Here on This Bench (story by Jill prompted by Jennifer's image)

 

Jennifer gave me this photo as my prompt on November 19, 2021. I thought about someone finding the leaf tucked in the pages of a book and what memory would be evoked by finding it. And I wrote this…

Here on This Bench

    I was determined to get all my boxes unpacked before the end of the weekend. If I didn’t, I was afraid that it would never happen—because, well, life happens. And then things like this don’t get done. I was unpacking books at the moment, and this, at least, was fun unpacking—and quick too. I wasn’t putting the books on the shelf in any particular order, so that made the whole process go even faster.

    Halfway through my second box, I grabbed a handful that was probably one book too much, and the books all shot out of my hand and landed on the floor in front of the shelf.

    I laughed. “Haste makes waste,” I said, mimicking an expression my grandmother used to say. Then I noticed a leaf on the floor and inhaled quickly. 

    “That can’t be,” I said quietly before noticing the leaf was lying near the book The Catcher in the Rye. I squatted down by the leaf and the books that had scattered. “I guess it can be.” When I touched the leaf, a film started playing in my mind—my love affair with Dylan. It had been short lived but, because of the timing in my life, had branded its intensity on my heart.

    I mean, I’m over him now. Obviously.

    But when I’m suddenly reminded of him, it always sort of stops me in my tracks for a couple seconds. And depending on what the reminder had been, a different scene re-runs in my mind because even though the relationship had ended abruptly and badly, it had been a beautiful couple of months until its demise.

    I met Dylan on a crisp October Friday my first semester of college. I was sitting on a bench by the Allegheny River in Point State Park, after my classes had ended for the day, reading The Catcher in the Rye. 

    He was on his lunch break, walking through the park, and I guess I had caught his eye as he was walking toward me. “What’re you reading?” he said, stopping in front of me. 

    I held the book up, so he could read the cover. 

    He nodded. “That’s a good one,” he said and tossed that leaf at me. “You look like you could use a bookmark,” he added as I picked up the leaf. 

    “Thanks,” I said, put the leaf in between the pages, and shut the book. Then I looked up at him and shrugged.

    “Do you mind if I sit with you for a couple minutes?” he said.

    I looked at the seat beside me and then squinted back up at him. “Sure, have a seat. I’m Hadley.”

    “That’s a great name,” he said as he sat down. “I’m Dylan. It’s nice to meet you, Hadley. Lunch break? Where do you work?” 

    “Oh,” I said. “No, I’m a student.” Then I added, “I did just eat lunch though, so it’s sort of my lunch break, I guess.” I laughed.

    Dylan smiled at me. “What are you studying?”

    “I haven’t decided,” I said. 

    “Pick something good,” he said and laughed. “Or you’ll end up in a job you only tolerate. Trust me.” He leaned back into the bench and looked at the river for a couple seconds.

    “I’ll try,” I said.

    He laughed and looked at his watch and then at me. He breathed out heavily. “I have to go,” he said. 

    But he didn’t leave. 

    He just sat there staring at me. 

    He breathed in sharply. “Maybe you can walk with me on my lunch break some day?”

    I nodded my head. “Yeah, do you have a piece of paper or something? I can give you my number.” 

    He felt his pockets, “I don’t,” he said.

    “I’ll just meet you here then,” I said, panicking at the idea that he was about to walk away without exchanging numbers—or plans.

    “Yeah,” he said, his eyes brightening. “Monday? I usually take lunch at 12:30. I can be here by 12:40.”

    I quickly thought about my Monday schedule. I was done at 11:50, so that would work. “Okay, I’ll be here.” Then I patted the seat beside my legs and added, “on this bench, waiting for you, Dylan.”

    He smiled broadly. “It’s a date, Hadley.” He reached over and shook my hand. “I’ll see you then.”

    I nodded and smiled at him as he stood, looked at his watch, and sort of jogged off toward the exit of the park. 

    I watched him go.

    When I had finished reading The Catcher in the Rye that weekend before meeting up with Dylan on Monday, I had tucked that leaf into the book—on the page I was reading when I met him. 

    I scooped the book up off the floor and found the leaf's original hiding place. 

    I read a couple of sentences to be sure then tucked it in, closed the book, and stacked the others on top of it. 

    I shook my head, “Wow,” I said quietly then stood and put the stack of books on the shelf. My hand lingered on The Catcher in the Rye for a couple seconds, and I wondered what had happened to Dylan. 

    I wondered if he ever thought of me. 

    But mostly I wondered if he’d ever learned how to let go of his past heartache and had moved on.

    I finished putting the rest of my books on the shelf.

—Jill Cullen (written 11.26.21)