The Brown Bench

The Brown Bench

By Rendo—1971 reedited: 2003

A heavily built and now that I pay more attention, a notably round-bellied man has just walked out of the corridor to my right. He is checking his watch it against the time given by the old clock mounted high on the far wall.

Three women, one of whom has her hair stacked in multiple levels have obviously been released from their work. They'll walk towards a nearby bench, as they carry on a conversation with themselves and never hearing the sounds of their friend.

A blue uniformed policeman enters our area, searching the benches with his eyes. He looks up and down each of the rows for a social deviant or lawbreaker. His search ends when his eyes lock on a drunk who is sipping his wine.

" Hey, put that away! This is your last warning, George. Last time. Now, go on, get out of here! "

An old curmudgeon, with weatherworn face, stands nearby, searching the benches for today’s discarded newspaper. When he finds one, he takes his familiar seat and begins reading the obituaries. He has a pleasant face. His visage holds your attention by providing your eyes a place to rest.

Now entering the hall are two young students carrying their books. Their sweatshirts advertise " Boston University ". They whisper secrets to each other, as they take their seat upon the opposing bench. The prettier of the two, discards her used cigarette package upon the floor after she lights her last cigarette. Her companion flicks a discarded sandwich further down the bench and also sits.

At the end of the bench, an old man sits contemplating his youth. Two children are playing at his feet. The smell of Hickory floats from his bruised and hand stained pipe.

A slender woman loaded down with newly purchased groceries, sits at my left. She quietly contemplates her nose using her hand held mirror. I smile as her wondering mirror finds my visage and reflects it to her. Her white washed complexion reflects years of depression, war, and happenstance back to me. I removed the newspapers on the seat beside me to allow her more space for her packages. Then

She counts for pennies, reading each date upon it without distraction. The coins are divided by value. Some are returned to her purse and some are placed on the handkerchief, which she had spread with on her lap. Upon completion of this task, she folded up her handkerchief, and looked towards the far end of the massive hall. Upon seeing the two large doors marked " chapel ", she rose, smiled in my direction, grabbed her bundles, and proceeded towards the chapel. And all this, as if she, more than any other person sitting on this bench, had something of which to repent!

My two cream-puffed girls, we're still sitting on the bench opposite me. There would flash their legs to passers-by or anyone who would give them attention. I was not sure that they realized the only older men would wish to spend the time of day with them. As for me, I'm in love. I have decided this. As one now bound by love ends, I have no time for women who wish to pull foolish thoughts from my mind.

Oh my goodness! Will there! Do you see the young girl of about eighteen years, who is now boarding the elevator to the second-floor? What possible business could she have with the older man upstairs? Then again, maybe she is the stationmaster's daughter.

My bench has begun to empty and my train is due.

I remembered these benches from when I passed one them as a child. They we're highly polished oak and extended row upon row. Each was filled with passengers that were awaiting their train to arrive on one of 20 tracks. Now only a few benches remain. Half of the station has been closed. The ceilings that were covered with gold leaf and paintings, are now dusty or hidden behind lowered ceilings.

It amazes me how we building can change and age. Up to now, I only thought people aged. I am merely twenty and two; but, when I set upon this bench and South Station, I am eighty and five

copyright: Rendo 2004