The Everlasting Memory

I’ve been coming to this park for months now. Ever since I moved here, I’ve been trying to do things that keep me connected and stress-free, since moving is stressful enough. There’s something about watching the birds in the trees, the ducks in the pond, and the people who come here, that bring me peace. Most are just passing through on their way to some destination, others are out for a run, and then a few like myself, sit on the benches and are lost in their own world, which is the most entertaining for me to observe. Well, one person in particular. I can’t quite figure him out, but he’s the most fascinating person I’ve encountered to date.

Every morning I arrive at 7:00 AM, and like clock-work, there he is. Sitting on the same bench, in the same spot, nose down scribbling into his little black book. I started to make a game of it, guessing what he was writing so passionately about. As the months went on, I decided to change benches and slowly make my way closer to him. I’m glad I did, because only then I could see that he wasn’t writing at all. He was making long strokes across the tiny page, and that couldn’t be letters or words, so he must be drawing. I looked around and thought, what could he be drawing day-in day-out sitting in the same spot. That’s what makes people-watching so exciting; you’ll never really know anyone’s truth until you get a little closer. That’s when I decided tomorrow is the day! Tomorrow I’m going to sit next to him and introduce myself.

The next day I came at my usual time, but he wasn’t there. I approached his bench, concerned at first, but also excited. You see, this is the only bench in the park I haven’t sat on. I finally get to see what he found so inspiring, see from his perspective. As I sat down, I noticed the view was pretty much the same, beautiful for sure, but the same. Just as I stretched out my legs, I kicked something from the pile of leaves underneath the bench. As I reached down, I saw a black corner of a book peeking out. Pausing only for a moment, I smiled. This is it! This is the moment I get to see what he saw. Grabbing the book, it then dawned on me that maybe something was wrong. For a man to vigorously scribble every single day in this book, and then to have left it here, didn’t feel right, and neither did opening it to satisfy my own curiosity. I had to return it somehow.

I opened the cover to see if there was any information on his whereabouts. There was a sticker on the front cover with the names Richmond Care Centre and Armand Ross. I pulled out my phone and searched. It couldn’t be far as he arrived every day on foot. Turns out, it was literally down the street and around the corner. It only felt right to return the notebook, unseen. Perhaps a part of me was scared to end this on-going saga I had created in my head.

When I reached the facility, I was about to approach the front desk when someone shouted from behind.

“You found it!” exclaimed a woman. She looked around my age. She had beautiful brown eyes and soft brown curls.

“You’re the gentleman from the park aren’t you?” she asked.

“How… I’m sorry have we met?” I asked.

“No. Well not formally. But Every morning Mr. Ross walked to the park, and I used to follow him to make sure he was alright. I noticed you a while back. You’re the only other person who sat for hours watching him. Did you know him?”

“No, but I enjoyed watching him doodling in his notebook. I found it this morning under his bench. I wanted to return it.” I explained.

“Doodling?! You had no idea who he was did you?”

I stared blankly at her. I suppose I could’ve googled his name as well, but the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “No I’m sorry. I know nothing about him, only that I really wanted to return this to him.”

“Did you look inside?” she asked.

“No. It didn’t feel right”

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee? I’d like to tell you a bit about Mr. Ross, and his little black book you have there.” She led me next door to a quaint cafe where she began to tell me the story of Mr. Armand Ross.

Armand Ross was a famous artist in the 60’s. While traveling across the country seeking inspiration, he met the love of his life, Manon. They were married for 45 years and had no children. Since Manon was a pediatric nurse, they spent majority of their free time volunteering with the children she was treating, and that brought them so much joy, that they didn’t feel they missed out on anything. Every morning they went to the park and sat on that same bench, reflecting on their past and talking about their future. When Manon was 68 years old, she was diagnosed with leukaemia. Her body was weak and she lost the battle fairly early on. After her passing, Armand stopped drawing entirely. It wasn’t until he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, that he picked up a pencil again.

“What made him start drawing again?” I eagerly asked.

“Well, his biggest fear was forgetting what Manon looked like. She was the love of his life! Now that his mind was failing him, he had to try his best to remember what she looked like. When Mr. Ross first came to Richmond Care Centre, I could tell he was desperate. The one thing he confided in me was that his biggest fear was not being able to remember his wife.”

“Where is Mr. Ross now?”

I could see tears welling up in her eyes. “Sadly, he wasn’t well. Yesterday, even though he had a terrible fever, he insisted on going to the park. So naturally, I followed behind keeping my distance so he didn’t see me. But when he returned he was worse. He just kept muttering ‘my book, find my book’, after rummaging through his room and being unable to find it, I just gave up. Sadly he passed in the night.”

We both just sat there in silence. I watched as tears rolled down her cheeks. I didn’t even know the man and yet, I felt as if I had lost someone dear to me.

“Did you want to look inside the notebook?” she asked. I let my hands caress the cover, telling myself it was okay to look. I took a deep breath and opened it, revealing pages upon pages of beautiful sketches. Manon was breathtaking! No image was the same. Every page I turned was different from the last. There were some images of her sitting on the bench at the park. As I neared end of the notebook, I could see a shift in his ability to draw her. As his condition worsened, his ability to portray her proved to be more difficult. The struggle of his memories and allowing them to reflect on the page, was the real challenge, but the amount of effort it took for him to still get aspects of her on the page, was beyond remarkable.

“We have to help him keep her memory alive! I want to help! Please. I told myself that today would be the day I spoke to him, and now that day will never come. His story needs to be told.”

She smiled and said “Well the book is yours. Everything he had is going to be donated anyway. If you need anything else, you know where to find me. I really should be getting back.”

With that, we got up and went our separate ways. As I made my way down the main boulevard, I saw an art gallery. I tightened my grip on the book and figured it was worth a shot.

~Two Months Later~

I walked through the front doors of the Richmond Care Centre with an envelope addressed to Sara. I had no last name, just the name I read off the name tag of Mr. Ross’ caregiver. I dropped it off to the front desk and left.

Today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and my favourite bench was awaiting my arrival. I took the seat that belonged to Mr. Ross, and decided to just bask in the glory of the day. Moments later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“You got my message!” I exclaimed as I turned around.

“I must’ve just missed you. What’s this all about?” she asked.

“Open it!”

She opened the envelope to reveal an invitation to the opening of the Armand Ross Memories of Manon exhibit. Her eyes lit up and she gasped.

“How did you manage to do this?”

“That same day we spoke, I went into the art gallery told them the story behind this little black book. The gallery manager knew of Armand Ross and was so excited to feature his latest work, as he’s been gone from the scene for a while. He paid me $20,000 for the use of the images in his gallery.”

“Oh wow! That’s so exciting! You really found a way to help keep both his and her memory alive!”

“There’s more…” I brought her to the front of the bench and revealed the plaque I had made. In Loving Memory of Armand and Manon Ross - May Your Memories Be Everlasting.

Her eyes welled up with joy. “This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for a stranger.”

“I donated the rest of the money to the children’s hospital in their name. Seemed only fitting since they loved it there.”

“I’m at a loss of words.” she gasped.

“I haven’t told you what I do for a living have I? I’m a writer, and I want to write this story for the world to read. Will you help me?”

As she took the seat next to him on the bench, with a twinkle in her eye, she answered “Absolutely!”