Isla’s Bench

That was where Mark met Isla. Sat alone on a bench in the middle of the day. “I needed a break,” she said. “The heat is too much today.” He agreed and sat down next to her. They didn’t talk much. Polite conversation, introduction of names, and then they sat in silence panting from the sun. Soon, she turned to him and said, “it’s strange to think, this bench just sits alone on a path in the middle of a wood waiting for someone to sit on it. Is it even a bench until someone does?” And with that she said goodbye and left Mark there. Just him and the bench.

 

The next few days Mark carried on walking through the woods escaping the summer heatwave. Every time he saw the bench, he would also see Isla. She sat there, still, serene, delicate. The same routine occurred. Small talk, hot, heavy breathing, thinking aloud and then she’d leave. Like a fleeting mirage. But it became expected that she would eventually leave, and Mark sat comfortable knowing it.

 

One day, Mark got up earlier. The sun had just started to reach its full potential. Mark made his way through the paths of the woods, but something that day made the air, the atmosphere, feel different. The paths seemed narrower and windier. The trees fuller. The ground was covered in a darker shadow. It felt different. A south facing wind caught up with Mark as he headed north towards where the bench should be. Strange, he thought as he approached the spot. To his surprise the bench had vanished. He ran his hands through the earth that used to hold the bench. There were no grooves in the ground, no marks, no tracks, no sign at all that a bench had been there. Mark stood still for a second, gazed solely on the emptied spot. But a bench is stationary he thought. It is still and sound, lasting and strong. Purposeful. Where would a bench go?

 

The light flickered through the trees like a whisper upon Mark’s face. Warmed to the skin, Mark left the spot where the bench once stood, the southerly wind pushed him north.

 

Then a predicament. Left, or right? The path diverged and Mark had to decide. The sun whispered through the trees, “take the road less travelled by”.

The road less travelled by?

But is that left, or right? And why must I decide, Mark thought. Then the wind came and pushed him again.

 

He walked forward, and cannot remember which path, but he ended in a clearing. The space settled with a steady heat. Wildlife full, fresh, and free. And, across the clearing, Isla on a bench. He walked over.

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“Hi.” Mark sat down next to her elegant frame. “The bench has gone in the woods.”

“I fancied sun today.” She said and lifted her chin slightly towards the sun.

 

After some moments, Isla turned to Mark. Piercing blue eyes into dark brown. “A bench is a bench with or without anyone sitting on it. Doesn’t matter where it is. It’s constant and the same. But we move and we allow change.” Mark nodded.

 

Then, Isla got up, quietly, purposefully, and walked forward. And that was that. The mirage faded. Mark was left alone on the bench, again.

 

In Memory Of Isla Margarete Baker

17th April 1924 – 3rd December 2006

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and Isla

Isla took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.