The park bench creaks with a familiar complaint as I take my usual position. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Things have been so tense at work lately with the new high alert status. I am soaking in every second of this brief but needed reprieve.
My view is of three perfectly framed vignettes. The trellises shaping this tucked away space, recessed in the depths of the city green, a secret if you know where to look.
The leaves rustle, the sun reflects off the angles and breaks, and unknown faces walk to and fro. Wrapped in their own thought, they are missing out on the character studies just feet away.
“Ah, I do believe running into you was meant to be. Where have you been all my life?”
“Oh, you’re so strong and handsome. Take me away from this cruel world!”
Admittedly, I’m not the most creative person in my own head as I consider the exchange between an elegantly dressed couple. They embrace and take their place in the center scene, making up camp for a picnic.
“Fret not! Nothing cruel can happen to us beautiful people!”
Cruel things happen all the time. But not here, not in my garden. It’s an escape from the ugly things I am exposed to every day. Hours of analyzing threat scenarios and contingency plans, I come here often to decompress. If you don’t have a release and remember why you do the job, it can drive you crazy.
The left scene is always the sweetest, with the children at the playground, tumbling and laughing, kicking up dusty clouds, playing a game of chase. Fabulous chaos yet soothing in this space. So innocent at this age. Full grown humans waiting to sprout. I am warmed by their joy and freedom from responsibility, from knowing the darker side of life.
“Tommy, stop pulling my hair!”
“You are a booger head!”
This I actually hear loud and clear. I probably would have come up with the same.
Back in the middle, what seems close but also far from those children is something quieter and still. The couple enjoys a tranquil meal among the vibrant pink of azaleas, oblivious to anyone else around them. A squeal thunders from the playground. They take no notice.
“This day couldn’t be more perfect.”
“You make great sandwiches dreamy stranger.”
I really stink at this. But it also makes me chuckle. I could use a dreamy sandwich from a dreamy stranger right now. In the desperation for fresh air, I forgot to pick something up.
Activity commences in the scene to the right. An act ill-fitting with the idyllic scenery. On this very warm day, bordering on humid, two men have just arrived from opposite directions and seem to be in a tense exchange. They are each dressed for an arctic winter – a long fur lined parka with hood, and a heavy jumpsuit better suited for Alpine skiing. I feel sweat beads forming on my back just thinking about it.
“I’ve got to pee so bad, but I’d have to strip fully out of this darn onesie!”
“This ‘sweat it out’ weight loss program is for the birds! We look ridiculous!”
While this continues to make me laugh, I feel something ominous brewing between them as I imagine their conversation, as if I’ll be a witness to something I’ll regret.
They both look in my direction, pause tensely, then continue out of frame. But I’m just as invisible in life as at work. I thought that would make for a good spy. I often imagine nabbing bad guys with my unremarkable presence.
“They never see you coming, Agent X.”
But I’ll never get called up to that department. I’m better utilized in the basement, looking for patterns and clues.
The wind blows lightly, giving a reprieve from the heat. The playground, and the romantic rendezvous carry on.
“Tag, you’re it dummy face!”
I take in the aroma of the azaleas, as I see flashes of movement on the edges near the fence, quick moves, standing out against the mostly tranquil setting. I think I see the fur coat dip behind some hedges. Are those men using this place to hide out? Playing a game? Looking for where they stashed their snowmobile?
The playground starts to wind down. Parents carry tired little souls to nap time. The couple in the middle has slunk down on a blanket in a post meal cuddle. One in slumber, the other reading a worn paperback, lacking any urgency to be anywhere else. The reader, finally disturbed, looks up:
Ovation!
A tour group walking just outside of the gate is enamored with something that creates exuberant applause.
Clap Clap Clap. Bravo! Clap Clap Clap.
Clapping is weird.
It’s easy to get distracted here, imagining what’s in the heads of all these people who walk by. People we will never know. People who don’t know that I spend my days doing things to keep them safe.
The tour group moves on while a maintenance van drives up to the gate to take their place. An odd cloud moves into the clear sky.
The two men are back in the scene on the right. The sun acts as the theater’s flickering lights, indicating a return to your seat. They are still strangely dressed and joined by a third, also wearing a jumpsuit and carrying a large sack.
The light around them is different, the oncoming clouds darkening the stage. They are again in deep discussion, and sometimes looking about, but not pointedly. One is swatting away a fly. It doesn’t get the memo.
As they huddle close, they seem to be working out a plan and maybe stifling some laughter. I’d add silly dialog to this scene, but I really should be getting back to work. The warmth of the wooden slats nips at my legs as I shift my seat and collect my things.
I glanced again towards the third scene as I ready to move. A sly peek over a shoulder implied in my direction. So slight, but it sends a shiver up my spine. On top of that, the park has suddenly emptied itself. The van looks abandoned.
The men have now turned in my direction, clearly with sights set on me.
I grabbed my phone. Seventeen missed calls! A text:
“WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING?? WHEREVER YOU ARE, GET TO SAFE HOUSE Q! NOW!”
Safe house? Me?
Stunned, a squirrel hops past my feet.
I look up.
I hear the doors of the van open in the distance. Frozen, my brain processes various scenarios, but my body is static. It doesn’t matter. The men in jumpsuits are on top of me. Damp wool with a foul stench quickly darkens my view. I’m pulled off the bench into the air. What is up versus down, I do not know.
I hear my security badge and phone fall onto the pavement. The shuffling of feet. The inaudible sounds of an unfamiliar language. A flurry of birds screeching and dashing around my captors as the van doors close.