The Men in White

They look small from up here on the third floor. I cheer the little men in white from behind these panes of glass. There are lots of them, walking about the green circle, some aimlessly and others with undeniable purpose. One of the little men strides up beyond the pale strip of green, he takes the red dot and inspects it thoroughly. He pulls his shirt to make a polishing cloth and irreverently stains it red in his attempt to perfect the shine. He palms the dot into his left hand and starts jogging toward the pale strip.

 Soon the man with the dot is running at top speed, and when he reaches the pale strip he flings the dot down. It bounces and flies menacingly at another man in white standing at the other end. But, the other man is ready, he’s come armed with a plank of wood that he is clearly prepared to use. The other man quickly shuffles his feet, he leans back slightly and hoists the plank. He swings and wallops the red dot toward the edge of the big green circle toward his left side. The previously aimless wanderers on that side of the circle leap into action. One of them winds himself sprinting after the dot, he dives and slides and finally grasps it. 

The diving man flings it to another fellow who had apparently followed the sprint; he’d slowed to a stop in anticipation of the pass. This fellow then pulls back his arm and throws the dot furiously toward yet another man in white. This one is standing behind the place where the man with the plank had hit the dot from initially. He looks like a warrior because he is wearing armour. He catches the dot and slams it into a neatly appointed pile of sticks. The sticks toppled. Lots of men in white throw their arms up and turn to yell at a man wearing (somewhat conspicuously) black trousers. The man in the black trousers shakes his head. All the white men turn back to their preferred pursuits and begin again. 

A Sandwich

She didn't go down to the riverbank the next evening. She made herself wait, she was anxious to see you, but scared as well. Sunday morning she went about her business as usual, subtly watching the clock, waiting. At fifteen minutes past noon she pulled on her yellow jumper and walked to the river. She saw you sitting on the bench facing the river. So she quietly approached.

She sat down next to you and you looked at her and you smiled. Then you handed her a sandwich. She took it and smiled back. You let your hand drop onto the bench between you with your palm facing up.

She placed her hand over yours and you grasped it.

You both ate your sandwiches one-handed.

A Note

It was evening when you came to the bench by the river. You saw the rock sitting on the note on the spot where you normally sit, so you sat on the other end of the bench. You picked up the rock and saw that the note was addressed to you, so you opened it.

Sometimes I think it’s enough for me to know that you are alive and on the planet at the same time I am. Sometimes I’m just glad to know that you look at the same moon that I do at night. But mostly I’d like you to take my hand and hold it for a while.

And you knew exactly what she meant. You put the rock in your pocket and closed your fist around her note and then you breathed deeply. 

A Rock

She is shy
But she is optimistic
While she waits
She sings you songs
She is quiet
But she isn't missing
If you wait
She'll be along


She stopped at the river bank where you sit some times, and you weren't there. So she took out a piece of paper and her emergency pencil and jotted down a note for you. She folded it up and wrote your name on the front. She wandered around for a second, then she bent down to pick up a rock. She placed the note on the bench where you sit and put the rock on top of it, to make sure it wouldn't blow away. As she walked away she silently prayed that it wouldn't rain.

A Waiting Love

How Deeply You Hope

She writes love letters to you in her sleep. She picks out songs to tell you how she cares, but she doesn't send them to you (yet). She gently tells you that she believes in you. She prays the prayers that keep you safe. She reminds Heaven when your head is heavy, and she volunteers her shoulder to hold it up. Hers is a waiting love, and she'll wait for you.

You've been walking alone for a while now. Your heart is almost healed and your hand doesn't shake when it reaches toward the mirror. You don’t feel the tug of the scars so much; they've stretched into normality. Now when you sit on the river bank, you imagine it would be nice to have someone there, a hand to hold.

But you don’t know she’s waiting for you, and she doesn't know you’re ready yet. So close your eyes and say the prayer. Hope desperately and wish her into your arms. Take an extra sandwich next time you go down to the river, she’ll be there soon. I know this because I see how deeply you hope.