The lady at the bench

            She was sitting on the same bench at the park, where I saw her every morning.  The way she was dressed that morning caught my attention.  She had a bright pink shirt, a floral skirt with all the colors of the rainbow (except pink) and a plaid jacket, all spic-and-span.  By the bench was a supermarket cart, filled with all kind of stuff.  I sat in another bench and fake I was reading the paper I just bought, to satisfy the curiosity that had grown from watching her every day sitting there. 

            Suddenly, out of the blue, the lady began to laugh out loud.  It seems so funny, that I began giggling myself.  I tried to figure out what she has seen that was so funny.  I imagined was something she remembered, because her eyes were fixed nowhere.  She took out the jacket, put it on the bench and invited someone to sit there before she began the conversation.  It was a casual conversation with a guy named Albert. 

            She took out, from a huge and awful bag, a mirror and a brush, and began to try to brush her hair.  It hasn’t been washed for a long time, and the clusters can be seen from far away.  After that, she went to the cart and took a hat.  It has been a beautiful hat, in the past.   Now it was a terrible mess, dirty and with a crushed orange flower on the side.

            People began to pass by.  Some hesitate to walk near the bench; others were so in their thoughts that even notice her.  One person recognized her.  “Hi Alice, how are you today?” “As always John, hanging in there”. They continue talking for a while, and I continue to listen to them. John was a College professor and they were talking about his classes.  “Did Professor Meadows still teaching Stephen Hawkings’ books like they were the Bible?”, Alice asked.  Both laugh.  Then she said: “I don’t agree with Hawkings…, At that moment I let the paper go and raised my eyes, just to see and hear what this strange lady has to said about one of the most brilliant minds of the world. “…when he affirmed Wittgenstein’s words, that the only work for philosophy in today’s word is language analysis. (1) I believe philosophy is far deeper than that, and we can, we must continue doing philosophy, because this World needs to find it roots and it meaning…” I couldn’t believe my ears. 

“Pass by the apartment, Helen will wash your cloths, as always.  You may wash yourself if you like…”

“I’m ok. Bethesda pool helps me with that.”

“You still there, under the bridge?”  She nodded.  “You know you may go with us when winter arrive…”

“Maybe I will.  I love this spot, I can see my penthouse from here.”

            John raised his sight to look at the fabulous penthouse of the fancy building on Fifth Avenue.  He nodded.  “I know loosing Albert was a terrible thing for you…”  There everything changed.  Alice goes mad.  She rose from the bench, pushed her friend and began to push the cart toward my bench.  As she passed by, I heard her saying: “Son-of-a-bitch.  Always believing that my Albert is death, when he’s here with me…What are you looking at?  Too many loonies in New York…”

            As she continue the path I looked back to see John still standing there, watching her go away.  Our eyes meet and a sad grimace, dressed as a smile, appeared in our faces.  Then he goes away.  As for me, it took me a while to decide to leave the park, after such awful revelation.