The Park
I go for a run in the park every day before breakfast.
I like the park. There’s an old-fashioned bandstand surrounded by fragrant flower beds at one end of the park, and a church that smells of old stone and lichen at the other end. I usually run between these two places, with a regular diversion to the green pond that’s home to some interesting ducks.
The park changes with the seasons. In the spring, there’s a strong scent of new growth around the plants. The smell of heavy pollen replaces this scent in the summer, and this is replaced by the odour of damp in the autumn. Winter, to me, smells of cold. There are other scents present in the park, regardless of season. I often come across the lingering whiff of empty cider cans and soggy cigarette butts on my travels, not forgetting the aromas that belong to the other visitors to the park.
I never go to the park on my own. On weekdays I go to the park with Mrs Malone. At the weekend, I go to the park with Mr Malone.
I think he might be obsessed with the place.
If the weather is bad on a weekday, Mrs Malone looks through the kitchen window and says: “We’ll go to the park tomorrow.” It’s not the same with Mr Malone. If the weather is bad at the weekend, Mr Malone grabs his thick coat and says: “Looks a bit grim out, but I think we can manage a trip to the park, hey?”
Mr Malone follows me at a brisk walking pace in the park. He normally brings a tennis ball with him. If it wasn’t for me, I think he’d probably lose it. He likes throwing the ball away and I wish I could tell him that it won’t come back on its own. It seems to be a game that he likes playing. I think it helps him to relax.
Mr Malone likes to talk about his job when we go to the park.
“Those idiots in Logistics don’t seem to have any idea of my workload…”
The tennis ball flies over the grass and I go and get it for him.
“I just can’t see the value in what I do in that office…”
We reach the pond. I stare at the ducks and Mr Malone looks at the water.
“I’m definitely going to start looking for a new job on Monday. Definitely.”
I wish there was something I could say to Mr Malone, but of course there isn’t, well, not in a way that he’d understand anyway. The funny thing is I don’t really need to say anything. After we’ve been to the park, Mr Malone’s mood usually changes for the better, and he’ll sometimes whistle a little tune under his breath on the way home.
Mr Malone makes breakfast for both of us when we get back to the house. During the week, Mr Malone has brown toast and a green smoothie before he goes to work, and I start the day with dry mix, which is actually a lot nicer than it sounds. At the weekend, we dine on better things. Mr Malone makes a pile of bacon sandwiches, and I get some meat stirred into my bowl of dry mix.
Mrs Malone is normally using her phone when we get back from the park, but she stops when Mr Malone brings her a bacon sandwich. I normally have a nap under the kitchen table, after we’ve all had our breakfast. When I wake up, Mr and Mrs Malone have usually gone back to bed, and I’ve learned that it isn’t a good idea to disturb them when this happens.
I like visiting the park every day and hope Mr Malone finds a new job soon.
Den Cartlidge studied creative writing at Keele University and lives in the Staffordshire Moorlands. He is currently working on a novel and writes a semi-regular short fiction blog at: dencartlidge.wordpress.com