Beautiful Night

Definitely not a beautiful night.

I sat there on the bench and stared at the sky, eyes narrowed. It was chilly and the sun was setting behind the dark row of pine trees at the edge of the park and the wind was just beginning to pick up, and I shivered and sat on that hard wooden seat, thoroughly miserable and full of contempt for life and every waking moment that I had to spend. Did the mood create the weather, or did the weather create the mood? Neither, both, what did it matter. I looked up and saw in the drab sky what I felt inside, saw in the clouds a mirror to my heart.

Beautiful? No.

I ran that day and wound up at the bench with no particular plan for what I would do after I finished. I usually don't have plans, at least not on the weekends. During the week I go to school, I sit at my desk, I stare blankly at the board, I ignore the teacher when she hands out assignment deadlines, I shuffle my feet to my dorm, I sleep, and every now and then I venture out. The weekend breaks that monotonous cycle. Yet in this there is a paradox: the weekend makes me happy, but it also makes me...

I sighed and stared at the ground. "Miserable."

I don't know why. Well, I do, but I'd rather not. At the time I hadn't planned on doing anything other than sitting there as the time stretched on and the sun vanished behind the black curtain of night dotted with stars barely visible due to the artificial illumination put off by mankind's machinations of civilization. I ran, I exercised, and I came to rest, and that was that. Nothing was on my agenda. In fact, I was about to sigh, stand up, and leave, and I was doing just that when I saw a figure approach on the track, and I froze.

I'm a guy and I like to think I can take care of myself but still, you don't want to be at this park after hours alone. My fears were alleviated somewhat when I saw the pair -a man and his dog- walk into the circle of yellow light cast by the streetlamp above.

I sat back down and nodded to the man. He was old, obviously, but precisely how old I could not tell; he was more ancient than my father, of that I was sure. His eyes, hidden behind a thick set of glasses, looked steadily at me as I took in his appearance: a pair of old running shoes, some thoroughly-civilian gray slacks, an old brown leather bomber jacket clone and a hat, a lifeless brown suede beret-like cover that sat perched on the back of his bald head. And, of course, the blue leash that extended from his left hand to the curl-covered neck of his white poodle, brown eyes wide and focused on me, tail wagging respectfully.

"Did I pass inspection?"

I was taken aback but the friendly look on his weathered face was disarming. "Sorry, didn't mean to, sir."

He smiled. "Quite alright. So what are you doing out here on a night like this if you don't mind me asking?"

I shrugged and absently scratched my ankle, dabbed lightly with mud from the track. "Just finished a run, decided to sit and rest for a bit, take in the fresh air." He nodded; the response was as vague as he expected, but he didn't mind.

"Good, good. Myself, I'm just out..." He held up his leash and gave a slight shake. "Me and my dog always come out here and walk. It's just so peaceful at this time of night, even if winter is catching up to us." He chuckled a bit when he said this and grinned and I smiled half-heartedly, not really into the conversation. At the time I remember being fixed firmly in my own position of self-pity. Good humor wrecks self-pity.

I guess he seemed to notice, for after a few moments of silence from me he nodded and waved. "Well, I guess I'll be getting on." I returned the wave, not really caring, and stared at my feet. He stood there for another moment.

And I could've sworn that at that moment, at that exact moment in time, his eyes looked through me and straight into my heart and soul and somehow, with some supernatural ability, he saw all the inner workings going through my mind, and I remember shivering without meaning to, as if an eye were searching through the murky files of my heart. It seems silly now, but that's how it felt. That's exactly how it felt.

The old man gave his dog's leash a bit of slack and leaned in a bit at the waist, eyes piercing. I looked up.

"Are you alright?"

My reply came as a shock to myself, since I had no intention of talking to this sociopathic stranger in the woods in the middle of the night. But reply I did.

"No", I whispered.

He nodded. "My name is Louis."
***

"What seems to be the problem?" I remember thinking that his voice wasn't inquisitive, nor was it anything other than harmless, like a grandfather, or a concerned parent. Not like a school counselor, but more like...well, like a really good friend. A really good friend that I've known for years. It was so weird. A stranger, someone I had literally just met...

"I...erm..." Naturally talking about love is hard for guys, particularly to other guys, and particularly to guys who are a great deal older than us, and particularly to these guys who are completely unknown to us. Girls may be able to open up, but we can't, at least not as easily. My trepidation was natural, you see.

"It's....Well....Ah, you wouldn't understand."

A bushy white eyebrow rose on his forehead. "Oh really? Maybe I won't. Why don't you try me anyway, hm?" He smiled again.

"I...okay, well, it's....okay, so, I like this person, right?" He nodded, never faltering with his smile, not in a mocking way, but in a way that said "Yes, I know, keep going." I took a breath and wrung my hands, trying to verbalize what I was thinking. It was hard, as you can probably understand.

"I like this person, this friend of mine. We have this...bond, attachment, whatever you want to call it. It's...." I was straying into very uncomfortable territory, but for some reason beyond my comprehension, it didn't feel awkward at all. I don't know why.

"She's my friend and I love spending time with her and every time I'm with her it's absolutely incredible. All my friends are like this, all of them invoke these feelings of being somewhere I belong, but I don't know why I like this specific friend in a way that I don't like the others. I don't know why."

He spoke a quiet word to his dog and then looked up to the sky. "I suspect that that's not the problem."

"No, it's not. The problem is that, well, I've....This person and I....." I faltered, my words stumbling out of my mouth then stopping altogether as my mind and my lips reached a deadlock and could not compromise. The man understood. How, I don't know. But he did.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" He took out a cigar from his pocket and held it up for my inspection. I shook my head and he lit up, puffing into the night, the smoke floating lazily away in a mystic cloud of physical aroma that matched the savory smells wafting towards my nose.

"Ah...I love cigars. Always have. Cigarettes, no, can't stand the things. But cigars...Now that's a gift to man, eh?" He puffed as I mused in silence. "My doctor hated 'em, so did my wife. Heh, bless her heart. Couldn't stand my smoking and out of, you know, matrimonial respect I didn't. Just now started back." He puffed again and took in the fragrance. I looked up.

"Doesn't your wife mind?"

He looked up at the stars and then flicked the cigar idly to one side. "Not anymore. She died two years ago."

His words hit me square in the gut like a punch and I took it all in, punishing myself for being so tactless. How could I have known? His demeanor was still placid, his face still tranquil, and his words, while solemn, did not denote any great anger at me, but still, I grew very uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." Louis shook his head and puffed once more.

"She's where she needs to be and I'm where I need to be. That's all that matters. We're both at peace."

I nodded, not really seeing how one could be at peace with such a tragedy but not wanting to disagree. A few moments passed us and left us sitting there on the bench, still under the chilly breath of the approaching winter and under the dim light of the almost-hidden moon. A leaf fluttered from a tree above us and landed on my shoulder, and I observed it. His voice brought me back around.

"I remember when I was your age. It was a long time ago, as you can probably tell." He chuckled. "Yeah, I was your age once and it was the same for me. I had a friend, a good friend, and we were very close during school. Sound familiar?"

"Yes sir."

"Thought so. It's a common tale. Anyway, we were close and all that, but I recognized something different with her. I always wanted to be with her, to carry her books after school (in a time we still did that kind of thing), to sit and talk with her. And, well, one day I realized all this - you know, really realized it, and I told her."

The wind died down slightly. "So, what happened?"

He grinned, his eyes glancing at the treeline across the park, not really seeing the trees but taking in something much farther away, something located in the deep recesses of the past. Memories arose and he basked in their aura.

"She broke my heart." I raised an eyebrow that was dismissed with a wave of his hand. "No, no, she didn't do it on purpose, and I'm sure she didn't want to. We were friends, remember. But she did. I guess I wasn't the one for her. Nope, her eyes were on someone else and I had to see it every day. It wasn't a good feeling, as you can probably imagine."

His words were striking home and I was continually amazed at how his situation was like mine. I remained hooked on him talking, fixated. "Yes sir, I can imagine."

"Thought so. Well, I went through some of the worst days in my life, even worse than when I flew in Vietnam, and that should tell you right there that those days were bad. It's a horrible feeling when you see and want something you can't have."

"I know. It hurts."

"That it does." Another puff. "And the worst feeling of all is that you see it and you can't control it. Well, needless to say I was in a foul mood for a time. But..."

"...But what?"

He smiled and looked right at me. "Life has a way of working out. I married her."

Surprised, I rocked back slightly then smiled, the first smile I had on my face that entire day. "Turned out alright. But that's you, you were lucky. For some reason I don't think I'm going to have that same happy ending."

He rubbed out the burning embers of his cigar and exhaled his final cloud of smoke. I watched as it trailed away into the sky. "Now why do you say that?"

I shrugged. "It's just...this person I like-" He raised a hand, and I swallowed. "Okay, that I *love*, it's just that it seems like this person is out of my reach, you know? And yeah, I know that sometimes these things take time, but still, time isn't something I want. Time hurts too much. I want it to be over, I really do."

Louis nodded. "I understand. Sometimes it feels like you just want to quit."

"Exactly," I whispered. "Exactly."

"And somehow, if you quit all of this would magically go away?"

"Sometimes I think it would. I'd forget about this person and maybe I'd...Maybe it'd be normal, like it used to be."

"Ah, there's the catch. Let me tell you something that I've learned through all my years, from all my mistakes and blunders and wrong choices and bad decisions. It's this: Time doesn't go backwards, only forwards. And you either have to get with it or get left behind, and trust me, son, you don't want that."

"I know, sir..."

"Louis." He smiled.

"Alright, Louis, I know what you're saying. But what do you do when faced with this? It's like you said. I want something I just can't have. What is the right way? What am I supposed to do?"

The old man smiled again and laughed a little. "You're lonely, right? And you want someone to be with you. No; you want this specific person to be with you?"

"Yes."

"Because you love this person?"

"Yes."

"Let me tell you something about my dog." He nodded towards his poodle, now curled up at his feet, her small white head resting on his shoes, eyes closed in serene bliss. "I love this dog more than anything I have in my life because it's all I have left. My wife died two years ago and since then I've been alone, and this little pooch is all I have. Do you still have your friend?"

I nodded, quiet. "Yes sir."

"Good. I no longer have my wife, bless her soul. It's just me and my dog. You can't imagine the heartbreak you have when you see your spouse go away. It's enough to drive anyone crazy. But I didn't give up. I didn't give up when I first wanted her, way back when I was young, and I haven't given up on happiness now. I just do what I've always done every night for the past two years."

I looked at him, and the wind blew gently through the trees as the moon reappeared, casting aside the obscuring cover of dark clouds, and the stars began to shine. "What's that?"

"Walk my dog."

With that he stood and his dog obediently rose to her feet and stretched, looking at her master and waiting patiently. He looked up at the new stars and nodded. "I come out here and walk my dog. Whatever happens, whatever goes on in your life with this person, don't give up. If I would've given up, I wouldn't have had my wife. And if I would've given up two years ago, who knows where I'd be. You may not be happy now. It's natural. And I know it hurts. But you can't just give up."

I remained silent, my mind putting all the pieces together and reconciling my heart's desires with the reality of his words.

"If you give up, you'll never get what you want. Make sure that person knows how special they are, and above all else, just..."

He winked at me, nodded in his serene way, and then, with a wave, picked up his leash and gave it a slight tug. His dog wagged her tail once and the two strolled down the track, feet lightly striking the surface of the trail, leaves falling in graceful paths of flight in front of them and on either side as they walked into the shadows.

I returned the nod and exhaled, my words falling on the wind and on silence after they left, after I was left by myself to my own thoughts and musings and the swirling ponderances in my soul. I saw it all dance before me, what he told me, what I know, and the face of the person, of my person, and I swallowed hard. His last words resonated in my head. I sighed.

"Keep walking the dog."

I nodded to myself.

"Thanks Louis."

After a minute or so I rose from the bench and placed my half-frozen hands in my pockets and walked in silence to my car to drive home and maybe, just maybe, call the person and hear her voice. The thought gave me a smile.

As I recall, it was a very beautiful night.