Friends Can Do That by Gregory Sage

I was strolling one day through the city park a mile from my house. It was a crisp, fall morning; a little chilly and the wind was penetrating through my North Face Windbreaker jacket a bit. I needed to think through some things that had been happening to me lately: my recent unemployment, fight with my parents, and the fact that my sister was moving away to school, leaving me, the eldest child, feeling abandoned on every side.

As I meandered through the familiar trail, I noticed the leaves had already started changing colors. Shades of deep, brilliant red, pale orange, oak white and withering green painted the breathtaking scenery, and I whispered a prayer of gratitude to God under my breath.

As the winding path that so many hikers and bicyclists had taken began to end, I looked out and noticed the swings I had been taken to so often as a child. It was here that my parents always instructed me to push in and out with my legs to make the swing go. It was here that I had been taught some lessons in life about nature and helpfulness and taking turns. These later turned into beliefs such as forgiveness when someone does you wrong and loving others as much as you love yourself. My mom and dad instilled those values in me, and the park was just a tool they used to help reach that objective.

           

I looked to my left and noticed I was not alone after all! Sitting on the park bench was a man in khakis and a worn, button-down shirt. I noticed he was reading the newspaper, so I approached him. “Watcha doin’?” I asked. He looked up, hesitant for a minute; then a look of relief swept across his face as if he was glad someone was there to talk to. He told me he comes to the park every morning with his Dunkin Donuts coffee and just reads through the local newspaper for an hour or two. He takes his time, paying attention to the things that interest him and skipping over the things that don’t, all the while sipping his coffee and taking in the scenery. Birds felt at home, and the most elegant of trees loved to swing and sway free in this park.

I sat down next to this man, and he told me that his name was Jim. I found it surprising that, though we had lived in the same town all our lives, we had never met. He lived in Huntington Woods, and I lived just down the way a bit over in Bellevue Square. He was 45 and I was 22, and the only time he had lived away from this area was for six months when his father had gotten a job promotion and the family relocated to Utah. It didn’t work out. Jim now worked as a distributor for a bottling company downtown and made decent money. The only thing he regretted was he and his wife of three years divorcing after a financial dispute.

I told Jim that I understood to an extent what he was going through, and that he could always fall in love again; he just had to be willing to open himself up to that. He nodded, seeming reassured. I looked at my watch and noticed I was late for brunch with an old friend. We both agreed that it was a pleasure getting to meet someone so fascinating from our community, and said that if we ever saw each other again we’d say hello. I waved and went my separate way, knowing that God had just brought this man into my life for a reason. I was glad I had taken up that opportunity and not shunned such an incomparable experience. I made a new friend and learned to be one that day, and for that I am grateful.