I stared up at the ceiling and waited for my alarm to ring. I waited for it to give me some incentive to get out of bed and perform the almost daily routine that I had a love and hate relationship with. All throughout high school, I had never participated in any sport, instead, taking to just chill out, which does not necessarily smoke weed, but make it my duty to become a prominent officer of the Leo, Peace, and Spanish Club. I was lazy, which I will admit unabashedly, and still am. But once high school was over, and I began my eating habits exceeded my work out habits, and the little pudge of my stomach was the result, I decided to take control of my life and never eat a Krispey Kreme donut again, even when my Krispey Kreme app reminded me to make a donut run. Yawning, I rolled over onto the bed and slid my alarm into silence. Today was going to be a long day, I thought.

Every morning after my run I came home to the grand house, one that looked like it was built for a family of joy, laughter, and a few fights. But instead, for the past years, it had been filled with anguish. One routine I never broke was waking up in the morning and fixing my daddy the food that I knew he would never eat. Instead, he preferred a bottle of whiskey to feed the stomach that had grew accustomed to his non-stop drinking.

Pushing the covers back, and letting the crisp air hit my exposed thighs, I made my way to the entrance of the room and walked out towards my father’s room. Many nights, he was never there, but on the ones that he was, his arm was never hooked around a bottle of liquor that was hugged close to his chest. I took in the silence of the house as I approached his door. The house always seemed to be silent, it always made me wish that maybe before she died, she could have had one more child. One that I could preoccupy my time with instead of scolding a father who never had time for me. But then again, what child would want to feel the emptiness of a house, and have a parent who never tried. I did not even bother to knock as I entered the room. There were two things that one would notice when they entered this room. The stench, although not breathtaking, was enough to make you want to douse the room in gain and set it on some mystical fire that would spread flames of smell-goodness. It entered my nose and made me wrinkle my face, which made me wonder if my father had even seen a bathtub in days. Then again, he maybe had not seen much sun light, which was proven correct as I moved towards the wall, and began to tug on the rope.

The sun was still coming up over the east. It looked beautiful outside. Birds were chirping, the trees were waving their branches in the air, and my father lay there drunk. His shirt was slightly open, shoes off, head rolled to the side. And just as I assumed, there was not a bottle of liquor, but four shots sitting comfortably on his night stand. I shook my head, wondering when this routine would end. The jogging every morning, I did not mind. Did not mind at all, but waking my father up, and getting physical with him so he could take a bath and receive the nutrients to stay alive, was becoming ever so tired to me.

“Daddy…” My hand reached out to pull the covers back from his thinning body. His face was slightly ashen, and it seemed that in a week he had grown wrinkles it would take one person to grow in a lifetime. Added with the never ending grey hairs that accompanied his roots, he seemed to be more of my aging grand-daddy than my once youth filled father.

“Come on, get up.” I whispered. I did not want to wake him, but even in his sleep he did not look rested. My lips formed into a hard line. Something had to change.

He groaned a little, and out of instinct I took a step back. He smelled of liquor and piss. Sighing, I grabbed one of his arms and began to tug to gently. His response was not much, but what was going to happen was a shower this morning and a change of sheets. Grounding my feet into the hardwood floors, I pushed his torso up off the pillow and allowed some of his weight to rest against me. Never in my life had I met man that was hung over, 24/7.

“Sweetheart, you’re always so good to me…” I did not take notice of him waking up until he assisted me in hauling his butt to the bathroom. Gently pulling him off the bed, I walked him to the bathroom. His steps were so slow and lethargic, as if he just had a drink instead of being sleep for a possible five hours. Knowing him, anything was possible.

“I know daddy, I know. Come on,” pushing him down onto the white porcelain toilet seat, I made work of running the bath water. The bathroom still looked clean from the last time I cleaned it, which was a week ago. I shook my head. I wanted to have this conversation this morning, needed to have this conversation this morning, but I could not do it. I was not ready to berate my father for giving up on life yet. However angry, he needed me more that I could ever need him. But still, I felt some things were going to click. I sighed and checked the water temp, making sure it was hot enough for him to relax.

“You know I love you right baby girl?” My back was to him, but I could feel him lazily watching me. I stood slowly from my knelt position and turned around. His appearance did not bother me anymore. At first, it terrified me, but now, now it was just another thing that I let happen at times. Another thing that I had grew accustomed to. My lips attempted to form into a grin at his words but they could not. Too many mornings I had heard the same thing, the same question that I accepted as an apology. He too had grew accustomed of my caring heart, and grown accustomed to asking me the same question. It was almost as if he wanted to remind me that somewhere in the future, his love for his daughter was the only thing that would make me stay and wallow in the misery that he created. I refused to answer, but instead motioned to the bathtub.

“Your water is almost finished, I am going to go out for an hour or so.” With that, I avoided the red of his eyes and moved towards the door, not wanting him to see the tears that were forming in my eyes.




My morning jogs were always accompanied with a fast-paced walk twice on the park’s trails, then an ease into jogging. I never counted how many miles I would jog, or walk, depending on how tired I was, but instead if the length of the exercise could take away any form of anxiety or depressing feeling I was feeling that morning. When that feeling was finally gone, and I could relax without the emotional induced tightness of my chest, then I would stop, and sit on the bench. Allowing myself the much needed time to get myself together before returning to my house. I had just finished my sixth lap, because Lord knows I was not going to do a seventh, when I began to make my way towards one of the more inconspicuous benches. One weird habit about me was that I liked watching people. Young, old, the snotty-nosed, the oh-I-tripped-and-almost-fell-but-you-aint-see-that type of people. The wealthy business men who seemed to be discreetly meeting up with their supposed to be wife, the gay-lovers. Like I said, I watched it all. At first I did not think it weird, but then again, I found it seemingly odd because I liked doing it. It gave me some type of distraction from my boring, but weary life, and also a reason to assume the worst and the best of a lot of people’s lives. Those were my intentions, to give myself a half hour while my eyes focused on the music on my Ipod and my feet, with a mind of their own, leading the way towards the bench. My mind did not register to look up as I became closer to the bench, but instead thought of the next Itunes haul that I was to have shortly.

The sun had just risen to a decent point in the sky, warming the crisp September air a bit. Feeling the warmth caress my skin finally, I looked up to take notice of my still shuffling feet towards the bench. There it was. And it was occupied. The sigh was ready to escape my lips, and me ready to return to my car, when I finally took notice of the stranger. It was not cold enough in the area where one had to put on a winter coat, but it was chilly enough where one would need a jacket. This man, well what I assumed to be a man from his apparel, was adorned in two coats, one being a hoodie, which maybe a person would find at Spencer’s that cost way too much, and the other, a long trench coat that seemed to have the tip of it barely touching the ground. The stranger’s right arm was slung across their face. One could tell the bench was obviously too small, and apparently uncomfortable for anybody to be lying down on. One leg seemed to be awkwardly hanging off the side, the foot of that leg fully touching the ground, while the other was bent at an angle with its foot placed against the arm rest’s railing. On their seemingly long legs hung a blanket, one that you would think was meant for a baby, instead of a tall stranger chilling it at the park.

Quickly, I glanced down to quickly turn off my Ipod. I wanted to stay at the park, and fulfill my task of secretly enjoying staring at people from behind my polarized glasses, but those hopes were shattered. Because a hooded stranger had took the best bench in the park to do just that. My eyes glanced around me, seeming to notice more people arrive at the park, either to walk with their babies or get in a quick walk or run before starting their day. Reverting my eyes back to the stranger, I watched as the stranger moved his legs, allowing the blanket to slide to the ground. The stranger seemed unmoved by his now blanket-less legs and the now breeze that was being carried through the wind. Even then my body shuddered. I sighed, feeling the daughterly instinct to take over. Too many years of seeing my father’s covers falling to the ground, and me caring too much had constructed me into being exactly that. A person carrying too much. So my feet dared not to tell my body to stop as I hesitantly floated over to the bench.

Really? Is this what we do now? Try to help everybody you see? I argued with myself in my head as my feet left imprints on the morning dew of the grass. All I am going to do is pick up the cover and put it back on him. No biggie. He looks… chilled. From the way the stranger was lying, and his body which had yet moved, I deterred him to be asleep.


Standing in front of the bench, my eyes quickly observed the now apparent man. His arm was still slung over his face, a pale, lanky arm at that. My eyebrows drew together, and the firs thought that came to my mind was if my father had already taken to the booze again at eight o’ clock in the morning. Shaking my thoughts, I swooped down to pick up the bite size blanket. On it, was an intricate design of multi-colored feathers against a Carolina Blue background. I blinked, this blanket to me seemed a bit childish for a man that was adorned in black with a Matrix army green trench coat, and black, thick toed combat boots with studs protruding out the sides. I realized too soon that I was checking out this man’s attire. Even again realized that I had been standing there for a complete minute holding his blanket with no apparent intention on placing it back on his body. My eyes avoided his face, because even if he was sleep, I did not want him waking up to see me preoccupied with his protection from the wind.

Before throwing the small cover over his body, I quickly shook off any possible leaves, grass, ants, and artfully placed it over his body. In places where I knew he would become cold the most because I knew my father was the same way. He always guided the covers to his midsection after being placed in bed and tucked in.

I nodded my head in content and was about to turn around when I felt something soft, and cold grab my wrist. My eyes looked down before they looked up, and I saw five long, skinny figures wrapped around my wrist. They were cold to the touch, which made my body shiver ever so slightly. Trailing my eyes up the length of the stranger’s arm, I took in the face that was staring back at me, arm now removed so the world could see the guy with the baby blanket. His hand still not had unraveled itself from my wrist, nor did my body make to leave. Because here I was, breathing a little heavier than should, hair sticking to my forehead and sweat beads trailing down my neck, staring into the most beautiful pair grey eyes I had ever saw. They almost made me want to take a step back, or even a step closer to see if they were actually not man made. One could easily see that a honey-hued yellow line surrounded the iris of his eye. The iris itself was an electrified color of grey, with specks of that same honey color in it. The black pupil itself made the grey of his eyes look more pronounced. I blinked once, twice, and was ready to clear my throat at our apparent staring contest when I finally saw him blink, and release my wrist. Without knowledge, my hand went to massage the coldness his fingers had left behind. Shaking my head from the clouded thoughts that were invading my mind, I motioned to the cover.

“I promise, I was just-just seeing your blanket to the right place.” I almost cursed myself. My voice sounded as if I was telling my crush for the first time that I wanted him… badly. But this was a complete stranger, so my voice should have sounded more pronounced, more lovely, and not like it did. I inwardly shook my head. I watched his face for any reaction, while simultaneously observing his features. That is when I first noticed his hair, which seemed to hang a little past his shoulders. The hoodie that covered his head did not hide the highlights the sunlight brought out. It was a nice dark brown, that accompanied the tangled tresses that were his hair. Some of it hung in his face, which did not seem to bother him as he began to move his body. His cheeks were slightly hollowed, and so were his eyes that were surrounded by thick lashes and deep, thick black eyebrows. He had a slight crook in his eyes, one where nobody would really notice if you did not stare too hard at him, which I was doing. The hollow of his cheeks helped to make his medium sized lips to appear more prominent on his face. They looked to be soft, and a pink that seemed to be bordering on red if he rubbed them together a few more times. All in all, he was a handsome stranger, with grey weary eyes.

“Thank you. That is what I was going to say, before you were to turn around… was thank you.” He was now moving up from his bed position and into a seated one. I tried to catch the mumble of his words, for his voice distracted me. It was low, and deep. One that you would catch on burly country men, and not on a lanky stranger who seemed to be taking a nap on a bench in the park.

“You’re welcome,” I hammered out. My foot took an immediate step back as his eyes took me in. “I am sorry if I woke you—I just saw your blanket slip, and decided that the Good Samaritan in me could not let you freeze on this bench, which by the way, your hands are freezing—and I am most definitely talking too much…” My voice trailed into silence as I watched his lips twitch into a smirk. Because I was most definitely talking too much and saying things that need not be said in a moment like this. In a moment like this, I should have simply said you are welcome, heed him a good day, and return to my life. But here I was, staring into his tired grey eyes, wanting him to say something back to me.

“It is a tad bit cold, but not from the weather. My body temperature tends to drop at times. See.” Before I could step back once again, both of his hands reached out to lightly touch mine. And before I knew they withdrew, but I could still feel the coldness chilling the blood pumping beneath my skin.

“That is cold, but you know, it is kind of chilly out here. If you are going to sleep out here, I suggest at least upgrading to a more trustworthy blanket.” He smiled a little at me, still not showing any teeth but smiled nonetheless. I saw that he had then moved his body to one side of the bench, blanket and all, leaving the other side free.

His eyes watched mine as I became hesitant on whether or not to sit down. I felt I had overstayed my welcome, in a public park. Before I began to shake my head no, he smiled and patted the seat.

“Misery loves company.” I began to nod my head, agreeing to his statement. Plopping a good distance away from him, I brought my Ipod back out and began to cut it on. There was some time to salvage before I had to return to my daddy. While scrolling through my Ipod to find the perfect creepster song, I attempted to keep my head low and away from yet again observing the stranger. But due to curiosity, my eyes roamed over to the space he occupied and saw that he now had a booksac, stuffing the blanket inside of there. It was then that my mind seemed to register that maybe, just maybe this man was homeless. And if he was not, then he had to enjoy sleeping on public benches. Feeling a bit materialistic now, I quickly tugged my ear buds out of my ear and shoved it into my pockets. Glancing again back at him, I saw that the smile was now gone off of his face, and was replaced by something else. My eyebrow cocked at his eyes as they watched me, took me in. I had taken to taking off my sunglasses, for I did not want a nasty tan surrounding the perimeter of my eyes. I could feel the beads of sweat form on my nose, and prayed to God that they would begin to drip. For that would be completely embarrassing.

“How would one as you, know about misery?” My head jerked back at his question, but not out of insult, but because I was surprised in the manner he said it. My eyebrows drew together as I thought of what to say back to him. One leg had propped up on the edge of the bench and was now the resting piece for his arm, which now dangled a cigarette from his fingers. I eyed the cigarette before answering, hoping that if he lit it, he would not light it in my presence.

“Do not worry, I will not smoke a cigarette in the presence of a lady.” He wiggled his fingers in order for me to refocus my attention on his face. Without thinking, I opened my mouth, and out escaped words that I had not intended on saying.

“Do I look miserable?” My eyes failed to meet his face. In the back of my mind, I wanted to know did I look miserable to a passerby. Before he could answer I already knew the answer, one that has been proven to be very true.


“Would you like to know something?” Again, without meeting his eyes, I nodded my head. “Look at me.” His voice was soft, but deep and low as he commanded I look back into his stormy eyes. My head followed the sound of his voice and was met with the pout of his lips, which were slightly open and revealing a tiny gap of his two front teeth. I did not want to look at him, because I almost felt like I was about to be exposed in some manner. I shook my head, ready to renege on my curiosity to know the knowledge this man had to offer. His voice interrupted my thoughts, and back into the bare conversation.

“I come this park, a lot. When shit is on my mind, when beds run out down at the homeless shelter, when the breeze is blowing just right… when I cannot get enough of people and seeing their happy lives—the compare their lives to my own,” On this last part, the volume of his voice had fallen a little and I leaned towards him slightly to catch the rest of what he was saying. “I come here to watch people… just as you do.” With the last statement my head whipped towards his face, his cool face with the hard expression to see him watching me, as if he was waiting for a reaction. But there was none, except the slight gape of my mouth, wandering how the fuck had he known I watched people. But then again, I was probably one of the many people he watched.



“You come here every morning, at approximately seven-ish. You always seem to wear dark colors, but I do not think out of choice, but because it reflects your mood. You always seem to get out of your car with a little vengeance, as if slamming the door will help with whatever is on your mind. Whenever you walk around to the logs to stretch, you stretch as if there is too much tension caused in your body by a situation that will never get fixed. It is the same situation that drags you here, away from whatever you want to be free of. But then, once you are finished with your round of exercise, you return to the car with the same tension, the same vengeance, and slam the door again. Because you know that once you back out and begin driving, you cannot escape the life that you are coming from. You cannot even escape it even when you are occupied by all the misfits that occupy this park and observe you,” I had not realized how much of the truth he was saying until my hands began to shake and my heart beat began to pick up the pace. Somewhere in the back of my mind, although I wanted to be creeped out, I knew this was the truth. Which in turn made me angry. But my angriness, at hearing his words, came out in a whimper that escaped my mouth as the tears formed in the corners of my eyes, waiting to be released. Closing my eyes, then looking up again, I felt the anxiety in my chest as I looked back at the man, who I had only come to help. But he seemed to have completely analyzed me.

He just sat there, not even looking at me, but watching the people, just as I do whenever I come to the park. It seemed his stature did not change as another low whimper left my body. I grabbed my sunglasses, placing them back on my face while at the same time wiping away the escaped tears. I was not supposed to be crying, but this man… Who was this man? Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, I quickly pulled it out, and wiped my wet fingers on my phone, not even caring that I was crying in the face of this stranger. The stranger that had induced the crying but seemed to have no care as his fingers thumped against is leg in a steady rhythm.

Glancing at my phone, I saw the pop-up message from Dad.
Thank you baby girl for getting your pops out of bed. Now why don’t you be a good daughter and bring your daddy home a beer.


My hand covered my mouth at his request, which only seem to tug at my heart strings even more. Looking back at the stranger, I saw that he was now watching me, still watching for my reaction. I shook my head, creeped out and beyond repair as I hesitantly asked, “Who are you?” He shook his head, as if the question was nonchalant, as if he was nonchalant.

“I am just like you.” His response was quipped, which made me want to punch him in the adam’s apple that bobbed as he swallowed. He just made me cry.

“Why did you do that? Why did you observe me, you creepster, then stake out, and make me cry?” I could barely get the sentence out, for now my feet were tucked back, and body leaned forward, ready to bolt. Leaning back against the corner of the bench, he shrugged his shoulders, then looked out back towards the pond, where a few mommies brought their children out to play. One could hear the shrills of their laughter throughout the whole park. I wiped heavily at my tear stained cheeks and tried to reel myself back in, because I never cried. But I felt better, oddly. I still waited for his response, as my phone buzzed again, and I looked again to see my father requesting a specific kind of beer. I groaned inwardly, which seemed to have caught the attention of the stranger.

He raised his eyebrow, his eyes seeming to have looked directly past the glasses and into my soul. “Because, misery loves company.”