Harry Johnson sat on a park bench. The day was sunny and warm for November, only a trace of chill in the air. Still, he noticed most people had a light jacket with them, either on their bodies, draped on their arms, or tied around their waists.
Harry was the typical recent retiree. Since he'd left teaching last year (389 days ago, to be exact), he'd tried to sleep in. Although the ring of a school bell no longer governed his life, Harry was used to the regimented lifestyle and just this morning had awaken at 5:35, his wake-up time during the school year. Despite this, Harry was happy as he sat on "his" bench watching the world play.
Much of the reason Harry loved the park was for the people watching. Just now, Harry observed a young family, possibly tourists, enjoy a picnic beneath a maple shedding its leaves. Across the path, a playground barely contained screaming toddlers and hyperactive children as nannies and mothers watched, gossiping by a different cluster of benches. A man on a bicycle rode by just as a young woman speaking quietly on her cell phone rounded the corner. Harry tried to call out, but it was too late. The handle of the bicycle clipped the young women on the shoulder, sending her coffee into the air to its final resting place on her blouse. "Nooo!" the woman shrieked as her white blouse stained brown with the coffee. "Jerk," she muttered to the bicyclist, who continued on his way.
"Jessica, I'm gonna have to call you back. Some biker just hit me and I spilled stuff all over my shirt. Can we meet for the later session? How about four? I wanna change." The woman listened as Harry approached her. "Okay, great. Bye!" Harry offered the woman a napkin and a smile.
"Oh, thank you!" she said enthusiastically. "I can't believe that just happened."
"I've been telling them to put mirrors or signs up or something. You really could've gotten hurt. Are you okay?" Harry said sympathetically.
"I'm fine, really. It's just a shame. This is my favorite blouse! And silk, too." Harry nodded. He appreciated the woman's smile, her look. Her plump pink lips surrounded pretty white teeth, all lined as they should. She had sandy colored hair wind swept from her face, a few beads of sweat around her hairline. She had laughing blue eyes and the aura of a poet, the kind that writes of trees and flowers and love. Harry inhaled as his eyes slightly dropped. A shapely figure, curvy in the right places. She smelled like lavender.
He found his voice. "I'm Harry. Harry Johnson." The woman smiled. Harry realized it was at his comical name. He winced inwardly, the result of years of schoolyard cruelty, both as a child and as a teacher. "I know, silly name," he said, attempting to regain her attention. "I live just up the street. I could lend you something of my daughter's. You look about the same size. And she's probably around the same age, too. Unless you'd rather not..." he let the end of his small speech trail off. The woman looked warily, but then smiled.
"That'd be lovely." Harry smiled and turned the opposite direction from the disastrous path corner. The woman began to speak as they walked the short distance to Harry's rowhouse.
"My name's Alyssa Dupree," she said, keeping step with Harry. She began to talk of her day and how it hadn't been going so well. She was a college student, just turned nineteen. She had just come from an English class at her university on the other side of the park. Harry knew it well, from his walks and from teaching a remedial English course himself every fall. "So anyway, I didn't do very well on my test, even after all that work and studying. It probably doesn't seem like such a big deal to you, but it just has me frazzled!"
"I used to teach English. High school, but still," Harry remarked.
"Really?" the girl asked. When Harry nodded, she began to explain her test. He nodded sympathetically, adding his opinion when asked, and soon they were at his home. He fumbled with the key and then opened the door, motioning for the young lady to enter first.
"It's beautiful," she – Alyssa – remarked as she entered the foyer. "Victorian?" Harry nodded.
"My late wife and I restored it years ago. I was thinking of selling it."
"Is this her?" Alyssa asked as she picked up a framed photo from the sideboard. Harry nodded.
"She's been gone eight years and I still think of her every day." Alyssa nodded in sympathy.
