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You needed to get out. To get away from it. That was why you left like that, with a burning hole in your stomach, with your heart squeezing tighter and tighter in your chest. You were suffocating there, and just...and even though it wouldn’t make anything better, even though you knew you weren’t fixing anything, you just needed to go. For your sanity, you needed to leave.
It wasn’t that the park made you feel better, but at least you could feel at peace. Things moved slowly here; if you closed your eyes, you could hear leaves rustling, and birds, and sometimes the gentle footfalls of passers-by enjoying the view. It doesn’t make you feel better, no. But you can focus on that...on the tranquility of the park, and at least the hurt starts to numb. You...try not to think about it, even though that, too, makes you guilty. Because you’re not fixing anything, it’s just a temporary peace that dies the second you have to go back. But right now it’s all you have to keep you afloat. Even if it’s temporary, it’s something to keep you going.
But…
“Oh. Hello! Mind if I sit here...?”
You’re not alone for long. Or it doesn’t feel that way, at least. Just as you’d started to let yourself relax in the calm flow of time, someone was snapping you out of it.
You recognize the voice, even before you open your eyes. ‘Mr. Grimmer’...you know who he is - you’ve seen him before, around this park. Spoken here and there. He seems friendly - while you’ve only talked to him a few times in passing, he’s always been very sociable. Always smiling...it’s impossible not to remember that face, how distinctive that smile is. You...like him, even if you don’t properly know him he manages just to be likeable, so you don’t mind the interruption. You wanted to be alone here, but his smile puts you at ease. So, you shuffle a bit, giving him a little more space on the bench.
“No - I...yeah, yeah, go ahead. I don’t mind.”
It comes out in a bit of a jumble, but he gets the idea. You can’t help but smile back when he looks at you; that’s normal, it happens when people smile, but he always seems especially bright. Even if you didn’t want company today, he is a comforting presence. And when he sits down, he doesn’t really bother you...he sets down that huge bag of his and pulls a journal from one of its pockets as if he’s going to write, so you let him be. You go back to...sitting, not really doing anything. Mr. Grimmer becomes a part of the environment, like a smaller, closer, second sun.
“It’s a really nice day. Don’t you think?”
Oh.
You…
You can’t really say.
Even if it looks nice out, that doesn’t matter; not when you’re feeling like this. You nod and smile, because that’s the right thing to do, mutter some sort of ’Yeah’ so he knows you heard him, but you don’t really feel it yourself. Because it’s not a nice day. You’re overwhelmed, and you just wanted to spend time at the park to cool off and try to scrape up some temporary semblance of peace. But it’s not a nice day.
“I’m glad.” He says it calmly. The sound of his voice helps ground you again, pulls you out of a self-destructive loop of thoughts. “Glad that we can have days like this, where it’s easy to relax and slow down a bit. I think that’s important, when there’s so much going on in life.”
You don’t mean for your laugh to sound derisive but it does, and internally you wince, but he’s still smiling when you look. So either he didn’t notice or he’s chosen to mind his own business. You still feel bad, because it’s not like what he said was wrong. It’s just that it’s too true right now, almost ironic. You manage to relax yourself a bit and smile apologetically.
“It’s why I like coming to the park.”
It’s surprisingly easy to be honest. Even so you’re still guarded, at least enough that you’re putting up that smile to deflect him. He looks back down at his journal - you don’t mean to pry, but you do take a glance, just a quick one, not that you can really read what he’s writing down. Just that the lettering is a bit sprawled and not very tidy. That, too, makes you smile.
“It’s a comfortable place to sit and think. People come here for plenty of reasons...I tend to notice, I recognize a lot of the same faces. There’s a mother who brings her two boys here to play, a couple of...I believe they’re students, and then you, of course.”
Somehow, even though you recognize him, it’s a surprise to imagine that he recognizes you. Even though you’ve said hello now and then, or waved, the idea that he would remember that never crossed your mind. It’s easier to think that he says hello to a lot of people, that you’re simply a face that disappears in the fog of insignificant interactions. You’re partly grateful to be recognized, but it’s also embarrassing, in a way.
That ever-present smile he wears fades just a little, and he turns, looking forward. You look too, out at nothing in particular, the details of the park lost to your circular, unsure thoughts. A part of you is a bit nervous; it’s the first time you’ve seen his smile falter, and that probably means something.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing. It’s hard for me to know how I should act in social situations. So, usually...I put on a smile. It’s a pretty safe way to engage with others, and they seem to find it comforting.”
He’s quiet for a moment. You aren’t quite sure what he’s getting at, but the atmosphere feels different, now. Still comforting, but not quite as warm as before. Then again, that was his point. You can feel it when he turns to look at you again, and find yourself looking at your knees instead. You already know what this feeling is. Even if you can’t see it, you know how he’s looking at you. So you know where this is going to go.
“I’ve been practicing for a long time. Making it seem like a real smile is hard, but I got to be quite good at it. So...I can tell, when someone else is doing the same thing. And I think that your smile might be like mine. Is that right?”
Part of you wants to get up, to try to find your peace somewhere else. It’s not like he knows you, so why is he asking? Why does it matter? It’s not that you’re angry, but it’s frustrating, because you didn’t want to talk, you just wanted to get some air and get away from everything for a little while. But now a relative stranger is prodding you, and it’s not his business.
But…
There’s another part of you that wants this. That craves being heard, and feels a bit touched that he recognized your smile wasn’t genuine. It’s a bit silly; you’ve always wanted people to see when something was hurting, when you’re despairing, but you want them to notice it themselves. As if somehow, because they’re your friends, they should be able to recognize when something is wrong. And that’s...silly, you know that’s not fair, but right now someone was able to see it. Maybe because he was like that, too. He always seemed so positive. So in a way, now it’s you in the same position as your friends.
It takes a while, but finally you nod. You feel a bit tense...you don’t know how much you want to tell him. But you can feel the hurt coming back in a way that you need to feel it. It stings sharp in your chest. Maybe talking to someone isn’t a bad idea. Maybe it’s better that it’s someone you don’t know very well.
“I just have a lot on my mind. I wanted to come here to cool off a bit.”
He laughs. It’s a gently pleasing sound, and you feel the edge of a smile when you look up to see his back in full force. But now that you’re looking, you can almost tell that something about it seems strained. Now that he’s said it, you can see it’s not quite right.
“I’m probably intruding a bit then, aren’t I?”
“No! It’s okay.”
You didn’t mean to blurt that quite so quickly, but...as much as it’s considerate of him to acknowledge, and as much as it was true at first, now that he’s here and talking to you...it feels good. You want to talk to him. Maybe talking will help. It’s not like you’ve had anyone to talk to, not without somehow feeling guilty for burdening them. So maybe...maybe it would be good for you. And besides...he shared something like that about himself, and he didn’t have to.
He doesn’t say anything, and it occurs to you that he’s probably waiting for you to say a little more. To elaborate, or explain, or...maybe he’s decided to quiet down and let you think, like you’d come here to do. But the longer the silence extends, the more you recognize that what you’re craving isn’t just a comfortable environment to feel even a short amount of peace in. You want badly to connect with someone, and that someone just happens to be him.
“I just don’t know what to do.” It’s the first thing you can admit. The easiest part. ‘It’ can be anything, and you’re not sure yet just how much you want to tell him. He’s still a stranger, even if he’s kind, and you don’t want to unload on someone unprompted. But he nods, so you continue. If nothing else he seems to care, and that gives you confidence.
“I feel trapped and I don’t know how to escape. Every possible thing that could go wrong keeps happening, all at once, and it’s suffocating. And frustrating. Because I can’t do anything, and when I try it only gets worse. I’m trying to just do something for myself and all it’s doing is...making…”
You can...hear it, in your voice, as you trail off. The ache of it, the sound you wanted to keep just to yourself. Not enough that your voice breaks, but enough that you can hear real emotion, something beyond stunted neutrality. So you stop, try to collect yourself, because somehow the idea of sharing a real emotion seems...wrong. Like it’s inappropriate somehow. Like you shouldn’t. In the same moment you think how stupid that is. Because it is stupid. People...feel, don’t they? That’s what they’re supposed to do. It’s not wrong to feel. But it’s almost terrifying, the idea that this person might see you feeling something that isn’t...good. That’s not ‘happy’ in some fashion. And you-
“...ou don’t want to.”
With a jolt, you realize that he was speaking again. And that you missed it, most of it. With a swallow, you glance up at him, laugh half-heartedly and smile, because at first that seems like the best thing to do, but when he doesn’t say anything else, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to reply, you admit defeat, shaking your head.
“I...sorry. Could you repeat that?”
You feel bad, and your face feels a bit warm, but he doesn’t bat an eye. The smile stays as it is and he nods and carries on. That’s comforting, if nothing else.
“What I said was that you don’t have to tell me everything, if you don’t want to. I think it’s pretty normal not to want to be open about yourself. Especially with someone you don’t know.”
His words register slowly. And..you notice that at some point, he must have put that journal of his away; he’s not holding it any more, his hands are neatly held in his lap and he’s just sitting, now. Sitting and listening to you go on about whatever it is you’re trying to get out. Even you don’t know. Even so he’s waiting patiently, when he could be writing...whatever it was he was writing before. Somehow thinking about that chokes you up. It was already starting to build, but you can feel it in your throat, that familiar tightness, the way your jaw tenses. If you speak it’s not going to sound good, you already know. So you lower your head, try to hide your face as much as you can. You’re glad at least that the park is empty, save for you two.
“Don’t take this wrong, but.” Oh...it’s there, ever so slightly, that wobble in your voice. It’s embarrassing but it’s too late to stop it. “Why do you...care. I’m just someone, I don’t really matter, so why are you bothering with me.”
It’s flat, rude, and you know how depressing it sounds. You already hate it, because it makes you sound needy (aren’t you, though?) and attention-seeking (is wanting to be cared about so bad?) and you watch as Mr. Grimmer’s smile fades. You’re left with that same look as before, one that seems painful in a way. You wish you could take it back - because it was rude, wasn’t it? ‘Why do you care?’ That was a terrible thing to say. But he doesn’t seem to be offended, or mad. He stays calm as he looks at you, and slowly you find the courage to look up, to look toward him. Your eyes are watery and you know it, and he knows it, but again he says nothing.
“Why do I care…” His voice is airy, genuinely thoughtful, as though he might not know himself. The smile on his face now looks distant, like he finds something funny that you can’t quite see. “I don’t know if I have a good answer. But I suppose it’s because I think I’m supposed to. It’s important to care. I saw a face I know, and something didn’t seem quite right. It’s difficult for me to ignore that. So I thought to myself, what would be the right thing to do here? I think it would have been cruel, if I had ignored that feeling. So I did what I thought was right.”
You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say. It’s a more honest answer than you might have expected. Blunt, in a way. Because he feels like he’s supposed to. You suppose that’s a reason to care, even if it isn’t very personal. It’s still kind, and he bothered to talk to you. That means plenty. You nod slowly, opening your mouth, but-
“There’s something that you said just now, about yourself. Something that’s not correct.”
You shut your mouth before you utter a word, a bit shocked, almost a bit offended. You’re not sure how he could know something about you that you don’t. But even so, you let him speak.
“You said that you’re ‘just’ someone, and that you don’t matter. Right now...I’m sure that seems true, because things are hurting. But you do matter. And you’re more than ‘someone’. You’re a human being with a name...a human being who exists in the minds of others. You exist in my mind, too. There are people who think of you and smile.” His own broadens a little, an emphasis to his words. And then he reaches out, and you’re surprised to find his hand on your shoulder. All you can think right in that moment is that his hand is big.
“It’s easy to think bad things...to believe them. It isn’t hard to convince yourself that you’re alone, and that people don’t care. But they do...people care. You matter to them. There are people who would be happy to see you, listen to you, worry for you...even if they don’t tell you so. Human beings are made to care about each other. That’s what we’re supposed to do. So you definitely, definitely matter. Your life has meaning and love.”
Saying something like that...
What attempts you might have been making before to avoid feeling openly are all but dashed, now. It’s hard to say what part of that message reached you, maybe...maybe it’s not a specific part, maybe it’s just that he cared enough to say such kind things, but before you know it you’re crying. And then he’s hugging you, and you need it...god, you need this, just to be held a little, to feel like someone cares about you. You hug him back and you selfishly - no, naturally - let yourself cry, you decompress there, and you think about what he said.
It’s not as though people haven’t told you they care. You’ve heard it before. It’s just hard to keep believing what you don’t hear every so often. But you think about it...about the people who do care. It might not hurt...just to reach out to them. Maybe not to talk about what’s hurting, but just to talk. Just to hear from them. Just to feel cared about and care in return.
“There...there, there. This is okay, too. It’s hurting...and it’s important that you let it hurt. That’s how you can heal.”
His voice is so soft and welcoming. Mr. Grimmer is a relative stranger, but he still cared enough for this. And that’s touching...it really is touching.
Finally you’re able to calm down. It takes a little while...a little breathing, focusing on taking slower, deeper breaths. You pull away, and only then does Grimmer let you go, sitting down beside you once more with that softer, sadder smile on his face. Because it is sad, that smile. You wonder just what it is he’s hiding behind it, but you don’t ask. He sighs, looking skyward.
“Phew…! Even after all of that, it’s still sunny and warm.”
You smile and laugh a slightly pained laugh despite yourself. It’s true, after all, and even though your chest still hurts, it feels good to laugh a little.
“I thought it was important to tell you all of that, but I went a little bit overboard. I’m never quite sure how to say things. But…” He pauses, glancing back toward you. This time you don’t have any trouble meeting his gaze, even though yours is still a bit wet. “Are you all right?”
No, you’re miserable still, but...you feel better than you were. Better than you’ve felt in a while. Even though you know things are still...not going to be better, when you go back, you at least have this experience with you. This, and what he said. That you matter. And if you can learn to tell yourself that...maybe it will feel more true.
“I don’t know. I’ll probably be okay eventually. It’s just a lot, like I said.”
He hums, nodding quietly and looking out again, just as a mother and two boys - now that you think about it, you recognize them - walk by and wave. You manage a smile, catching a look from the mother that seems friendly, like maybe she recognizes the two of you, too. And right then, it feels good to be known.
“I suppose I don’t know what it is you’re dealing with. So I couldn’t say, but, I think you’re probably strong enough to face it. And even if it’s hard, and you can’t do it alone…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath and shrugging. “I suppose I shouldn’t say anything more, without knowing just why you’re hurting. But, if you think that you might want to talk about it with me...you’ll know where to find me.”
He says it earnestly, with a genuineness that’s...well it’s...it’s also touching. You just like the feeling of being cared about, enough so that even someone who hardly knows you is bothered enough with your life to want to help, if you’re willing to ask for it.
Even if things still hurt, you’re feeling...better than you were. You’re able to relax yourself again, quietly sitting, listening to the trees, to the birds, and now to the loudly playing boys. Grimmer, in turn, has his journal again, writing whatever it is he’s working on. You let out a heavy sigh and manage a warm smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Grimmer.”