In The Park

by Tim Young

She's looking at me. She has a camera. I am sitting in the park on a bench.

The leaves can not possibly know the brilliant shade of green they have

become. There is only a hint of a breeze but when it tickles the leaves there

is a sound. I am alone on the bench. I am sitting with my butt pushed to the

back of the bench so that my back is as straight as I can make it. Her bench,

the girl with the camera, is across the road. She is not pointing the camera

at me. No. For the last few minutes she was not pointing the camera at me

only her eyes but now, just this second, she is pointing the camera at me. I

look over at her. I cross my legs and move my body slightly on the bench

from my previous position. I see the camera eye looking at me and I also

see her one eye that is not looking through the viewfinder looking at me. I

look at her more intensely. She then takes the camera away from her eye.

She brings it to her lap. She crosses her legs. She is wearing a bright blue

pair of shorts and a man's white shirt which is unbuttoned to the top of her

breasts. Her hair is dark. It's parted in the middle and I think I see that it is

long and pulled back into a pony tail. I am positive she has noticed my look

of disapproval. It sure feels disapproving to me. She turns her head to her

right. The camera remains on her lap. Then she looks to her left. I end up

doing the same. I see some people on bicycles, people jogging and walking

their dogs. I think they are enjoying the day. As I think this I see her pick up

the camera again. She points it directly at me and takes a shot. There is no

flash but I know that she has released the shutter and that I have been

captured into her camera.

I feel violated. I feel like she rose up from her bench, crossed the road,

walked up to me and slapped me across the face. I touch my face. It feels

warm. Then I decide to bring both hands to my face; left hand on my left

cheek, right hand on my right. Then I open my mouth and without sound I

say to her, "Oh no!" She does not respond. She sits on her bench, alone on

her bench, looking at me as she holds the camera still on her lap. I uncross

my legs and stand up. I want to go over and say something to her about

how she has just stolen my soul with her camera. That's what I do. A string

of bicycles pass by me and then my feet are moving across the road directly

towards the girl with the camera. She uncrosses her legs. The thought

flashes through my head that the real reason I am going to confront this

girl is because her legs look so inviting, naked as they are. But then I push

that thought back into the hole it crawled out of. By the time that thinking

is complete I have crossed the road and am now sitting next to her on her

bench. She does not turn her head to look at me.

"You know you have stolen my soul with your camera," I say. "Why did you

do that?"

Instead of turning her head towards me and perhaps giving me a response,

she begins to hum a tune. I recognize the tune right away but can't come up

with the title. What the fuck? I'm seeing the ball in my court so I must think

of the title to this tune. Coming up with the correct title, I am assuming will

aid in getting this girl to say something to me. Several excruciatingly long

seconds sneak by. The itunes in my brain is in search mode. I get the first

letter. It's 'P.' P, P, P. Then I have it. So obvious, really. Instead of blurting

out the title I sing the line in the chorus, "But all I got is a photograph and I

realize you're not coming back anymore." Then I say, "Ringo." She

continues to hum the line. Then she picks up the camera, aims it point

blank into my face and snaps the shutter again.

A couple of pigeons walk up to the bench. Their heads going like they do,

then the male begins fluffing out his wings and making that mating sound

as he struts behind the female. She hurries ahead of him. She notices a

crumb and makes it disappear. They fly away.

The girl puts the camera on her lap but is now looking directly at me. I

release the tension in my shoulders. I look directly at her. Her expression

is compelling. I'm finding it irresistible.

"Looks to me," I say, "that your method has been a huge success. You have

been able to move me across the street. You now have me sitting right next

to you. But you also have succeeded in making me, I mean I have to say

what kind of nut case are you? Some people might not react so polite as I

have." Another excruciatingly long pause. 'Please say something."

"I don't speak with strange men. I snapped your photo because I wanted to

create a memory for this perfect Spring day in the park. See. Now I don't

feel as if you're a stranger. You think I have stolen your soul? Oh well, I

guess some beliefs are difficult to remove. I saw you noticing my legs and

that's the moment I decided to shoot you."

"Ouch," I said, "that was some bullet."

"I see you have already stopped the bleeding."

"I'm not so sure about that. You can't see what's going on inside."

"I'm not so sure about that." She says. For the first time I can see her lips

give way to something resembling a smile. I take it for one anyway.

"I also decided that since your hair is long that might be a clue for you to

know the song I chose to hum. Actually it's not so much that as it is the

song I usually think of when I'm out with my camera. Now I've revealed

one of my major flaws. I'm so obvious. I guess I want to be. Well, at least

sometimes. Look at me. I thought I was doing much better before I said

one word to you. Now I am chatting you up as if we have known each other

somehow. Weird."

She turns away from me. She reaches behind her back to retrieve a bag

which I did not see before, and puts the camera in there. Then she turns

back to me directly.

"I can delete those two shots if you want. But I'm not completely sure that

will return your soul to it's proper place."

"But you've already put the camera away. My soul is inside the camera

bag." I don't think it enjoys being in such a dark place."

"But that's where you are mistaken. I think it loves being in there. I think it

has finally found a home it can be comfortable in. I can feel it."

A horse drawn carriage moves slowly by our bench. The horse is a shiny

tan in the sun. He shakes his head and makes a sound. I can smell him.

Straw and oats. The driver holds the reins without tension in his hands. I

see him turn around to say something to the young couple sitting in the

carriage. I can't hear what he says.

I turn back to the girl to say something about the horse. She is gone. I was

thinking I could feel her absence as I turned my head to watch the carriage.

I didn't want to believe she was going to vanish into thin air. I don't know

why. It simply must be much more of a chore to believe anything once your

soul has been taken away and stuffed into a little bag.

©2010