The Bench by Helen Sophie

The Bench
By Helen Sophie

Adam saw her sitting on her bench. On most days their paths crossed on their daily walks through the rather small park.

“Good Morning,” he said, with a bit of a nod, as he did each time they met and swept on their solitary paths.

“Good day, sir,” she in turn replied.

She showed no emotion; never met his eyes. In the beginning, he wondered how on earth anybody could be so neutral about everything until he realized that he was exactly the same – a revelation he was not at all happy to acknowledge.

Months and months passed. After a while they graduated from one greeting to two – have a nice day or see you tomorrow.

The Pennine and Rossendale Forest hills were now snow topped a sure sign winter had begun. Gone were the days of walks without coats, hat, and mittens, gone were the stops to sit awhile watching the swans on the pond. It was only when warmed by the sun that one would take a short pause and sit a spell. The regulars knew who those brave souls were – both Adam and Rose were part of that elite group.

With the cold came the necessity of a mandatory cup of tea for most the regulars. There was a small concession stand in the park.

“Can I help you?” asked the gum chewing gaudily dressed waitress in motion to her God awful music. Adam could plainly hear it coming from her ear buds.

He almost turned and walked away giving up his idea, an idea that took him 3 weeks to drum up enough courage to follow through on.

“Well????” his server losing patience.

“Do you remember what the woman has that comes here most every morning, she always wears a tan coat or sweater, matching hat and gloves, blue jeans…I guess you would say a “plain Jane”?”

“Bloody hell! Are you daft? I just make the drinks, I don’t memorize the customers!” barked the server.

Once again doubt filled his mind, courage waning,

“Two of Bentley.”

“Yes, yes I know!” popping and cracking her gum.

Adam wondered but dared not say what he thought – she remembers my order but not hers – his personality and demeanor never allowing anything but a conservative response, must less revealing any annoyance or anger.

He prayed to God as he walked the path that Rose, his Rose as he had come to affectionately think of her, would be in the park and even better yet, that she would have stopped at her favorite bench.

Adam had been careful to pick a warm sunny winter’s day for his surprise. As he rounded the corner, his heart fell, the bench was empty, his Rose nowhere in sight. He paused then continued walking; reprimanding himself for his stupidity and arrogance to think Rose was anything but a park regular; certainly not his Rose. His pace was brisk, the re-emergence of his emotions felt like a raging thunderstorm inside him.

“Good day.” He would recognize that monotone anywhere.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” For the first time, their eyes met, Rose quickly looked away.

“I haven’t much time, I will be late.”

“Please, take it with you,”

Adam’s heart pounding as he confirmed his belief that yes the server was correct – he is daft.

See you tomorrow,” was all there was left to say as he walked away.

“Thank you, very kind of you,” Rose struggled to find any words but knew a sign of appreciation was required.

Winter turned to spring, an annual event in the park was always held to celebrate the passing of the chill, the frost, the coldness. This year’s event was a circus to be held this coming Saturday. Neither Rose nor Adam were particularly excited about a circus, of course neither became excited about much of anything. Rose contemplated skipping the park altogether that day; Adam cursed the choice of a circus much preferring the usual concert.

It was a beautiful, glorious spring day – sunshine without a cloud in the sky, not a chill in the air, the perfect day for a walk in the park. The quiet and peace of the park was nowhere to be found. Full of people, there were no regulars in sight – children dashed about; Adam and Rose thinking their ”park world” to be in utter chaos, to the families it would be as it should – the excited celebration of the beginning of spring in the park.

“Good morning” and “Good day sir” – habitual greetings taken care of as they pass each other.
There was only one bench available Rose having arrived at it first, “Would you care to join me seems we have intruders in the park today?”

Intruders to most would seem like quite a harsh word but not between regulars. Adam paused, “thank you, very nice of you to ask,” their formality being their self defense of one another.

“Beautiful spring day, isn’t it?” Rose could only nod in response.

They were surrounded by gypsies, Romani people, and their brightly colored vardo’s – wagons that incorporate living space brightly and colorfully decorated on the inside and out. Adam wondered but would never say out loud if the supposed mystical powers of fortune telling or the theoretical passionate temper paired with an indomitable love of freedom and a habit of criminality were really true. Not to mention their odd nomadic lifestyle for centuries. He was an avid reader, and as such an intellect. She was the same but it was there that Rose allowed her emotions to rule unrestricted. She longed to be free of her emotional shackles, her “proper” existence. She needed to wear something besides beige, tan, ivory, black or blue jeans. Rose dressed in her one outfit from the back of her closet many times, but could never leave her house; thus her ritual of wearing that outfit to clean her humble flat, daring to turn the music up and dance with abandon as she did her chores. To Rose, it was her dirty little secret.
“Did you know that the first groups of Romani people arrived in Great Britain by the end of the 15th century?”

Adam could not believe how the words just rolled right out of his mouth.

“Yes, I did. I find the Romani people fascinating. Historically, they earned a living doing agricultural work moving to the edge of town for the winter months. They began sowing seeds in spring, planting potatoes and fruit trees, weeding in summer, and harvesting through fall. Later, well during the 20th century, they became and continue to be the mainstay of scrap metal dealing, horse dealing, and tree surgery; of course, fortune telling and wooden rose making. Oh my, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to give you a history lesson,” Rose finished in a very soft voice unable to look her bench companion in the eye.

Adam found himself beginning to smile or even smirk about how his extremely proper Rose had lost herself in the moment, but true to Adam’s persona he could never let her know that.
“If you will allow me, I find the gypsy’s intriguing as well. The Romani wagons have always interested me. They traveled on foot or with a light, horse-drawn cart and then would build Bender tents where they settled for a time. A Bender was constructed from a frame of bent hazel branches – hazel chosen for its straightness and flexibility – covered with canvas, “ Adam paused unsure of her reaction, the continued on when he realized he had made her hungry for more info. “It amazes me that many gypsies’ today still follow the “unclean” or mochadi culture. There usually were no toilets or showers inside caravans. Most sites had separate utility blocks with toilets, sinks and electric showers. Gypsy’s would not do their laundry inside, especially without underwear.”

Adam would give anything to take back that last sentence and then prayed the earth would open up and suck him down, how could he have been so disrespectful in her presence?

“Yes, in the days of horse-drawn wagons, women did their laundry in a river, being careful to wash upper body garments further upstream from underwear and lower body garments. Personal bathing always took place much further downstream. Modern trailers have double walls which separate the living areas form the toilet and shower,” the discussion of which having no impact on this emotionless woman, to her it was nothing more than a conversation of history gone by.

Unbeknownst to Rose, she had reassured and comforted Adam for his indiscretion, at the same time reminded Adam of her inability to relate to anyone or anything on an emotive level. “Did you know that the Romani did assimilate into our culture through notable boxers such as Bill Joe Saunders and Freddy Eastwood a noteworthy football player?”

As Rose finished the music began to play – gypsies emerging from all areas of their small park. The stark realities lie in the back of both their minds – they could discuss history but could never bring themselves to have a common, casual conversation.

The distinctive sound of Romani music strongly influenced bolero, jazz and flamenco – something both the regulars were well aware of. This music was more like the stereotypical gypsy jazz and brassy sound that many people associate with gypsy’s – those people totally unaware of the influence. A young gypsy woman dressed in a colorful flowered skirt with a white buttoned blouse off one shoulder; barefoot no less with a red, orange and gold handkerchief holding her locks in place approached the bench. Adam and Rose looked at each other; no words were exchanged to convey how mortified they both were. Before either of them knew it, they were being dragged by hand to where the performers were gathering. No degree of protest was paid attention to by their capture, she continued laughing and singing pulling them to the circle.

“We can make a getaway soon,” was Adam’s instruction to Rose.

She tried to smile but couldn’t, he could see she was scared to death, once again finding no words, Rose nodded to Adam.

Somehow, unable for either Rose or Adam to envision, they were within a tightly closed circle bound first by people, then by caravans. There would be no easy way out. The master of ceremonies had begun to announce the program of the day, reminding the audience of the children’s circle complete with songs, games, and snacks. He began by telling the story of the Romani people inviting his captive audience to come and live the gypsy experience, urging freedom of spirit. Two very uncomfortable people sat side by side, almost clinging – well clinging in the only way they could, apart and never touching, nonetheless their own form of clutching one another, somehow they had become confidants in crime!

When the history lesson from someone who actually lived it was over, the music began again. The gypsy’s started to dance with one another – a passionate, seductive dance. Rose was fixated, her eyes focused on the body movements, she quickly looked away blushing when she noticed Adam was watching her. For the first time, Adam saw that Rose could indeed feel something. While her head was down, a gypsy abruptly grabbed her hand pulling her to the make shift dance floor. Her objection, her disapproval ignored by her partner; her eyes desperately searching for Adam, a man whose name she didn’t even know.

The music became exhilarating the smell of incense burning among the smell of musky sweat. She heard Adam say, “It’s all right, everything will be fine,” as his partner vied for his attention.
In a split second, Adam had seen how Rose had become intoxicated in the moment. His mind racing from having found some quick words to soothe Rose, certain she would need them, only to find quite the opposite. Adam slowly allowed himself to live in the moment, to do as his MC had suggested – experience the gypsy life, be free.

Between songs there seemed to be only a matter of seconds before the next started. This time by the grace of God, Adam and Rose were only an arm’s length apart. Caught up in the moment, Adam reached and pulled Rose to him just as the first note commenced. Her face was one of alarm and concern until she realized it was him. It was a slower song, if you will, as slow as any gypsy ballad gets. They began to dance in their appropriate manner – rigid and proper.

Both well aware of the gypsy encouragement that had begun imploring them to be free to become one with the other. Much to Adam’s surprise, his partner pulled slightly away from him beginning to move her body as the Romani women were doing, ways in which Rose had never moved before. She willfully lost herself into the music and the moment, she was liberated.

Adam watched his Rose in her blue, green, purple, and lavender brightly colored flowered skirt and soft lavender ruffled blouse off one shoulder – sway to the music her feet bare her auburn curls hanging from the bottom of the handkerchief. He blinked his eyes several times thinking he must be daft. He was not. Looking down at his own clothes now replaced with simple brown trousers and burnt orange satin shirt with billowy sleeves a colorful bandana on his head.

His only thought, “Bloody hell!”

Somewhere from deep inside Adam he was able to break free from his own chains. His body seemed to move without his consent or effort. His hips swayed in very improper motions that he found himself liking. Adam too had found his freedom; he had indeed become a gypsy. When he saw Rose smile for the very first time, it buckled his knees, he felt heady. Without any action that he could remember, Rose was once again his arms only this time there bodies one in an alluring sway.

He recalled how she had danced her tempting dance as she walked toward him. He was bewitched, alive with her scent, a scent that he had vaguely noticed before was now enticing him making him pray that the music never stop. One dance became another, and another, and another.

Two sets of eyes never leaving each others, senses acutely aware, two bodies unable to let go. Each dance driving their passion to new heights, each feeling their desire burn out of control. Adam’s eyes softened still locked with hers, his arm feeling the round of her back, her breasts against his chest, watching as her head tipped slightly back, as his head descended, her lips parting in anticipation of his kiss. Their pace slowed to allow the savoring of each and every moment their lips would share, their embrace tightened, they never noticed when the music stopped.

It was the applause of the gypsy’s that startled Adam and Rose back to reality, likewise blushing. The MC highly praised the gypsy in both the regulars, their eyes closed in embarrassment.

“The gypsies are a microcosm of the challenge of intercultural coexistence,” Rose said. She continued, “By interacting with gypsies, it can help in our relations with other minorities because gypsies are the minority “par excellence” – a permanent minority. We could learn quite a bit from the gypsies but that would require an open-mind. If we were to answer the ‘gypsy question’– here is a people, actually a group of people, who have been absorbing what they consider useful from foreign cultures for centuries, while remaining uncompromisingly themselves. Isn’t that precisely the balance to aspire us in the world of intercultural coexistence? Gypsies without a doubt have something to teach each us.”

Adam almost had to literally shake his head to comprehend not only what Rose was saying but that they were back to their shared bench – the detached, unfeeling world in which they lived.
Rose looked down at her drab clothes a clear frown upon her face. She wondered if it had all been a cruel daydream. She dared a glance at Adam no longer with handkerchief and warm hued clothes. Rose affirmed to herself that the mind can play heartless tricks on one’s soul, reprimanding herself for allowing her to roam to places and things that were never meant for her; of this she was now certain.

Simultaneously, Adam struggled to understand, to find reality, to make sense of something that made no sense. He had put his head in his hands on his lap. How could he have been so stupid to believe?

He sensed a person standing beside the bench. Much to his dismay he slowly raised his head and opened his eyes to watch as a gypsy man laid a beautiful bouquet of purple flowers beside him. As if to read Adam’s thoughts about what to do with it, “you know what to do, she waits beside you,” said the Romani man.

Adam closed his eyes again, for what seemed only a moment, while thinking how crazy he must be only to find the gypsy gone when he opened them. The smell of the flowers interrupted his search visual search for the man – he had never seen the likes of flowers like these – there were purple tulips, mauve roses, tiny lavender flowers, deep mauve carnations, baby’s breath, fuchsia mums, and pale pink daisies amongst various shades of greenery.

He stood picking up the bouquet. Adam saw the sorrow in Rose’s eyes, the disappointment on her face. She could not bear to look him in the eye, her head remained tipped down. Rose prayed that he would simply say, “Have a good day or see you tomorrow.”

He did not, he held the bouquet below her head almost placing it on her lap, but return to “proper” manners precluded him from doing so.

“I couldn’t,” were all the words she could get out of her mouth.

“Please, you must.”

“I cannot, please understand, it would not be proper,” her voice barely audible and cracking.

“It is but a small gesture for sharing your bench with me, nothing more.”
Her hand shook as she reached out to take the flowers.

He turned to leave, stopped and paused, turned towards his Rose and said, “You look beautiful in clothes of many colors – the blues and greens and purples. The lavender matched your eyes.”

Adam forced himself to turn and this time, really walk away. It took a few moments for Rose to rationalize that Adam had just confirmed the reality of that Saturday afternoon.

“I don’t even know you name,” she whispered, Adam too far away to hear her.

“I know.”

The End