Looking Ahead From the Park Bench
By Leilani Biswas | A short story about promise, potential, and the passage of time.
By Leilani Biswas | Guest Writer for Seeking Veritas on Substack by Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions | Leilani’s writing explores the realities of life, people, and relationships.
As Julia seated herself on the wooden park bench, cheerful hooting and hollering coming from the far end of the park drew her attention. Seeing the boys playing soccer, she watched as the ball went back and forth between them. One young lad, seemingly eager to show off his kicking prowess and agility, lost his balance and slipped on the grass. She gasped and held her breath as she watched him hang in midair for what seemed like several seconds, before gravity yanked him back to the ground. She exhaled and found herself smiling with relief as the boy, unhurt, bounced back up to his feet and continued playing.
Detecting movement on the nearby pathway, Julia turned her head and saw a young couple going past her, strolling leisurely with a little girl marching in a dramatic fashion in front of them. The girl, presumably their daughter, wore heart-shaped sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her dress stopped just below her knees, and Julia noticed that the socks she was wearing didn’t match. One sock was white with a light blue band at the top cuff, while the other was pink with white hearts on it.
Shortly afterwards, two teenage girls walked by in the opposite direction, talking and laughing in joyful tones, oblivious to everything and everyone around them. The leaned against each other with warmth and affection, one clinging to the arm of the other as if to keep from falling during a fit of laughter. The perfect picture of carefree youth, Julia thought to herself. In fact, it seemed to her that all of them — the teenage girls, the couple with the young daughter wearing the mismatched socks, the boys playing soccer — exuded that kind of energy: carefree, happy, and fully enjoying the moment with no worries about tomorrow.
Julia considered how they all had so many years ahead of them, and how their futures were filled with so much promise and potential. Filled with unknowns, too; but those unknowns weren’t something to be feared. On the contrary, each unknown was something to look forward to, like a beautifully wrapped Christmas gift. You don’t know what’s inside, but you can’t wait to tear open the wrapping paper and find out.
Letting her mind wander, Julia imagined where they would all be decades later. The boys would be grown men, married and settled down, with children of their own. On a warm summer evening like this one, they would get together, don their cleats, and play soccer just like they used to when they were young boys. Albeit with a little less hooting and hollering, though; and with a little more restraint to cut down on the slips and falls that were becoming more and more difficult to recover from.
She imagined the young couple in their later years, faces matured but still attractive, bodies not quite so lean and firm but still radiating health and vitality. She pictured them attending the university graduation of their now grown-up daughter. Beaming with pride, snapping pictures endlessly, and joyously celebrating the special occasion.
The two teenage girls? Julia envisioned them in her mind’s eye as mature women who, though life had led them down different roads, had kept in touch and remained close over the years. One was married with children of her own, enjoying material success working as a senior business executive. The other was a fine artist, bringing in just enough money with her paintings to get by on, but happy and grateful to be doing what she loved.
The sensation of pins and needles in her right foot jolted Julia out of her reverie. She stretched out her leg and turned her ankle in circles, rotating her foot first to the left, then to the right. Gradually, the prickling sensation went away and her foot felt normal once again.
Gripping her cane, she paused to look at her hand. The skin was so thin. The veins were so thick. Her hands used to be beautiful, but that was a long time ago. She leaned her weight on the cane, hoisted herself up from the bench, and took a moment to steady herself. Sitting still for close to an hour, her hips and knees had stiffened slightly. They would start to loosen-up again once she started moving. She turned toward the pathway and contentedly began to make her way back home.
SG Productions welcomes occasional submissions from guest writers who add to the breath and depth of storytelling on our Substack publication, Seeking Veritas by Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions. It is part of our commitment to build a community of emerging writers who value view point diversity.
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