The Bench Of A Boy

The Bench

After school each day a bell rings and hundreds of students rush out the rundown school doors, with their shoes crashing against the pavement, the rush of their hearts, the excitement in their eyes, they run home. And as they run, they fail to notice a boy. 

Sitting on the bench, watching. He too had come from the school, of course. But instead of the rush of the heart pumping blood as he would run home, he walked, the soft padding of sneakers, and the soft breath of calm as he made his way to the bench. There he would sit and watch. Watch as hundreds of passersby rush about their day, be it for a job, or simply running - no real reason - rushing just to be somewhere. To get somewhere. 

He would never know where those people were heading. Sometimes he'd see a person rush by, only to never appear again. And then there were the regulars - the ones who continuously took the same path never bothering to look at him - people had tried before and he hadn't responded - he didn't see a reason to. It had been this way for years.

He was born December 21rd, 2004, in a hospital with brown hair and hazel eyes that would change from blue to green and back. As congratulations rang about & parties were thrown. Growing & growing & getting older. Until one day June 28th, 2010, they built a park across the street, one so large it would attract hundreds of kids, looking for a place of entertainment. His parents decided to take him along with his siblings to see it. 

As he approached the park he saw a bench - a brand new one it seemed like a cloud on a slightly 'showery' day, despite the park being open for a few weeks - the bench seemed untouched. His family rushed to the park - his siblings determined to enjoy their time - and the parents rushed to make sure they didn't die from stupidity. But the smallest in the family sat on the bench and watched. Watched as people passed, watched as his family ran about the park.

And the calm that surrounded him was vast.

No one bothered him, it was just simply him and the bench. It eventually became a sort of habit. Sitting on the bench hours a day then heading home and working. With all leisure time being spent on the bench - he was determined to make the calm last for as long as he could.

Until

"Hello!"

A kid about his age approached and said. He glanced up to look at him, short blonde hair and light blue eyes along with braces along the rows of teeth. He decided this wasn't worth the trouble - and came to the conclusion that if he didn't respond the boy would leave. However instead of doing that the boy sat on the bench and stared as well.
"What are you doing." the brown-haired boy demanded, this was his spot! - HIS bench - HIS memories - not this random kids'.

"You seemed lonely! And I decided to grace you with my presence," He pushed a hand against his head and sighed loudly. A theatre kid. Hip-hip-hooray.

"No, I'm actually really ok so, you're free to leave."

"That's so incredibly boring, you are so incredibly boring, I have nothing to do so I'm sitting with you now."

"And why exactly should I let you do that"

" Because!!! I am too incredible for you to decline."

He declined.
Despite this, the boy continued to show up and irritate him, despite his best warnings. Eventually, the carefully planned schedule he once had now had a new addition, he eventually learned his name - Tommy - it was a stupid name and decidedly told him so but he just laughed and continued on being energetic.
The once silence-filled days were filled with chatter - conversations one would say - and the once vast calm was replaced with a feeling of longing for the silence that once was. Each day as he came to the bench - instead of sitting and watching - he'd sit and wait - for the boy who 'gets out later - how unfair' for 5 minutes before he'd show up and sit with him and would animatedly chatter as they watched the passersby'.

Yet, despite the boy's loud demeanor, people continued to pass by, not blinking an eye at the now 2 children on the bench. With conversations going somewhat like this:

Tommy running up to the bench with his bag and setting it down beside him as he watches along with him, eventually beginning the seemingly never-ending chat.
He started thinking.

In the end, he decided to start responding- might as well get involved in the conversation, since he'd be the only one listening to it in the first place.
But, instead of nothing changing - the people on the sidewalk started glancing at him. Now, instead of going about their own day - they'd stare and watch for a few seconds then continue on. Now, to others, this would be nothing - a small inconvenience at worst. But for him - this was an entire schedule change, along with the people staring - he'd changed as well - instead of the longing for silence - he'd now long for something - anything - to fill it he'd start focusing on Tommy - not on those traversing the sidewalk - not the passerby's - Tommy. The once observant glare of the boy on the bench turned into a focused glance.

Eventually - his parents confronted him.
"You have homework to do - work to do - PEOPLE to talk to! You can't spend all that time on the bench with the boy you claim is there!"

Eventually, they'd tried everything but the boy wouldn't stop going to the bench so,

They went to the doctor,

Who sent him to a psychologist,

Eventually, he figured it out...,

Logically he knew. At the end of the day, all the puzzle pieces pieced together.

Logically this shouldn't be this vastly difficult to understand - how after months of sitting on the bench along - someone, somehow sensed his loneliness and came to sit with him.

Logically - he knew that everyday people would pass by, that no one would sit on the bench that was reserved, it's been that way forever.

So why did he get along so well with him?

He didn't know what to do at this point.

The bench once full of silent memories would be filled with memories of a boy.

At the end of the day, nothing would change for anyone else - for the passerby of the bench.

He himself would have thought.

Logically, he would've been about his age.

But sometimes logic isn't everything, he understood that as he walked away.

"The end of one's story is the start of another." he thought as he walked away from the grave of a boy.

Of a ghost passing on.

And back onto the bench of a child that once was.