Pigeon Park

The night was not hot or humid. It's March, and it's not even night. It's a mild and foggy morning. Saturday morning, in fact, and Lorena finds herself sitting on a park bench picking crumbs off her itchy sweater and feeding them to the pigeons that are bobbing their heads around her feet. A slight sigh drains out of her. She thinks about Pidgeon's and how they are not asking for much. They have their mediocre suits on, on a mediocre morning eating mediocre crumbs. The Pidgeon's are okay with this, and she wonders if she is a pigeon in life. Maybe. If she suddenly turned into a Pidgeon, she was dressed for it.

She was feeling sorry for herself and scolding herself for eating yet another bagel even though she, for the last 20 years, promised herself to start her day with something better, healthier, more respectable. Something she could walk into the office and brag about and receive some validation for doing something about something. Crumples up the buttery wrapper and walks to the heavy cast iron park bin, and gives it a toss, but from a distance to make a shot for fun. Misses. She grumbles and picks it up to try again, and it bounces off the rim. Glances around to see if anyone notices.

It is 6 am, and no one is in the park except the birds. Lorena takes time to sarcastically remind the birds they could not make the shot either and bends over to pick it up. Then, she notices a corner of something buried under the dirty snow; she scraped it off, thinking someone lost a wallet. She digs it out and brushes it off—a little black book.

Who uses a little black book these days, she asks herself under her breath? She finds it creepy—leather and soaked. Well-worn, and it seems vintage if a black book can be vintage. Lorena does not open it. Not yet.

Sitting back down on the bench, wondering how to get this back to the owner, the Pidgeon's come wobbling back. Waiving it above them, suspiciously asks if maybe they know who owns it? After all, they are there all the time, day in and day out. No one gives up any info. Figures. What happens in the park stays in the park—a well-fed Pigeon's motto.

Restlessly tapping it on her knee, she scopes the park as though she may be able to see someone searching for it. Pidgeon Park is old in a Maritime town in Eastern Canada. Lined with centuries-old trees, old gravestones from the firsts. Not the firsts that title belongs to the Maliseet Nation. Still, as in many places in this world, Natives are not recognized and almost always discarded. Something she always takes note of, and it flicks a flame of anger within her. It is starting to get busy with people walking to the market for their morning coffees and chats about the news of the day. Kids begin to roll in with their parents to feed the pigeons.

Looking down at her find, not yet opening it, feeling it would be a fringe on someone's privacy. "Maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing," she thought. "Maybe I should just toss it out and move on. Who cares anyway. If someone wanted it- it wasn't that hard to find." That is not her, though. Everything is personal and has meaning.

Thumbs the worn edge and pulls open the cover.

On the first page, in somewhat comfortable chaotic writing, unfolds, "We are Happy Losers." Unaware of how long she delved into those words, she felt a tap on her right shoulder. In a split second or less, she cringed in her mind. A whole scene plays out in her head of the soon-to-be unavoidable transaction between herself and the person who is interrupting her escape. Then quickly, she meets herself and says hello to a favorite relief—a stranger.

"Hey, I'm Kevin. Some people call me Keith." Kevin or Keith stood before her in a brown Lopie and a brown blazer, which made putting a time on him seemingly impossible, and his face didn't help her do that either. Long unruly greyish beard with eyebrows to match. He had dark blue eyes with no sly, so she became disarmed and found herself looking forward to the upcoming chat.

"I'll start with Kevin and work my way to Keith if that's cool with you." She offered. Kevin agreed and asked for a smoke, feeling guilty because she had just finished her last one. Apologizing for not having anything to offer him, he offered her one. Laughing that he just asked her for one, she accepted his offer and slowly began to sit down. Slowly was exactly that. Lorena watched him as he sat without sitting and did not speak. Instead of asking him if he was okay, she sat back and took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled with a grin.

Live and let Live she smiled. Watching affectionately, someone else's world as an audience for a bit. Kevin looks straight ahead and tells her, "They are letting me play a part in the movie that's being filmed in town, you know." "Did you hear about it yet?" Lorena had heard of it but didn't notice much happening around the city. "Yeah, I heard of it. Hope it's good." "They asked me to play a homeless guy, and I figure I'll be pretty good at it cuz I'm a homeless guy." She respectfully agrees that he has the edge over most and asks what he needs to do with a grin. "I have to get hit by a car," he replies without emotion. She then asks him if he has been practicing the hit and would he like to practice with her here in the park.

The square is in the Union Jack's shape to show loyalty to good ole England from the town's founders. They get up and walk to the North-East corner near the Bandstand. Without warning, Kevin immediately dives headfirst into the ground and somersaults his way to victory. Jumps up, flicking his hair back, and waits for approval. Quick to show her approval, she tells him, "Awesome, this has to be perfect. Kevin nods his head in knowing agreement and tosses himself in the air, then ends with another somersault. At this point, people are starting to pay attention, and some scoffing and rolling their eyes. Lorena fiercely gives them a long stare until they turn away.

After applauding him for a stellar hit, she tells him, "I have to get ready for work. I work over there in the market. If you want, we can practice again tomorrow." They agree to meet again.

Standing up against the vegetable stand, arms at her sides demanded for 10 hours straight, she looks at the Market clock. Waiting for her break. Crowds are around the stalls, and she sees a familiar face in the crowd. He was not moving, holding up two cigarettes with eyebrows raised in question. Kevin made an appearance. "I'd like to take my break now, Rob." Rob, a thin-haired weasel who was the fruit & vegetable stand owner, saw Kevin and grumbled that I better not be taking a break with him since he has been kicked out several times and does not want him hanging around because of her. Ignoring his comment, she took her apron off and shoved it under the cash, then walked through the heavy gated door. Coming out into the sunshine and breeze felt good. March, so far, has been kind. Kevin waves her over to the bench, and she takes note of his hat. A fedora shaped into a cowboy hat. A weird combination to her. As though an old-time gangster rides a horse on the weekend and sings country music only to return to killing people on Monday. To each his own, she thought.

Lorena asks him where he has been staying these last few nights, and he talks about the best bus stops and how he manages to keep warm. She wants to offer him her small apt, to pay for some nights somewhere. He refuses when asked. There is more to him than people bother to notice, and she feels a pang of guilt and worry already.

"Let's do this, if I get this right, they will pay me, and I need the cash." They go back to the snowy grass, and he tries a few times. "I think you would have to get hit by a car to know for sure." Lorena frowns. "Not sure if that's a good idea or not, but I think you have it covered. When is your first go at it?" she asks. Tomorrow morning and I think I'm ready now." Lorena remembers the book in her pocket and asks him if he knows who may have lost it? Opening the book, she shows him that in all the pages are drawings of people feeding pigeons or sketched figures sitting on benches or lying in the grass. Kevin takes off his hat that plunges his grey head of long hair onto his face. An inner grin comes to the surface, and he flips through the pages. "I know some of these people" They are friends of mine. Some in the same situation." If you don't mind, I'll bring it around and ask a few people." She agrees.

"I did it!" She hears yelling and foot's steps crunching in the snow behind her, turning with a smile to see him running toward her. In her mind's eye, she sees him smiling, raising his arm over his head, flagging a piece of paper triumphantly, but when she turns to focus on him, he is tripping forward with arms flailing and his feet flipping across each other as though they were in a fight. Then he somersaults into a group of pigeons and jumps back onto both feet like a ninja.

Brushing the snow and garbage off the bench, they sit down. "So how was it? She asked. "It was the best day of my life," he says, still catching his breath. "I went early to be sure I was on time. I was late, it turned out, and I got fired," he says matter of factly. "What! No fair everyone's late sometimes!" she protests. The pigeons jump off of her like they owed her money.

"Yeah, but it turns out the driver actually hit the new guy with the car, and he's in the hospital." So win-win, I guess. Well, not really for Barry, but he'll be okay." "They let me in, and I did it. So good that I did three more hits. They are paid me 20k just for that." He shakes his head.

"Are you serious! Amazing! I'm so happy for you!" She yells. "Me too, and here is the book you found. I asked around, but no one knows anything about it. Maybe, keep it safe for someone." Looking down, she knew somehow she wouldn't see him again, that this would an end.

"I have to get to work." She complains. "Hope we can still smoke on the bench on breaks" " For sure," he replies. "I'll see you soon then." and she hugs him. The wind swirls around, blows her hair across her face while she tries to navigate the sidewalk into the market.

Returning daily and looking for him, wondering if he was okay but to no avail. Opening the book, she sees a drawing of her alone on the bench. A piece of paper falls out, and she catches it in the wind. It says, "For the others," and made out to a local men's shelter. It was the 20k. Wiping her face off with her sleeve, she walked to the shelter and said, "For all the Kevins and Keiths." and added, "from Kevin and Keith."