a story that has a soldier boy in it
1 Attachment(s)
Just wrote this...this afternoon. Happy Veterans day to all. This isn't about a veteram. but hope you will still enjoy it. Hugs to all
The bench was older than it looked. It had been well kept by the city in which it lived. It sat a bit back off the busy side-walk, in the middle of a large clearing. The tree from which it had been made had been as happy and caring a tree, as it could be and so, the bench was as well. It hadn’t much time to be lonely. More often than not, someone made themselves comfortable on its surface. Almost every night Mortimer Jackson Alexander Jr., spent the night on it. He’d spread newspapers on the bench, lay himself down and cover up with more newspapers for insulation. He topped it off with two or three black plastic bags. Sometimes, a policeman would find him there and take him to jail for the night. Mortimer actually enjoyed those times, for he was homeless. The jail was warm and he was always served breakfast before he was released. He and the bench had shared many conversations over the months. At least the bench had held his silence, for what else could it do without a voice. Mortimer Jackson Alexander Jr. had christened him with the name of ‘Mr. Bench’ and told him the story of how ‘what he had been’ had turned into ‘what he had become’. Sometimes a layer of sadness seemed to slip down over his eyes and Mortimer would close them and be silent for awhile. The bench missed the gentle snoring and companionship when he was not there. In the early part of the morning, he would take up his ragged old back-pack holding his meager belongings and walk into the city, to see what he might find to help him survive another day. Here came Mrs. O’Shaunesy. She loved the peaceful bench with its calmness at the beginning of the day and, as soon as she’d poured and drank her cup of tea and had a crumpet, she came to sit on the bench. She’d arrived one day early enough to see Mortimer pat its surface and say 'So long Mr. Bench' and so, she began to call the bench by that name also. Her name might have been O’Shaunesy, but she liked the informality of being simply ‘Rosie’, so Rosie she became, in the old bench's mind. She told the bench all about her Mr. Henry O’Shaunesy and what a wonderful life they’d shared together. There were six children born to them scattered all over the map. Each had wanted her to come to live with them, when he’d passed away, but she’d smiled and said ‘no’. This was her home and it was here she'd stay. At last they’d quit asking and just visited when they could. The bench felt almost as if it knew each one, from the stories Rosie shared. Sometimes she’d take out a harmonica and blow a note or two from it. It had belonged to her Henry. She missed the happy tap, tapping, signals it had always sent into her old feet. Henry had been gone for a long time and sometimes Rosie got lonely. “Oh well, Mr. Bench, it’s happy I am, to be able to rest on such a fine bench as you." Some days she stayed long enough to watch the children arrive with their mothers, to play ball, or other games. It was then she’d pat the bench lovingly and shuffle away, giving up her seat to the mothers to visit on, as they watched their children play. The bench loved the laughter coming from the children and missed it when winter came and kissed the grassy surface beneath it with a layer of snow. That's when the laughter stopped, because the children played inside in the warmth of a roaring fire in the fireplace. There was Pete. The bench worried as much as a bench was able to, about Pete. It guessed it worried more about him, than all its other visitors. Pete had come there on a late afternoon one day almost a month ago. “Well, Mr. Bench, I just got done with my job and I don’t know where, or when, I’ll get another one. My Mary’s going to be having a baby and the doctors thinking it might be twins. What am I going to do? Just what am I going to do? What kind of man am I, that I can’t take care of my family?” A tear had fallen, as Pete had laid his head down on the beaches back and soaked into its fiber, followed by another and yet more. Finally, he’d drawn a deep breath, wiped his eyes dry and said good-bye to the old bench. “Gotta face up to it all and tell my Mary. Thanks for listening, Mr. Bench.” And, with his head still slightly bent from this new weight on him, Pete had walked away. He’d come back from time to time and shared more talk with the bench. He had apologized for the tears, thinking perhaps he had not been so manly to do that, but then he hadn’t felt like much of a man at the time. His Mary had suggested she could take on some ironing and maybe do a bit of hand sewing. Pete was sad that he couldn’t even get his sweet Mary an inexpensive sewing machine. He never stayed long, for he was tired, as day after day, he’s walked the streets looking for work. On day a soldier had come and sat for a bit. He was just passing by and saw the bench in the clearing. He’d been hitch-hiking his way home. He was on leave from his assignment in a far away country. The bench made him think of home and a park much like this one. The bench listened respectfully as the young man spoke with such love about his family. “Sure love this country” he’d said. He’d taken a few steps to one of the medium sized trees that surrounded the clearing. Taking out a pocket knife, he’d carved ‘God Bless The U.S.A.’ on it. He smiled upon his work and gave it a salute, before returning to sit a few moments more on the bench. He rose saying “Hope others enjoy time here as much as I have. I have to get going. Traffic has picked up and it might be a good time to catch a ride.” The soldier also patted the benches surface and walked away. The bench wished it might see the young man return some day to visit again. He wished he had the ability to have given him a hug and wished him well. Could the bench have done so, it would have smiled, for no sooner had the soldier left, then along came Shaun McDonald to visit a spell. The bench enjoyed Shaun for he always wore a smile. Unlike Rosie who could not play a harmonica, Shaun McDonald could and often spent nearly an hour talking and playing, before going on to whatever passed for him ahead. You never knew when he’d show up, but the bench looked forward to having him there. Pete was back. This time he wore a smile. “Can’t stay long old bench. I have spent so much time in the comfort of sitting here and being able to talk about everything, that I had to share the good news with you. Mr. Matthews, down at the general store, told me about a construction business opening up in town. He’d heard they were looking for workers. Gosh, Mr. Bench. They hired me. It’s at least a forty hour a week job that pays good and has benefits. They’ll pay the insurance for the babies when its time for them to be born. Yes, Mr. Bench. We are having twins. Isn’t that wonderful? Mary’s going to be so happy. I can’t take her out to celebrate, but when I get me that first paycheck, I’m taking that pretty wife of mine out for a fine meal. I’m a happy man. I have to go, Mr. Bench. I’ll be back. I’ll keep you up to date on everything. Maybe one of these days, my kids will be coming here to play catch with me and you can share it all. I won’t forget you! Bye.” As oftentimes happen, Shaun and Rosie happened upon the bench at the same time and began to share conversations. Shaun would talk and laugh and play the harmonica. Before you knew it, they’d joined together in an older persons version of an Irish-Jig. The bench wished it could join in, but try as hard as it could, it was unable to lift itself up off the ground. It could enjoy the sight however, and enjoy it, it did. Shaun McDonald took Rosie by the arm now. “Come on, old girl. You just hang onto me and we’ll have ourselves a nice walk this lovely afternoon. Bye, Mr. Bench” Off they went with barely a backward look. It didn’t matter to the bench. It knew they’d be back. It was a good thing to be a bench and even though it could neither walk, nor talk, it knew it was a part of things that somehow made life better. LIFE WAS GOOD |
So nice!!! Never though much about a bench, but I think I"ll watch for one. Happy thoughts to you Ms. Word.
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Thanks dear sewellie, and I'm glad you liked my story. A friend sent me the picture and it inspired the story. Hugs to you and yours.
Vickey Stamps
Originally Posted by sewellie
(Post 5648794)
So nice!!! Never though much about a bench, but I think I"ll watch for one. Happy thoughts to you Ms. Word.
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What a beautiful story. I could see it all in my mind; lovely characters.
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I always enjoy your stories so much. You are very creative. nice
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that was a sweet story like to read the story's u write
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Thanks so much for those wonderful replies. A friend sent me the picture of the bench and it inspired me to write this particular story. Any of you that want to be on a list my friend keeps for me (she adds graphics and music to my words...sending the finishing version of my writing ... out as an e-mail. Her name is Ann ) just contact me with a request and I'll send your request on to Ann. She's always happy to add a new name to my 'friends of Vickey' list for my writings.
[email protected] Vickey Stamps |
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