text: I met a peculiar man today. A man, a tall man, broad shoulders, thick hair, a man much like the rest. A crooked smile here, a calloused hand there, just like any other man. But this man seemed particularly peculiar in my mind. Maybe it was because he decided to talk to me. I was sitting on my bench, as I always do when I can get around to it. Pigeons pecked around my feet as breadcrumbs fell from my fingertips. It was routine, hell, it was practically ritual, that I come down here, drop bread crumbs for the birds, and stare off into the dark green and brown made up by the cool grass and the tall trees. I have done it for quite some time now. Some days it's harder to make it down to my bench than others. But it's really all that I have, my bench, the birds, the trees, the moments there in time. And it was on this day, just like any other day when I am at my bench, that this man walked past. He walked past so swiftly, head down, direct, like most that walk past me. But after he had made it a few steps past me and my bench, he stopped, and spun on his heel, like someone was using him as a top, a child perhaps. He was tall, at least six feet, with a dark grey hat that made him seem even taller. He matched it with a grey suit, and carried a newspaper under his arm. He smiled at me, in a way so vulnerable that this man no longer seemed so large. I smiled back, wondering why the man had stopped so suddenly. He finally opened his mouth, with his hat in his hands; "Excuse me, Ma'am, but would you happen to have the time?" It took me a moment to react before I found the words to answer him, as he stood smiling sheepishly, like a boy who had forgotten his school assignment. "Oh yes," I answered, "let me check my watch." I reached into my bag and pulled out of all the clutter a pocket watch, the one I always carry. I opened it, and saw what I easily knew was an incorrect time. I held it up to my ear, and heard not a sound from inside the watch, nothing echoing between its many gears. "Oh lord, this thing never works, I'm afraid it's not kept the time sir, I'm sorry." "Oh it's alright Ma'am, thank you for looking," he said with a smile. "I must say, it is a fine looking pocket watch Ma'am, reminds me of one that belongs to my father." "Well I'm sure his probably kept time, unlike this junk I've been carrying around," I say as I chuckle to myself. The man chuckles a bit too. "May I ask then why you keep it on your person, Ma'am? Seems like a broken watch serves no good to anyone, especially not to a nice lady such as yourself." I look at the man and smile. "It's my husband’s actually, and I don't think he'd take kindly to me getting rid of his favorite watch!" Both me and the man laughed aloud, and I motion for him to sit on the bench with me, and he obliges. He put his hand forth, and shakes my outstretched hand. "I'm Howard," he says with a grin; "I'm Alice," I replied. "Well I am pleased to meet you Alice." I handed him a chunk of bread, and we silently fed the curious pigeons their meals, us both content to just sit and enjoy the company of each other and the birds for a bit. I looked over at this strange man who had decided to sit with me, an old lady who feeds the birds. Not a very glamorous way to spend the afternoon for a man such as this at his age. "Were you going anywhere important just now?" I inquired. I seemed to rouse him from deep thought. "Hmm? Oh no, not very. Just some errands to run is all, but I can't seem to get the wherewithal to concentrate on them," he replied and his head turned back down towards the birds, a certain light gone from the once innocent looking man. "Is there something on your mind young man?" I pressed. He exhales deeply, his eyes focused on his feet. "If I’m being honest, I'm gonna be called off for the war soon," he answered. "I just got the notice this morning. Making sure to pick up milk on my way home for the wife seems a little more insignificant with that perspective." He leaned back against the bench, brought a hand to his perspiring head. He sees me looking at him through his hand, and tries to compose himself; "Not that I'm scared or nothing!" he stated with a bravado that only rung half-true. "Just a bit nervous is all." "That's nothing to be ashamed of young man. War is a place filled with frightful things. Why, my husband was not much different from you when he was called to fight. He was nervous as all heck, but he knew it was the right thing to do, so he fought." I look down at my cool, calloused hands in the morning light. "He seems like a good man," the young man replies with a small smile. A smile breaks across my face, one I cannot hold back as I think about days long forgotten, and I even let out a laugh remembering back on our time together. "He was a good man," I replied. The smile starts to fade as I look up towards the sky, and then back down at my hands. "Oh god, how I loved that man,” I said in a soft whisper. Howard put a comforting hand on my shoulder, and it was warm and I felt safe like I haven't felt in so very long. "If you don't mind me asking," the man asked quietly, "is your husband passed? Did he die in the war?" I can't bear to look up at the moment, only staring down at the bench and the newspaper the man had put down from under his arm. "No, he came back from the war. But," I had trouble getting the words out, "my husband did not come back the same. He was plagued by nightmares, terrors of the horrible things he had seen while fighting. It drove him to drink, it drove him mad, and it drove him to forget about..." I start to stammer as my fingers run over a dark scar hidden under my sleeve. "He forgot about how we used to be. The combination of it all proved too much for both him and me. My husband is now passed away, to answer your question." And the true answer, I screamed in my head, is yes! Yes, yes, my husband died in that awful war, for the man who came back was not my husband, only an empty shell of a man for which there was only room for sadness and sorrow. My husband went to war, and never returned. The man next to me, Howard, sat silent for a bit. I could tell that he didn't know how to respond, but whether it was because he didn't know how to react to such a story, or if he feared that a similar fate would befall him and his situation, I did not know. After what seemed like over a minute, the man spoke up. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to your husband, ma'am." "Thank you, it means quite a lot," I said, as I looked up at Howard and saw what seemed to be a familiar kindness in his eyes, something I haven't been privileged to in years. I grab a hold of the hand he was resting on the bench. I fight back tears as I arrange the words I want to say. "You have no need to worry though Howard. You will make it through that war, I know it. You will make it home to see your family." "I appreciate you saying that, Alice" he replied, his voice softer than before. He checked his wrist for the watch that wasn't there, and we both laughed, breaking some of the tension. Howard stood up, and donned the grey hat he had taken off. "Well, I better get going; I still have to pick up that milk before heading home." He stood there awkwardly, as we didn't know what to say. "Thanks for the talk Alice; it means a lot, even to a guy like me." He cracked that crooked smile of his. I smiled back at him, "Your welcome, Howard, I'm glad I could help." He smiled again, nodded, and turned to walk away. He walked maybe a total of seven steps until I called out "Howard!" He spun around again, in top-like fashion. "What is it, Alice?" I had trouble getting the words out. "Please, come home this time." He looked down for a moment, and then looked back up, his eyes showing a pain that hadn't been there, even moments before. "I will, Alice. I will." And off he walked, into forever, as a dropped newspaper with a long past, but never forgotten date blew past my bench, and became nothingness.