts of two separate hims, but is unsure which one dominates her thoughts at any given moment. The two boys are separate boys indeed, but they are so closely connected for her that her thoughts about them she can't separate.
She decides against looking at her cell phone to check the time and chooses to instead ask the next person who walks by on the path.
She turns her head in anticipation.
A woman dressed in moderately high-waisted (a waist that hits her stomach directly at her bellybutton, not high enough to be at the waist and not low enough to be at the hips) khaki, capri pants. On top she has on a bright, tangerine colored blouse with three-quarter sleeves. She's noted that a lot of the woman who walk through this park seemed to be dressed in this fashion .
She looks down at her feet and quickly back up, to make sure the capri-clad woman is still approaching. She is. She looks down at her feet again. Then up again. She waits until the woman is just a mere foot from her and looking up at her says, "Excuse me, but do you have the time?"
The woman stops her briskly paced stride and stares down at a thin gold watch that is tightly clasped on her wrist.
"2:55."
"Thanks."
The woman abruptly continues along the path. She watches as she walks away, looking intently at her perfectly clean, white sneakers.
Time for one more cigarette.
She smokes again. She is again nervous that someone who doesn't know she smokes will see her.
No one does.
The thoughts of the two boys duel in her head once more. She can't be anything but ambivalent toward the thoughts because there is no distinction among them.
The cigarette is finished. She slings the duffel bag over her shoulder and heads east to pick up the eight-year old boy from school and take him to tennis practice.
