A Swing in the Park

6. The Tramp

"Your father left us for a floozy," my mother said to me while we crossed the busy street on our way to the park.

"She isn't a floozy," I said although I did not know what that word meant. "She's a girl in a flower shop. He walked by it every day on his way to work and his heart moved. It hadn't moved in a long time."

"Why do you say these things to me?" My mother said in a cold voice. "Why would you say that? Did your father tell you to say that?"

"No," I said.

"Then how do you know?"

"I just do," I said. "Isn't Fred coming?"

"He will be late," she said. "He is finishing in room 6. He told me to go ahead without him."

We walked through the parking lot and onto the long pebbled path with the benches.

"Here's your sandwich," she said, giving me a brown paper bag. "Go play now and be careful."

I made my way toward the swings but then I saw a man sitting on a bench by the slide. It was a warm sunny afternoon and he was wearing a long overcoat and a brown crumpled hat. I saw long locks of silver hair fall from underneath the hat like fish fleeing the net. He had a scruffy white beard and thin lips. His eyes followed me and I stopped and turned around.

"Hello, mister," I said with a smile.

"Hello, young lady," he said. His voice sounded like that of a young man.

"Come sit with me for a spell," he said, pointing to the empty space beside him. I did so and opened the paper bag in my lap.

"Would you like to eat my sandwich?" I said. "I'm not hungry."

"What's on it?" He said, looking at the sandwich in my hand.

"Cheese and pastrami," I said, "and mayonnaise with pickles."

"Hold the pickles," he said. "They give me acid re-flux."

"What's that?" I said.

"It's when your stomach ends up in your mouth," he said.

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" I laughed.

"You're right," he nodded, "but when you get old things do get turned round."

I opened the sandwich and took out the pickles. Then I closed it again and gave it to him.

He bit into it immediately, grunting as he swallowed the bite.

"It is wonderful," he nodded. "t' is a good sandwich."

"I'm Katie," I smiled. "I don't know your name."

"Because I didn't give it yet," he said. "Name's George. Now we know each other."

"Yes," I said, "now I know you're a king."

"A king?" He laughed.

"Sure," I said. "A man with the name George is a king. He is honest and brave and fights on behalf of the oppressed. His heart is pure but his thoughts are heavy. He is sleepless at night. He turns in his bed like the thoughts in his head."

"That's me alright," he said amazed. "What a strange child you are, talking to me like this"

"And you're faithful," I said, "even when you walk away your heart still carries."

Tears welled up in his eyes. He let out a sob and did not finish the sandwich. The hand holding it had grime on it and dirty fingernails.

"I was a drunk," he said slowly. "I lost my job over it and then my house. I moved in with my brother. My wife and I slept in the basement with our two young daughters.