To the Nice Man on the Park Bench

Thanks for reminding me about humans

A lake and two suns, in smokey forest-fire skies. Photo by author.

Dear Nice Man on the Park Bench,

It was just a pedestrian head-nod greeting last Friday morning, at Madison Beach in a thick silver world. The smoke was beginning to clear, the AQI was in the lower end of “Unhealthy”, the clouds were billowy and grey. But a mirror-flat lake was scattered with swimmers saying screw you to stay-indoor warnings, and I figure you’d had enough as well. You seemed comfortable here, like this was a familiar bench.

I nodded at you as I stepped out of the water, you nodded back; as I toweled off you sighed and said, “It’s nice to see across the lake,” and I sat at the edge of my bench and looked across the lake with you. “Yes, it is,” I agreed. Our interaction was pleasant, perfunctory, ordinary.

I toweled off and watched a trio of women swimmers breast stroke and talk, punctuating a quiet morning with random shrieks and laughter. “It’s nice to hear the ruckus,” you said, almost as if talking to yourself. It was a strange comment but I saw your point. “You’re right!” I gushed. I mean, how often do we overhear a group of people laughing and talking too loudly these days? I miss eavesdropping — at my co-working space, at coffee shops. I deflated my buoy and pulled out my keys, continuing to watch the joyful swimmers. I might…