The Rusted Bench
-a short story
It was a cold and windy November day as I watched her slowly walk to the rusted bench and sit down. She sat there silently, wisps of her silvery, gray hair blowing across her once beautiful but now aged face, her hands in her lap protectively covering what appeared to be a much worn black leather-bound Bible. Every day she would come and every day she would sit on that same bench in the same spot for hours, exactly as she sat now. No one ever came with her and she never talked to anyone who passed by. Perhaps to some she was just an old woman who kept to herself, but to me she seemed a lonely soul who had lived a long, hard life and who had had no one lend her an attentive
ear or a gentle touch for a long time if ever. I began to feel sorry for the woman, inventing stories in my imaginative mind of unbearable loss and endless lonely days and nights. And so, I decided to go speak to her and offer her a friendship which I thought she desperately needed, and perhaps I needed as well, even if I didn’t realize it.
It took me days to carve out enough time to actually make it out the door of my one-bedroom apartment, much less across the street to the bench where the woman sat. I spent several minutes starting out across the street in a steadfast manner only to turn right back around and back inside when my cell phone started to ring. Not only did I feel like my life was too busy at the moment to make time to speak to this possibly new acquaintance, I was also feeling foolish for thinking that I could conceivably have any advice or wisdom to give this aged person. But, I refused to give up. Something inside was urging me to make contact with her, and so I walked out the door, took a deep breath and crossed the street, heading straight in the direction of the rusted bench. With two more steps to go I felt my phone vibrate, and instead of stopping and sitting on the bench, I just walked right past, checking the message that had just come in. This ridiculous routine continued for a week or more until I finally decided to direct message some of my neighbors and ask if they had any idea who she was. Of course they all had basically the same information: she was just a lonely old woman who came and sat on the bench all day. She never came with anyone and she never brought anything with her besides that worn out Bible. Apparently she had been doing this for years and none of them had ever even thought about going up to her. “She looks content to me,” one woman said. “Besides, I’m much too busy for idle chit chat. I’ve got places to be, things to do.” I mentioned that I was thinking about speaking to her and they chastised me saying, “Why bother an old woman?” and “Old people prefer to be by themselves. They don’t appreciate it when you disturb them.” So, deciding all my effort had been futile, I gave up my footed pursuit of the woman and sat watching her from the window as before, cell phone in hand.
November turned into December bringing with it freezing rain. I didn’t see the woman much anymore as the weather wasn’t permitting and I worried about her daily. Never having seen her with anyone, I was concerned for her health and apprehensive that she may be freezing to death in poor living conditions. I began to think that my opportunity to see what this mysterious woman was all about was gone, until one day the sun decided to peak out from behind the clouds and warm us up for a bit. I sat, waiting expectantly at my window, eager to see her, internet browser open to YouTube. Just as I was beginning to
lose hope, there she was. She slowly ambled to the rusted bench with her Bible in hand and took a comfortable seat. Her usual solemn exterior had been replaced with softness around the eyes, and as she seemed to be staring up at my window,
I could see what appeared to be a tiny smile play on her lips. It was almost as if she was expecting someone. My phone began to ring and as I answered it, I continued to stare through the crack in the curtains, not wanting to be seen but desperate to witness the story unfold. An hour passed, then two and with each ticking of the clock the woman’s smile faded until it was gone completely and her face resumed its usual somber appearance. Whomever she was waiting for must have been unable to make it. Another notification sounded on my phone and, feeling as though a trespasser in this woman’s sad, little life, I moved from the window and let her be.
I could see what appeared to be a tiny smile play on her lips. It was almost as if she was expecting someone. My phone began to ring and as I answered it, I continued to stare through the crack in the curtains, not wanting to be seen but desperate to witness the story unfold. An hour passed, then two and with each ticking of the clock the woman’s smile faded until it was gone completely and her face resumed its usual somber appearance. Whomever she was waiting for must have been unable to make it. Another notification sounded on my phone and, feeling as though a trespasser in this woman’s sad, little life, I moved from the window and let her be.
A few weeks passed, and as I was going out to check the mail, I glanced over to where the woman no longer sat and noticed an object lying on the bench. It was black and looked exactly like the Bible that the woman always carried. Glancing at the sky and recognizing the signs of an impending snowstorm, I crossed the street and walked to the bench, stopping for the first time ever. As I reached down and picked up the Bible I saw that the gold, foil letters on the front cover had worn away. She must have read her Bible a lot, I thought and suddenly, overcome with curiosity, I began to slowly leaf through the yellowed pages. She had made many notes and marks on the actual scripture itself, although I had never seen her open the book once in all this time. Clearly she had been reading and studying God’s word for many years before she became part of my every day. As I was nearing the end of the New Testament, a piece of newsprint fell from the pages onto the sidewalk below. It lay open at my feet and as I knelt down to pick it up, I noticed it was an obituary. It read, “Gwendolyn Louise Jenkins entered the gates of Heaven on Friday, January 8, 2016.” I glanced at my phone and noticed it was the 11th, just 3 days after her death. I was in shock over this news and angry that I would never have the chance to know her now. If only I had a little more time… My phone made a familiar ding, but I ignored it for once and skimmed to the bottom of the page. There was a quote from her son that said, “With Jesus there is life. My mother knew this and lived to tell others about Him her entire life if only they would take a seat and listen.” It was at this moment that I realized how wrong I had been about this woman. On the outside she had seemed to me a lonely, old woman in need of a friend, but on the inside she was full of life, love and complete contentment. The real loner was me.
I learned that day that no one is ever alone in this world unless they choose to remain alone, wrapped up in superficial relationships cultivated over Wi-Fi and social media. I realized that, while on earth, in the flesh, most human beings crave friendship and acceptance from an electronic device, which will never truly fulfill them. If people will take the time to put down the phone and recognize the importance of creating real, lasting relationships with others then the true power of friendship and community will be able to exist.
Written by Tina, Princeton, TX
Watch this video, which I’m sure you’ve probably already seen, and
remember to Look Up. https://youtu.be/pPQ08Sjjq1Y
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