"The Bench Man" by Katherine A

            It began on an October weekday. I was feeling especially overwhelmed from my office job, so, on my way home from work, I took a shortcut through a local park. It was a popular place, famous for its fresh air, wide array of plant life, and peaceful atmosphere. As it was autumn, the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn red and fall, sparsely blanketing the ground with dried plant matter that crunched loudly when stepped on. In my opinion, this, as well as the sunny and pleasant weather, made it an even more beautiful, serene location and encouraged my desire to take the new route.

            Upon strolling through the park along the main path, I noticed a man sitting on one of the benches. This wasn't strange in itself; however, unlike the others, he was alone, smiling broadly and greeting passerby cheerfully. His appearance was that of any normal man's; what captured my attention was the pink flower he had in his hands. The bushes surrounding him didn't bear that particular type of plant, so he, peculiarly, must have brought it with him.

            I avoided eye contact as I walked by, but he spoke up in an exuberant voice, "Good evening!"

            I, intent on getting home quickly to spend some time relaxing, replied with a terse, "Evening," and kept walking.

            He, however, continued. "How are you doing today?"

            As we lived in a large, bustling city where strangers almost always kept to themselves, I found this to be unusual. Curious now, I stopped momentarily, turned to face him, and said, "I'm good. And yourself?"

            His strange grin grew wider. "I'm doing great! Where are you coming from, if you don't mind me asking?"

            I stared at him in awe. He continued gazing up at me, and I couldn't help but reply to him; his childlike excitement over such a trivial conversation was contagious. While his inviting demeanor beckoned me to sit beside him and engage further in conversation, I greatly yearned for a hot cup of coffee and a novel, so I politely ended the conversation and continued on my way.

            I maintained my new routine, heading through the park after each work day; the man, however, was never there. For two weeks, I kept my eyes peeled for him. I had just about given up on making a new friend when, one day, there he was on the same bench from before. He waved at me, and I made my way over, meeting him with a smile and a "Hello again." After exchanging our greetings, I joked that I had been waiting for him to show up again as we had never finished our conversation from before. He seemed pleased to hear this; in fact, he did continue our exchange with even more enthusiasm than before. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the bench beside him, chattering away about nothing of significance.

            I called him the Bench Man as we never actually exchanged names; it simply didn't feel necessary. We were just two strangers who sat and conversed with one another, though more often than not I lead the conversation and he listened, nodded politely, and occasionally commented on an interesting statement or provided me with much-appreciated guidance.

            I considered him a close friend of mine as he was a source of constant support, helpful advice, and smiles in a time where I struggled daily over fairly trivial personal and work matters. However, while I constantly lamented on the iniquities of my boss, he rarely spoke of himself and his problems despite my attempts to convince him to do so. In addition, while his lips constantly smiled at me, his eyes depicted another story. They had a glassy, glazed look; in fact, when I think back to it, the best word to describe them would be empty. Devoid of emotion, they chilled me to the bone, and I avoided their haunting gaze as much as possible. I found these things, and him, to be bizarre, even unsettling, though I enjoyed his rather benevolent personality and soothing company too much for this to drastically interfere with my opinion of and visits with him.

            One day, the Bench Man was acting strangely. I asked him if he was feeling okay, and he just nodded with a small grin and motioned for me to continue my description of the mountainous pile of paperwork waiting for me on Monday.

            I did so but watched him stealthily out of the corners of my eyes. He had no coat despite the sudden chilly breeze and clouds that loomed overhead. His usually upright position was now somewhat slumped over, and he inconspicuously fiddled with a sweet pea in a restless manner. Something was wrong, but I couldn't identify the source nor did he seem willing to speak of it when I asked. Unwilling to anger him, I regrettably let the matter slide.

            "I think I should leave now," he finally spoke up after a moment of uneasy silence. I checked my phone for the time and saw that it was later than I usually kept him.

            "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take up this much of your Friday night."

            "Don't worry about it."

            With a smile not unlike a grimace, he handed me the flower, thanked me for my time, and walked down the path, almost floating above the blanket of leaves.

            I never saw him again.