Published in my school district’s 2016 student anthology.
“Hello.”
Lounging on the bench in the park, I begrudgingly glanced up from my sketchbook into the eagerly smiling face of a child. Seldom do children willingly approach me in public but before I knew it, she plopped down next to me on the bench, which creaked from our combined weight.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were the animated conversations of lingering passers-by and the occasional cry of seagulls soaring above. It was so calming that I almost forgot the presence fidgeting next to me until I heard a purposeful cough.
“So…what do you want, kid?”
Before I even had time to react she had flipped through the pages of my sketchbook, and after ten minutes of insisting I draw her, I try to ask where her parents were. When she pointed toward an elderly woman sitting alone on the swings and asked me why I was looking at her like that, I shook my head, grabbed my pencil and asked her how she’d like to pose. I wondered how many tries it would take to capture her smile on paper.
It was late when I finally stood up to leave, but she clumsily grabbed my arm and I was taken aback when she asked, “Will you come again?”
Sometimes when I visited the park after that, she would be there sitting alone on the bench. I’d encourage her to play but she always seemed more content watching me draw. Eventually I stopped visiting. It was only while walking past the park some time later that I hesitated at the gates, glimpsing the familiar figure on the bench.
“Hello.”
Whipping around, her smile broadens. There is no one in the park at this time of day and I only meant to stop by for a moment, but she suddenly grabs my arm and I’m halted by the look in her eyes.
“Please don’t go.” I stare at her for a moment, and then plop down next to her on the bench as she grips my arm tighter.
“Hey,” I begin awkwardly. “I’m here for you if you need anything.” There’s a pause and she takes from her pockets crumpled drawing after drawing while whispering something incoherently. It takes a moment to realize what she said.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
We sit there in silence for a while and when I reach for her hesitantly, I hate myself because I’m blanking out on what to do. How could I, someone who was long used to the loneliness, comfort someone who was still so frightened of it?
She left after a while, as I continued ruminating on the bench. When I heard a voice shout out moments later I glanced up startled, and it was her, glowing in the fading light of the sun while waving furiously. As I weakly waved back at her, she hollered to me.
“I can’t wait to see you again!”
Alone on the bench, I smiled softly.
“Yeah. Me too.”