The Park Bench
The two old friends met most mornings at the park entrance. They would slowly wander the path which led along the east side of the pond until they came to a wooden bench they considered their own. They had each reached the age of seventy-nine in the past six months. Elmer Benson was a widower, having lost his wife three years ago. Paul Hagerty’s wife had been placed in a convalescent home a year ago with late stage Alzheimer’s. They both took a seat on the bench and watched a pair of ducks swim along the pond’s edge. A young boy and a middle-aged man stopped to view the waterfowl. “I stopped by the home yesterday afternoon,” Paul said. “Don’t you most days?” Elmer asked, knowing his friend suffered the pain of visiting his wife daily. “She hasn’t known who I am now for nearly three months. For a while she would seem to come and go. My heart aches for her to come back one more time.” “Your Alice is a good soul,” Elmer offered. ...