The Man on The Bench

An Homage to Ray Bradbury

There was not much light from the crescent moon, and a cloudy haze hid the stars. This late in June, the temperature held to a pleasant 62 degrees, and a relatively dry Spring kept the mosquitoes scarce. Small one and two story houses climbed the hill, but stopped at the top of the ridge. Since this wasn't a yuppie neighborhood with expensively crafted “antique” streetlamps, sodium arc lights bathed every place not shadowed by the maples and oaks. It was brighter across the river, whose banks turned east at the pumping station and maintenance facility north of the park. That area was flooded with light to prevent theft and vandalism; the contrast seemed to make the park darker.

The pedestrian came down the curving street from the hill and made his way across the bridge towards the park. He slowed his brisk walk as he spied the figure on the sidewalk bench. Coming closer, he saw the elderly man. Being basically a polite man raised with good manners, he made the decision to address him.

“Excuse me sir; I don’t want to bother you but the last bus was by here-oh a good hour ago.”

The man turned to the pedestrian. Long, snow-white hair hung in waves, emphasizing the thick, black framed glasses. He noticed the man was somewhat older than he had initially thought, perhaps in his 90s. What was he doing out here alone?

“I thank you for your kind concern, sir, but I know the busses are done for the night. I always loved to walk at night, but over the last several decades I’ve been somewhat hesitant. Also, I need to rest more than I used to.”

“Well, there’s not too much crime in this neighborhood; the gangs are…”

“Excuse me for interrupting, sir. It’s not the youngsters I’m afraid of; no indeed!”

The pedestrian was starting to feel the first tendrils of confusion; where was this conversation going? He was saved from replying to the strange comment, if involuntarily-he did have manners- by the ringing of his smart phone signaling a twitter. He politely suppressed reaching for the phone, but his initial gesture was seen by the elderly man. Said gentleman quietly chuckled.

“I always used to like to read at night, but nowadays,” he pointed at the phone, “you don’t need to burn books to prevent people from reading.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The pedestrian’s nervousness compelled him to end this bizarre conversation.

“Could I call you a cab, sir? Is there someone I can get in touch with? Do you have relatives around here? If you’re not too far, I could drive you home myself if you’d like.” He hadn’t really meant the last, and was grateful when the man declined the offer.

“I’ll be alright; I don’t have far to go. You know, my favorite month has always been  October, but there is nothing like a walk on a Summer night among the grass and dandelions.”  He got up, and walked away, leaning on his cane.

“Are you sure sir? Sir? Mr. ah Mr….”

The old man stopped and turned around.

“Oh, you can call me Ray; yes just call me Ray.”

He turned back and continued walking away. It seemed to the pedestrian that a trick of light, probably due to the haze, made the figure appear to dissolve into nothingness. He shrugged, and turned back his own way. What a weird episode! He quickened his pace; if he got home in time, he could catch the beginning of Letterman.

June 22, 2012