A Soul's Countenance

 

            You sit in the park near me.  I look into your eyes and I realize I don’t know you.  Who are you? What have the years of your life shaped you into? You are some being different from me, and I don’t know what to say to you. Your eyes speak of wisdom and your smooth features tell of a kind soul, but there is something else in your face, in your eyes. Something I can never know as you do, but something that you can show me.

 

            I dig deeper.  What is it?  My eyes search your body for clues.  There is nothing.  Your hands are folded in your lap, an image of tranquility.  What about you is so intriguing?  There must be something.  In the dusk I see your face effect an indifferent expression.  You rise slightly from the bench where you are sitting to adjust your dress, and then I see it.

 

            A quivering lip.

 

            Fear?  No. It cannot be fear.  You sit on the bench as if you don’t have a care in the world.  Your demeanor is that of one who waits all day for the setting of the sun.  It is almost as if you would sit on the bench until you die or until the world ends if you had the choice, but something tells me you will go on with your life.

 

            What is behind the quivering of the lip?  I know it cannot be rage.  There is nothing in this park that could cause such anger.  The birds are singing in the trees, heralds of love and peace.  Your outward appearance shows this love, this tranquility, but behind those blue pools that are your eyes I see your nakedness.  I can see how vulnerable you really are.  Then your eyes flicker to mine, and the truth of you hits me as a storm bashing itself against the shore of the sea.

 

            Pain. Pain lies behind your eyes!  I see now that your anguish is so great that no tears, no wails, no words can express it.  You sit on the bench and show nothing.  That is your peace, your discipline. You don’t even try to express what you feel, and for some reason I know that you never will.  You sit on the bench as careless as a child in the prime of health, and yet, inside you your pain rages.  It will always rage.  You have chosen this.

           

            I gaze into your eyes in sorrow, and at last I begin to understand the pure and raw agony that you suffer and why you have chosen to hide it.  The simple shifting of your eyes’ focus has opened a window to your soul for me.  I see all the world’s pain and more- more than anyone can bear, but you contain it.  You will never allow it to burden anyone else as it has burdened you.  It is your curse, and you have accepted that.

 

            Even I shrink from your gaze.  I divert my eyes, searching for something happy, anything that will save me from that awful sorrow.  My vision rests on children playing, but their innocence sickens me in the light of what I have just witnessed in you.  I turn my gaze instead to an old woman feeding pigeons. 

 

            Normally I would find this image calming, but now all I can think of is how horribly mortal that woman is.  Her flesh is so frail, so weak.  Who will cry when she dies?  Who loves her?  Would anyone die in her place?  Would she want anyone to?  I wonder how much time she has left.

 

            I look to you again on the bench across from mine.  There is nothing I can do to ease your pain, and as I realize this I feel tears pool in my eyes.  I cannot bear you anymore.  I cannot survive your grief-stricken gaze.  I love you, but I cannot endure you.

 

            Desperately, I bury my face in my hands, allowing my tears to flow freely. 

 

            Moments pass.  My tears slow and then stop before escaping into the evening air.  When I look up you are gone.  The bench is empty and the woman feeding the birds is looking at me.  I realize that I must look as though I have seen a ghost, both beautiful and terrible.  I give her a slight reassuring smile and resolve to ignore her, returning to my thoughts.

 

            For those few moments in that park, I knew you as no one else did.  I knew you as, perhaps, no one ever will.  You see, I was the only one in the park who took the time to see what you were trying to hide.  In those few moments I saw you as no one else did, your peace and your pain as one, and I am better for it.

 

            I rise from the bench and begin the walk down the cobblestone street to my home.  My heart goes out to you, the only being that I feel I have ever fully known.  I wish I could have spoken to you, but I will never see you again, so I whisper the words that I would have spoken to the trees, the city, and the wind.

Reviews

[Emily B]

I am in awe of the sketch you've drawn here. It feels so real that I think it must have been based on something, but I know that by your word it is drawn purely from the imagination. I think this must be the most brilliant thing I've read in quite a while. This experience of seeing into someone's soul, realizing the pain they feel, is probably the most spiritual thing we can feel. You've painted it vividly and with much emotion.

You know that there may be a thing or two you can do to improve the grammar later on. That's of no consequence right now. It's just a divine piece of work!

[V. K. Harris]

A Very Poetic Story, Beautifully Written.

[TL Boehm]

this is beautifully written - such depth as you go through this. I think of all the people I have watched casually on buses, in parks - and then others who have touched my soul but I have never been able to articulate my thoughts in such a manner . Poignant the way you ended it with a thank you - you brought this woman to life and she will continue to breathe through your words from this point forward. The ability to not only see through to someones soul but to illuminate that soul to others so that we can see through it is amazing.
Great work. Keep it up.

[Querida]

simply amazing. you can twist something so simple, so pure - just sitting in the park - into something that can be analyzed carefully enough to stick a vivid, detailed picture into a person's mind.

[Summer Child]

Diego,
There are no words. There honestly aren't and I am the queen of long-windedness. I'm truly impressed. The story, if that's what you would call it, is beautiful and opens a window into your own soul and heart. It shows how you choose to express your feelings. Of pain or joy or anywhere in between. I just want to say thank you for the lovely piece you chose to write. I really really like it, promise. Let me keep reading! And we're singing and playing tomorrow--btw.

[R J Askew]

this has a poetic feel about it. I enjoyed and was carried along by it. the stranger is enigmatic. who? who? how will it end? why so much pain? is it an alter ego? what is the message? enigma abounds.

[Alex]

This is a wonderful piece of work�in a lot of ways I am the one on the bench the one who does not cry �I have done it all my life �I try not to but I often think I will break if I ever let go ��.it is what it is�thank you for sharing

[Kristin Brecoe]

woooww. id love to take bits of others' reviews and add them here. they all fit so perfectly. you are a fabulous writer!!!!! i dont know what to say anymore...

[Dezaraye]

Wow, this is such a stunning piece. Your descriptions are flawless and so packed full of emotion. I could FEEL what the narrator was feeling and SEE what the narrator was seeing.

This left me breathless. The observation and the power of her eyes is astounding. I am left without words. Incredible.

To echo your closing statement, "Thank you."

[Angelheaded Hipster]

I like this short story...it reminds me of the old lady and the birds in Mary Poppins for some reason...that scene is always so depressing to me....

As far as people watching goes....it is amazing what people can pick up off each other if they just observe, and listen, instead of being wrapped up in htemselves. Body language sends powerful messages as well.
If this were based on truth....what stopped you from asking if she needed an ear? I think that's another thing wrong with our society. We are afraid to open up to other people, to show vulnerability and weakness.
There's nothing wrong with asking for help...course, I should be taking my own advice...

[Lydia Shutter]

WOW.....A character study of a stranger.....or was she an angel? Perhaps a vision that was a conglomeration of many individuals you know personally. She drew out the sad emotions lying beneath the surface of you....made you feel honest emotion you had supressed. There is compassion and love in this write. There is mystery and intrigue. I enjoyed it very much. Lydia