Assignment 1

The River

            I’m standing at the very beginning of the path. Where the concrete meets the gravel of the parking lot. I have just stopped by on a sunny spring afternoon. Ahead of me, the path winds downward towards the river. I walk towards the river. As I walk I can hear birds chirping in the air, I can hear the leaves of the tall trees blowing in the wind, I can hear the rushing water as it flows underneath the bridge. As I come towards the water’s edge, the path turns under the bridge to follow alongside the river’s banks in a curvy, parallel sort of way. Before I turn to follow the path, I stop for a moment to watch the water. After a few seconds I turn and begin walking down the path once more. I am walking slowly, making sure not to rush to anywhere in particular. Today I am just out to enjoy the scenery and see what may happen along the path. I continue strolling alongside the river. As I walk I notice all the dead leaves scattered across the ground. Occasionally, the wind sweeps them up in to the air and carries them to a new resting spot. I can now hear the sound of a woodpecker nearby. The sound of its beak pecking into a tree pierces the air, taking all the attention away from the other noises I had been hearing. But the sound doesn’t distract me from the bench I spot next to the river’s bank just a few yards in front of me. I walk towards the bench, brush off some leaves, and sit down.

            As I am sitting on the bench, I feel suddenly alone. I feel as if I am sitting on the only bench left in the world, and that there will never be anybody else to sit there once I leave it. I sit for a while, trying not to think about anything in particular. I decide I’ve had enough sitting, and so I begin to walk back down the path towards where I came in. As I walk down the path, I feel regret for not staying on the bench. I feel as though I’ll never come back to the bench, never walk next to the river, and never get to have a moment like this again. I try to tell myself that I’ll make it back there someday, and that this moment won’t be lost. But inside I know that this will most certainly be the last time I walk this path. I know that once I reach that end, where the concrete meets the gravel, everything will be over. I know that this will be the last moment I have with her. As I realize this, the wind suddenly feels cold, the river’s flow seems to grow into a lethal rage, and the leaves on the ground act as a reminder of just how easy things can come and go. As I hold her hand, I try to keep her from walking so quickly, hoping to save what time we have left, but she pulls me along. I want to say something to save this time, but I know that she’s made her choice and there’s nothing I can do about it. This place I had at first found to be a welcoming spot to take her on a sunny spring afternoon now feels like the last place in the world I want to be.  We are now at the end of the path. Before walking off of the gravel, I let go of her hand. She stops and looks back at me. I look her in the eyes, smile, and she smiles back. But it’s an empty smile. The last smile of hers I’ll see. I step off the gravel and walk towards the car. As I open the door to get in to the driver seat, I look back at the river. It now seems so far away. It would be the last time I ever walk that path, and the last time I ever held her hand.