Blind Tom

Tom on The Blue Bench



I watched him from behind my newspaper – campaign, fuel hikes, a tabloid article I wish I hadn't read, strife and a laptop I'm planning to buy soon – and then I was caught in it. The pit.

First I looked over, and overbalanced, and fell in: The thoughts engulfed me,

If that happened to me… what would it be like?

I bet other people are thinking bad things about him now.

It's pretty sad to be like that.

Aren't I just like the other people? Maybe I should move closer to show I'm not avoiding him. But wait… now that I think of it, this place I'm sitting on is a bit wet. I was planning to move anyway before he came around. But I just know people will misinterpret it. Aargh damnit. What to do… what to do...

I stood up and stretched, the paper flapped and he heard me.

"Ah, a nice day, is it not?" He asked.

I paused for a while and sat down again, leaning forwards,

I smiled sheepishly as a woman in a white jacket smiled and muttered 'excuse me' as she waltzed past us. It's not as if we were in her way. But it probably happened because he was there.

I stared across the cement at the man on the blue bench. I remembered that he had asked a question.

"It's okay. It's okay day. I mean, it's an okay day. Good that the rain stopped for once. So Yeah. Haha." At the time I thought I sounded natural.

He grinned and smiled,

"I thought so too."

And he continued reading. I stared. I felt awkward. I wanted to move again, to escape. I'm just like the other people I was worrying about, and I don't care. I'm only human. It's my parents' faults for conditioning me like this. Everyone has tough luck, but we are all judges. I barely made it through high school being judged for everything I was. The poetic statement 'it's what inside that matters' isn't worth much in real life.

I twiddled with my fingers.

"You still there?" He asked again.

I nodded, then cleared my throat and leaned forward, "Yeah I am, just reading a paper."

"Not now you aren't. You're probably trying to find a way to leave without offending me. You don't have to worry about it though, I'll be fine."

The sentence was non-chalant, his demeanor was not.

"Er… Huh… well… I… honestly have nothing to say to that."

"Of course you don't."

"Wait." I stood up, "What am I supposed to do here man, I just can't-"

"You don't need to explain yourself."

I twiddled my fingers. I closed my newspaper, I stood up. I began to walk, I turned, facing my now empty bench, and sat down.

"Tell me. Tell me you're whole story. Everything. Make me understand."

He told me a story.

It is injustice to write it with my hands, which are controlled by my judgmental body, my judgmental mind.

When it was done, I felt like I had stumbled upon something new. My chest swelled up with emotion, but I felt significantly heavier, and enlightened. Bittersweet Paradox.

"Whoa… I… Wow… This is going to sound pathetic from what I actually feel but… It really puts things into perspective for me."

The man nodded and smiled, and held out a hand,

"My name is Thomas. And I'll never see you again."

"A bit heavy for a farewell, don't you think?"

He shrugged, "This is real life, these things happen. And there's no good in us getting wistful about it. It will only spoil the reminiscing.

"Goodbye, Tom."

I stood up and walked away. And he never saw me again.