Benched

Introduction Creative Writing Course – Day 12: Write about the most memorable thing you ever got in the mail. (Do you find a writing prompt, or does a writing prompt find you?)

Old friends, old friends,

Sat on their parkbench like bookends

A newspaper blown through the grass

Falls on the round toes

of the high shoes of the old friends

Old Friends. Simon and Garfunkel

The familiar picture of a withered green bench, paint peeling from years of sun and rain. A rusty metal plaque indicating the name of the generous sponsor of this sweet spot of repose. The heavy branches of a sole pine tree hanging above offering dappled shade from the slowly setting sun. Scattered light filtering through the branches of the tall tree. 

The empty bench overlooking the neverending roll of the calm, deep blue sea, white crested waves gently breaking onto the shore. The sunset painting the beach a golden red. 

The photograph framed by blue paper, reflecting the deep colour of the ocean. Stark white letters announcing the title like whitecaps breaking ashore. 

The arrival of the DHL package had been announced a few days ago. Its route trackable. Track and trace. The invisible trail the shipment was leaving behind. Nantes. Leipzig. London UK. Cincinnati (of all places). Ontario. If a package could tell a story. Another great writing prompt. 

Still. Given the current situation of border closings and travel restrictions, the imminent arrival of my order seemed highly unlikely despite the written confirmations I had received. Hope dies first these days.

But there it was, arrived the day before yesterday. Wrapped in a sturdy brown cardboard box covered with multiple mailing labels. Hand delivered by an exhausted delivery man in a yellow vest, the grey of his moustache matching his hair. The order I had placed while quarantined in my bedroom a month ago, was now lying on the messy kitchen counter. The world was getting smaller. Mine had just grown bigger by the size of a book that contained a whole continent.

Careful not to damage the content, yet very impatient to get to the insides, I slit a sharp kitchen knife along the opening flap of the hard book box. Probably not the best idea, I remember thinking while I was doing so – I had a tendency to get careless and klutzy when in a rush. Downjackets slit open, fingers cut off – vivid images ran through my head while I continued unveiling my precious cargo.

Wrapped in bubble plastic, I could see the first hint of ocean blue carton shining through the clear material. Trying hard to slow myself down, to savour the moment, I removed the final layer of what was in front of me. What had taken years to take shape. A childhood dream. A ridiculous plan. A year spent abroad. And writing about it. My blog in a book. My first blook.

No, I did not get published. Nor did I self publish. An online site that turns your memories on social media into books, that’s all. Ridiculously expensive, but worth every penny. A priceless reminder of the dream I dreamt. An important step on the path I am walking on (running still hurts my knee). What I consider the first rough draft towards my personal finish line in the far distance: my thoughts from the upside down refined and condensed in a book. 

“I love your bench…mine is at Lake Ontario”, a friend tells me.

Everybody needs a good bench in life. Green, brown, withered, new. At the ocean, in the park. Alone or to be shared. A place to sit and tie your shoe. A place to stand on. Or have a chat. A place to quietly contemplate what you want from life. Or to eat your fries. 

The familiar picture of a withered green bench on the cover of a book. Life benched. Write on!