The season’s change without notice, time stands still like those at the bus on a hot summer’s day. The gargoyles and their perch erode as time passes on. Unable to do something about it, not from a lack of concern but from a lack of moving parts, they stare into the blue without concern. The pigeons peck at the cobblestones hoping for the last grain that may be stuck between the cracks, not realizing that they long ago found the last one and would not find another until the old man came back around. Down the way, a dog roamed from trashcan to trashcan in anticipation of scraps from the dinners of the night before, not fully realizing that garbage collection had been early this morning and there would be no scraps today. And, of course, there was the cat down on the corner. The cat perched on the bench day after day, waiting for one of those silly pigeons to lose its awareness and its life in the same moment. The cat had won in the past, not often, but it had, and it waited for another chance to show off its prowess.
It wouldn’t be The Square if the people that visited it didn’t make it that. The animals loved The Square, but the people loved it more. They came in droves, to look, to touch, and to feel the essence of The Square. It was a magical place, and each of them felt it when they passed through, always taking the time to stop and let the energy pass through their bodies before heading off to their final destination – work, home, school, shopping, whichever it might be. There were times when they left their mark before moving on. One might carve their name into the bench, while another would just leave trash on the ground to mark their spot, and yet others would only leave behind a part of their memories so that they might return one day and collect that little piece of self. The Square was kept moderately crime-free at night by being well lit, yet even before the lights had been installed little went on after the sun had gone down. The crime during the day, on the other hand, sometimes became unbearable as the pickpockets and muggers targeted the tourists who came to enjoy The Square.
The basketball court off center to the left of the benches was kept clean by the youth that loitered there, their cleanliness a clear indication of a good upbringing, better than those who left their mark with the trash they felt they no longer needed. The origin of such a safe feeling might have been the traffic that went through The Square, or the many lights, but was more than likely because the windows from all of the flats surrounding the four sides of The Square continuously had eyes peering out to monitor the goings on of the people within The Square. The old and retired, the young and bored, and the middle aged and disabled watched on as days passed and seasons changed, noting how the more the people in The Square evolved, the more they seemed to not change at all.
And evidently, me. I sat in my window, watching the people pass through, stop to feel the glory of the sun and the breeze, and then press on. I had been here for too many years to count, yearning to be any one of those people down in The Square, yet incapable of doing so. My legs, or what was left of them, lay in my wheel chair like spaghetti, invoking little motivation and much self-pity. I sat in my window above The Square, watching and waiting for something to pass by that only fate knew. Maybe nothing would come of my proverbial spy game, my glance at the commonality of life, my insatiable need to fit in with those below. Yet, nothing could stop me from believing that something might happen that would change my life forever, make me the man that I longed to be, and, if luck would have it, remove me from my prison of denial and isolation.
