She sits down on the bench with her two friends, it’s a little too cold for this she thinks. Do they think it’s cold?
the weather app showed 40 degrees, but the sun was out, and its bright presence always created confusion in what should be a sensible decision.
Her friends nestle into the off color, and grimy park bench, wax paper rustling in their hands. “I am so excited for this” they both say. Digging into her jacket pockets, a horrifying realization sets in that she had forgotten gloves. This mixed with the frozen wood slats of the bench now stabbing at her thighs, brings in a dark cloud over the $21 brisket and egg sandwich her hands must now cling to for warmth.
In the summer, the bench is a vibrant spot of observance and tranquility. The dogs that walk and squat for their business nearby are cute fodder, the runners drive a joyful energy your way. In the winter, the dogs push harder, paws crackling, their faces desperate to be home. The runners, huff puffs of cold ice from their snotty noses, their activity a byproduct of a will to thrive under harsh terrain. Something to share at brunch with bravado “of course I ran in the snow, why wouldn’t I!” Not a sentiment one wants to emulate while trying to eat a breakfast sandwich. It’s not an Olympic sport for a reason.
The moment they unwrap their sandwiches, it was like the life force of their meal had been ingested by the air itself. Starving, and eager to harm for a quick hit of heat. She winces, thinking she heard tiny screams. She had first felt the cruel chill of the air when they were waiting in line, outside, to order. There was always a line, she knew that, but she had hoped those 10 minutes outside would have been proof enough not to indulge in an alfresco eating experience. Unfortunately she was casually reminded that they were in the shade then, so of course it was cold!
Now, stuck on this bench built by Elsa herself, her friends go on about their unsatisfying jobs, the app date that had of course, been comically tragic. Eating, smiling, laughing. “Isn’t this so good?!” they squawk. She takes her first bite like a petulant child waiting for her parents to excuse her from the frigid dinner table. Her fingertips a numb, stinging memory.
The sandwich, thankfully delicious. Brisket was impeccable, eggs pillowy, velvety, the whole thing an unctuous delight. But the environment quickly eclipses the moment. A crisp gust of wind, cuts through the trees, knocking down a nearby branch. Sets of marshmallow bundled kids speed by on scooters, parents nowhere to be found. The saxophone guy’s serenade a nightmarish lullaby…Why did I agree to this?
It made her consider sitting in the summer sun - sitting on itchy grass, a laptop searing her thighs like steaks and regrettably overheating just so she could “work from the park” - was not as bad as this. She would be wrong. Both activities can be poor decisions at the same time.
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