There I was again. Sitting on the same bench that now held the weight of my sorrow. It’s been a year and every time I think maybe this time it will happen. Maybe today I’ll get the job. Every time I get a call I get so hopeful that I plan what I would do with my first salary and once I go down that road I seldom come back. I always find myself sitting at my trusty bench internally crash-landing from my hopeful high.
I sat there watching people pass by. Living their lives. Oblivious to me. I was just a woman in the middle of the week at eleven-thirty in the morning sitting on a bench. To the eyes that barely met mine I could be taking a rest, waiting for a friend or just there without a story. I was a woman sitting on a bench wondering how people just continue walking and walking and walking. Wondering why they didn’t need to take a seat on a bench. Yet on this day something peculiar happened a guy stopped and stood right in front of me. Crouched down until we were eye level and said, “Good morning”. I was stunned to say the least but so appreciative for someone to notice me sitting on that bench. I was so appreciative for a simple good morning. He slowly got up and sat beside me and again spoke, “My name is Deene and yours?”
“I’m Hope”
He seemed to find my seemingly simple name quite funny but since I was not very conversational at the time I let it go. I waited for Deene to leave but he seemed to just sit there with me. It was both comforting and unnerving at the same time but I didn’t mind the silent company. Every few moments Deene would ask a question and the one I was dreading soon came.
“Why are you sitting on this bench?”
The words just spilt out with hesitation and uncertainty, “I can’t find a job and every time something falls through I come and sit on this bench”. Even after saying the words I knew I hadn’t even convinced myself that it was true. Deene said nothing so I continued, “To be honest Deene it’s not the feeling of rejection that I place on this bench. It’s just that I can’t seem to find myself and the job is the most tangible thing I can use to explain it all. Again this honesty was followed by silence. He turned his head and looked at me and smiled. Then he said, “There’s a fair in the park down the road. There’s food and games and I wouldn’t mind the company if you’re done sitting on this bench”. He stood up motioned for me to join him and we walked. I figured it was a fair if he was a serial killer or something crowded places wouldn’t be where he would ask for company. A fair didn’t sound bad.
Then I started to speak about how I used write little notes for people and leave them on benches. I believed whoever was in need of them would find them. Maybe that’s why I gravitated to my trusty bench. Hoping someone would leave me a message. I told Deene how I loved flowers and autumn tree leaves. I loved the sound of rustling leaving and babbling babies. Most of all I loved words. I explained where I thought I’d be and where I actually was. I spoke of dreams past, hopes of the present. In all this Deene just listened, laughed and encouragement me by his interest in my words and I kept on opening up. During that whole time at one point I heard myself laugh. It was free, unrestrained and filled with joy.
After our fill of the fair Deene insisted on walking me back to my bench. As we stood in front of the bench he spoke for the last time. “Deene is a French name that means hope and your name is Hope which is why I laughed when you said it. What are the odds of two hopes meeting at a bench on a random weekday at eleven-thirty in the morning? You have so much life in you, so many stories. Write your words down with an open-heart and honesty and along that path I believe you’ll find yourself. You’ll never find yourself in a job even if you get one. You’ll find yourself in what brings you the most untainted joy. It was a pleasure to meet you Hope”. All I could say was thank you.
When I got home I looked at myself in the mirror eyes glazed with giddy joy. Deep wedges in my cheeks. Those dimples I only remembered appearing in my childhood photographs had made a reappearance on my face. Then finally I could see what this day was. I could see what Deene had introduced me to. As I slipped into my bed I lay awake thinking how we are all walking on our own way moulded by what we see and hear. In particular we are moulded by what people think of us or what we assume people think of us. With this we act accordingly. We become bits and pieces of everyone and everything around us. Following manuals for one brand when are all so beautifully, uniquely and unexplainably different. As years go by we become strangers to ourselves. We forget who we are. But in the mystery of life, moments and people help us to get reacquainted with ourselves again and on that unexpected and unimagined day I met a stranger on the way and that stranger was me.
By Fadzai Kaputa