The Watcher

She sat alone, lost in her thoughts.

Others passed and thought her strange. She was staring at the world around her as though it held a secret only she could reveal.

She was watching.

Watching them as they watched her. Watching their faces, their reactions, the way they tried to ignore the world around them.

It was fascinating. Each look different, each person different.

None knew the reason, not even her.

There was so much you could learn about a person just by their face, the way they held their head, where their eyes looked.

She had been watching for more years than she could remember. In the beginning life had been good. Others had stopped to watch with her. The long afternoons would fly by as she listened to their stories. There was a young man, about forty years ago, who had come to visit her often. In the beginning he was happy. He had his entire life before him.

He came to see her everyday and she would listen as he told her of his new job as a partner in the well-established law firm downtown. He told her of the woman he had met at the bar and how he knew she was the one. She watched as they were married and felt happy for the man. As the years passed he told her of the birth of their children, three in all, two boys and a girl. He was a happy man. Then his visits became less and less frequent. First he would come every other day, 

then only once a week, and finally she would only see him once a month if she was lucky. Each time he came, there seemed to be less of his old self present. 

He seemed different, distant. The life and vitality of his youth faded to be replaced with a dark void that lingered just below the surface. There was no happiness in his eyes. No hope for the future. Often when he came, there would be only silence between them, but it didn’t matter, at least he came. 

It was late one evening when he came to see her for the first time in months. Tears ran down his cheeks and he made no effort to hide them. She listened as he told her how his life had fallen apart. His wife of only ten years had left him for a man who had promised her more than he could give. She had taken everything, including the children and disappeared from his life. He had tried to make amends but she would not even speak to him. So he had decided to end the pain. It was past midnight when he left. She watched him walk away and felt his sorrow.

She never saw him again.

Time passed and new people came to her ever-listening ears. One was an elderly man, he came to watch the people, like her. He looked heavily burdened. His shoulders slumped and he always looked as though he was trying his hardest to disappear from the world. He came only occasionally and at first he was distant, never speaking, only watching, but slowly he had begun to warm to her. He told her the reasons for his visits and she knew his pain, for like her, he was alone. 

He had never married; the last of his family had died when he was young. He had grown up an orphan, unloved and unwanted. He had become bitter and angry at the world that had cast him aside. He had used his anger to carry him into battle as he fought in the last Great War.

He talked often of that time in his life. In his own words it was one of his finest hours. From time to time he would bring one of the several medals he had won and show it to her. One was for courage; another for being in the right place at the right time, at least that was how he told the story. As she came to know him, she understood his anger. There were days she couldn’t wait for him to leave her in peace and others when she didn’t want to see him go.

After every visit though, it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As he walked away from her he would hold his head high with pride and square his shoulders, looking as though he alone could conquer the world. She loved to see him like that, and during those times she could picture him in his glory days, defeating his enemies and trying his hardest to prove himself to the world.

There were others who came to her. A young woman, still a teenager, had come to the city to go to the university. She always looked tired when she came. Tired and worried. The young woman usually came to visit on Sundays, the only day she had off from her job at the café on the corner. The young woman would rarely speak and instead spent most of her time buried in her texts. She didn’t mind, just knowing another was there was a comfort to her. 

The years steadily marched on and she continued her constant vigil. There were fewer visitors now. The bench where she always sat was beginning to decay. The park, once so beautiful was beginning to fall by the wayside. No one cared to pick up the trash or clear away the loud graffiti. She spent many lonely days on the bench, watching the few birds that still kept her company. Only the occasional visitor came to speak with her and those who did looked as though they had seen better days. 

There was a young man who had no home that came to see her every morning. He would dig in the old trashcan, searching for something to eat. More often than not he would mumble quietly to himself but occasionally he would talk to her. He told her of his youth and how he had run away from home when he was only nine, escaping his abusive mother. 

She listened quietly as he told her of his time on the streets, learning how to steal everything he needed. At the age of fourteen he had been caught trying to break into a house. He had been sent to prison for six months. He had seen things there that he had never been able to tell anyone before, but he told her. 

He told of the time he had witnessed the murder of one of his friends. He had watched as the boy was beaten then stabbed simply because he refused to be bullied. He told her of the days of hunger because the older boys stole his meals. He had sworn that once he regained his freedom he would never steal again, he would go back to school and he would regain the life he could have had. He told her how he learned that the promises made to ones self were often the hardest to keep. 

Early one morning as he was once more digging through the trashcan in search of breakfast, the police came and arrested him. He was taken away and she knew he would not be back.

She would watch the groups of children wander through the park, destroying everything they touched. She watched them spray paint their marks on everything that could not move. She watched them fight amongst themselves and saw the blood on the occasions when it went to far. She could do nothing to stop them. She could only watch as everything she had once loved so dearly was ruined.

Once again the seasons passed and she continued to watch, then one day a group of people came to the park, armed with shovels, rakes and buckets. She was overjoyed as she watched them wipe away the graffiti and clean away the trash. She watched them tend the old and dying trees and saw them carefully plant and tend new flowerbeds. The old paths were repaved and her bench was repaired. She was as happy as she had been in the old days, back when the park was new. 

People came again, and again she became a confidante. People of all ages spoke to her, from the very young to the very old. Often children would sit in her lap while their parents sat next her. There was a child, no older than six, who came to see her often, he told her of everything in his life. He told her of school and the girls who chased him in an attempt to give him cooties, but he assured her that he had so far managed to escape their attempts to infect him with the deadly disease. He told her of how much he liked his moms’ new boyfriend and how he really hoped the man stayed around because he really wanted a dad. She hoped he would too, for the boy deserved a father.

At the same time a young writer came to see her. He would sit at her side for hours on end, claiming to look for inspiration. As he sat he would tell her of all the rejections he had received from every publisher he had ever approached. She listened as he told her of his work and one day even served as his inspiration. Several weeks later he brought her a copy of a magazine and opened it to show his name in print. His foot was finally in the door. She was happy for him and watched his joy over the following months as more and more of his work was noticed. Then came the day that he had come to say goodbye. He was leaving the city to go where his work would be more readily accepted. She was sad to see him leave, but she knew he would be happier.

As time passed she slowly became aware of the fact that she was no longer the only watcher in the park. She too was being watched and she began to wonder why. They talked about her often. Some would stop and begin to talk about her as though she wasn’t even there. They called her an eyesore and worse and she began to wonder why. As she thought about it she began to realize that the years had not been kind to her. 

Her skin was weathered and cracked from the days she had spent exposed to the elements. Moss grew between her toes and she had lost a finger years ago. The teenagers who had claimed her home for so long had destroyed her left ear. Her dress once long and flowing had been damaged and weathered almost smooth. As the days passed, more and more people began to see her as old and out of date, to them she had outlived her usefulness. The children were no longer allowed to climb on her for fear she would break and they would be injured.

One day she had a very important visitor; the councilor for the area of the city where she had always lived came to see her. He sat and talked to her for a short while as he tried to scrape away the moss. She listened as he told her that she was soon to be replaced. He apologized and as always, she said nothing. She had lived a long and useful life. She had seen all that she could ever hope too, and though she had never stirred from the spot where she had been planted she had seen more joy and sorrow than most ever would. 

As the councilor left she thought back on the many years she had spent in the park. She had been created to bring beauty and joy to the world. She had done so. She had also brought much more though. She had become a friend to those who needed one, a friend who never asked for anything in return and was always willing to listen. She would miss those she had met over the years and would regret never meeting those who were to come. In her eyes, she had lived a full life and though she knew her time had come she knew she could never truly accept the fate that had been laid before her. 

When the truck came to take her away a few days later all she could think of was the poem she had inspired a young and struggling author to scribble such a short time before. 

The statue sits alone,

Thinking thoughts unknown.

The blank eyes that stare,

Wonder why the world won’t care.

She smiled softly as she was lifted into the truck. 

If only they knew.