STORY OF A GIRL ON THE BENCH

It happened a month ago. I was sitting in the car, as my father was driving around, he was ready to buy something; the car was a patched church from a near to the park and to pass the time I observed the people, parrot and they could not see me, because the windows yes, but I, if they shouted, could also hear them. There were many groups and small groups scattered around the park, they laughed, joked. I noticed a girl sitting completely alone on her bench, it was the bench closest to my car so she could see well her big sad eyes that each both guarded in all over the park and, by chance and met others immediately turned to look down. Her dark hair was tied up in a disorderly fashion, in a notebook on her legs and a pen in her left hand, she was left-handed. He stared at the notebook with the tip of the pen between his teeth and, each wrote, as unexpectedly encourages inspiration. Every now and then he would stop and get in his way quickly. I saw a tall handsome boy approaching the bench, he asked for something pointing to the bench, read nodded and then he sat down. I lowered the window a little, just not to be seen and heard, where absolutely to see how it ends. The girl had closed the notebook leaving the pen inside, the boy raised his hand in the air and started shouting according to someone to approach. And here comes a beautiful girl, the classic barbie who stands next to him. -Sorry, we’re leaving soon, we have to wait for some friends but we’re giving a lot of standing time and there is no free bench, it bothers you say it .- She shook her head with a forced smile and then turned away from the Other part, not from saying no. He made a strange face, put his hand on his forehead and shook his head and I understood. He probably thought -How could I think that it was come here for me, what a fool! in a romantic puzzle. Then he lowered his head, I knew what he was feeling, I knew it very well. The people who passed in front of that bench turned around for a moment to look at it, pointed at it to the rest of the group and then a general laugh was heard. She pretended not to hear, not to notice, but her knuckles had turned white from how much she held the pen. Another boy approached her and without asking anything he sat down, she didn’t even look at him. He did not call anyone, he stood there and looked in front of him, clapped his hands on his legs and his right leg moved nervously. He asked the girl for the time and she coldly answered him, without even looking into his eyes. Then he continued to write. After a few seconds of silence he asked her -What do you write? – Her pen fell on the ground, she didn’t pick it up and then said: -Nothing that could interest you- -That I should judge- -The truth is that I have never read to anyone what I write- – Are you a writer? – -I would like to, but it’s not my gift, let’s say .- -How do you know if no one has ever read what you write? – -I need to judge what I write. – No it is not true. Do you think you are beautiful? – -I? Of course not .- -Here, you see? For me you are instead, and in my opinion it is the same thing with what you write- -I really have to go now- said the girl getting up. The boy stood there saying nothing, watching her as she walked away. After a while he got up too, and with his hands in his pockets went to the opposite side. I was shocked, I didn’t understand why she left, she wasn’t used to being complimented and she probably couldn’t handle the situation. I would have liked to get out of the car and stop her, tell her there was nothing to fear, to try to be happy, but how could I if, in the end, I am like her? And so a month went by, I didn’t think about it anymore. Yesterday I was walking around the town with a friend of mine, I was talking to her quietly when at a certain point I saw her, the girl from the park, she had loose hair and a beautiful smile and, you know the nice thing? He was holding hands with that boy, they walked past me and I looked at them for a while. Who knows what had happened, from that afternoon to that moment, what story there was, I wanted so much to know it, but, for the moment, I’m content to imagine it. I just hope they will be happy.





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