Feeding Pigeons, Finding Memories

Jed sat on the old paint-peeled wooden bench at the park and tossed crumbs to the pigeons, just as he did every day during his lunch break. It had become a routine for him over the past few months. It was the one hour of calm he had in what seemed like unending days of chaos at work, and tortured nights at home in his one-bedroom flat. Here, on this bench he could clear his mind.

He didn’t have to think about anything more profound than tossing crumbs and seeds to the birds congregating at his feet. There were no deadlines, no machines humming, no bosses, no stress. There were no nightmares, no invasive thoughts or horrifying recollections.

He didn’t have to think about life, either before or after Afghanistan. At least that’s what he told himself. Inevitably, the memories would invade his soul, take him to places he didn’t want to be and flood his mind with visions he didn’t want to see.

Try as he may, he couldn’t push the memories aside, no more than he push aside the ever-increasing flock of pigeons at his feet. Thoughts of the man he was before, of horrors he witnessed and the friends he’d lost haunted him. Echoes of the family he threw away broke his heart.

So lost in those thoughts, Jed didn’t even feel the creek of old bench when the young lady first sat beside him. He turned to briefly look at her, a small closed-mouth smile on his lips that probably looked more like a sneer to his new bench mate.

Isabelle briefly smiled back at him before quickly averting her eyes and staring down at the handbag she was carrying. Removing a sandwich from the bag, she sat quietly to eat her lunch. Occasionally, she glanced at the man sitting beside her, wondering what he was thinking.

Jed had resumed his routine of tossing crumbs and seeds to the pigeons, and tried his best to ignore the intrusion on what was supposed to be his personal time. He could feel her eyes on him. He turned toward her again with another brief smile, and before he turned back their eyes met.

He knew this woman. He didn’t know who she was, but he was sure he’d seen her before.

Isabelle caught the hint of recognition in Jed’s eyes. “You know me,” she thought. “Look at me.”

As Jed continued feeding the pigeons, he couldn’t stop thinking about the young woman sitting next to him. He recognized her. But from where? Was she the girl from the pharmacy? The liquor store?

He took another brief glance, hoping she wouldn’t meet his gaze. No, he realized. She wasn’t the girl from the pharmacy, or the liquor store. “But how do I know you?” He wanted her to answer without the burden of having to ask. He was never a man interested in small talk.

Isabelle had been wanting to speak with this man for weeks, from the first time she noticed him sitting on that bench. This park, which she visited only occasionally before, she had come to every day since she first saw him. Each time she saw him, she told herself she would speak to him but never did.

Today was the first time she had mustered the courage to sit next to him. Still, she couldn’t find the words she needed to say. She wasn’t even sure of what she should say, or if this man really was who she thought he was.

As they sat in silence on the bench, glancing at each other occasionally, Isabelle struggled to find the words she was missing. Jed continued to wrack his brain trying to remember this young woman sitting next to him, a woman he was sure he knew but could not place from where.

After several long minutes of continued silence between them, both just watching the birds pecking and cooing near their feet, Jed looked at his watch and began to collect his belongings. He took a last look at the woman next to him, almost willing her to tell him who she was.

He wanted to ask because he was curious, but he didn’t feel like engaging in a long conversation. Nor did he have the time. Besides, if it was someone he should know, he’d feel like an idiot for asking her who she was.

Isabelle noticed that her bench mate was getting ready to leave. She was running out of time. If she was going to speak to him, it had to be now. She casually brushed her hand against his leg. He quickly turned and looked at her, but all she could do was mouth “I’m sorry.”

Jed nodded in acceptance. He was hoping she would say something, but she didn’t. She was too nervous. When she noticed the man about to stand, Isabelle reached into her handbag and retrieved a picture. It was an old photograph of a blond woman and a little girl with light brown hair and hazel-speckled brown eyes. She held the picture at an angle so that the man standing beside her couldn’t miss it.

As Jed leaned forward to pick up his lunch bag from the bench, he noticed the picture the young lady was holding, the blond-haired woman and the little brown-haired girl.

Memories flooded back to him, memories of a time before his heart and mind were destroyed in a land far away from home, a time before he gave up on his life and family. He felt his knees weaken as he fell back down onto the bench. He stared at the picture, and into the eyes of the young woman holding his memories. He knew she wanted to speak, but she was only able to cry.

Isabelle could see in the man’s eyes that he finally recognized her. She was sure of it. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were choked back by her sobs. She reached out and placed the old picture in the man’s hand.

Jed took the picture from her, and as his gaze moved back and forth between the old photograph and the young lady on the bench next to him, tears formed in his own eyes – tears of happiness and tears of shame and regret.

There were no words spoken, nor necessary. Jed could see her words in the young woman’s eyes, the same hazel-speckled brown eyes as the little girl in the picture. He knew exactly what she had been trying to say.

“Hello Dad.”