Fall of Beauty by Kat Gregory
I was alone in the park until a radiant sparkle of silver captured my focus, and I spun to gaze at a small pigeon perched on the peeling park bench. A cool autumn breeze rustled the last of the brilliant red and yellow leaves to the ground, and the birds fluttered nervously, pecking at the cracked concrete for miniscule crumbs from sandwiches gone by. From the shadow of a maple, I watched a brazen one, splotched gray and white, venture up to the worn shoelace and furtively risk a peck. Intrigued, it strutted forward, beady eyes following the string to a worn sneaker, faded gray from use. It belonged to a different generation, like the sole survivor of a trend long since abandoned. The pigeon cocked its head, analyzing the intruder with a reproachful eye. Black tights wrinkled over thin legs, knobbly knees, spindly thighs. The washed out fabric of a loose dress was scattered with sprays of small, pale pink and yellow flowers. The dished neck was frayed, and several buttons were missing. A string of pearls glowed in the sunlight. A long woolen coat was draped comfortingly over narrow shoulders, and clutched hands rested on a warm lap. The finely wrinkled skin of the hands was alabaster and failed to hide a web of blue veins. Swollen fingers with chipped, unpainted nails moved slowly, thoughtfully, as they clasped and reclasped, worrying the worn band of a small ring that cast dancing reflections as it glimmered in the sun. It had been years, many more than I cared to remember, since I had last held those hands. Alone in the dappled shade of the deserted park, she smiled down at the little bird as she rested against the splintered wood of the ancient park bench. It had once been painted forest green, I remember it clearly, but now flaking slivers of color were the only evidence of its former grandeur. And once, the maple too had been magnificent, curving boughs dressed in radiant spring leaves of lime green. Just last week, one couldn’t pass without stopping to admire the fiery brilliance. Now, winter had shriveled the leaves and harsh gusts of wind had torn them away, scattering them onto a crimson carpet that crunched beneath my loafers. The tree still held a strange, unexpected beauty, though a mere shadow of bygone days.
Somehow, I knew I would find her here. It had just been a matter of time. The war had forced me to move far from this town, and leaving my childhood sweetheart had made the tragedy even more unbearable. For one of the rare trips in my old age, I chose to come back, just for a week. I hadn’t known if she still lived here… if she still lived. But each day, I walked in the park. It had been her park, her bench, her tree, once, and I was overwhelmed by the memories and hopes that flooded back to me. I could practically see the ghosts of two teenagers, inflamed with carefree love, talking, dancing, and holding hands beneath the summer leaves.
From mottled shadows, I couldn’t resist scrutinizing every inch of her familiar face, changed as it was from time. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, laugh lines etched deeply into her cheeks. Her teeth were round and even, but time had jostled them into a slightly crooked smile. Clumsily applied lipstick stood out on her pale lips. High cheekbones gave way to hollow cheeks, once elegant but now gaunt, and a sharp, defiant chin. Though her skin sagged on prominent collarbones, the nape of her neck was still elegant. Long wisps of silver hair flowed down her back, wild and rebellious.
My heart ached to go to her, to admit how empty my life had been without her, sweep her off her feet and carry her away to happily ever after. Yet my feet refused to obey, frozen in terror at possibilities. Perhaps it was a bad idea. It was selfish to barge back into her life after decades apart. Was that a ring glimmering on her finger? Yes. A ring. My stomach filled with emptiness despite the voice of reason in my head, consoling that I had known it all along, that it was only to be expected. But as I looked closer, I recognized the simple silver band … of my ring. A silly childhood trinket, no more, but nonetheless a surge of hope erased all doubts, and I stepped forward eagerly.
As she raised her gaze, a sparkle caught my eye. Her eyes shimmered in the sunshine, seeming to capture and hold the light. They were stormy gray and piercing; the only feature age had not corrupted. As her eyes found mine, I felt the familiar leap of my heart, and my once hesitant lips could not conceal a broad smile.
Something was wrong. She seemed to look through me, into my heart, my soul. But there was no trace of recognition in those eyes. Curiosity, perhaps, intensity, surely, but no remembrance. My heart froze, and I couldn’t breathe. Doubts had plagued me every year since we had been apart. Was she still here, in this little town? Was she even alive? Yet among my fears, I had never considered that she wouldn’t even remember or recognize me. Leaves swirled around us, fluttering to the ground and filling the air with their crisp crackle, and still I stared back, unable to conceal my devastation.
Noise startled the silence. A starched uniform shattered the moment. Feet clattered on pavement. A cry sliced the tension. A nurse rushed down the lane, and the pigeons scattered, taking flight in a whirlwind of feathers and cross squawks. “Allegra, thank the Lord! I’ve found you! We’ve been looking for you all morning, how on earth did you manage to get here? You’re a right escape artist, ma’am. Now, lets go back home. No more big adventures for you!”
Smiling apologetically at me, the woman reached down to pull Allegra up. There is a metallic tinkle as the ring clatters to the ground, but the nurse snatched it and tucked it into the folds of her uniform with an exasperated sigh. She helped Allegra down the path, speaking in a gentle but condescending tone, as if to a child. Her voice faded, blown away with the leaves.
I am alone in the park again. As I had been alone all those years, waiting. But now, there is nothing, no one to wait for. A hollow emptiness has taken over my heart. Rain begins to fall, soaking the ground like hot, stinging tears. A sparkle catches my eye, but it is just a pigeon. I am alone in the park.
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