Lester ‘Red Tater’ Pitts sat on a bench by the city pond every night. The pond was next to the water treatment plant, but it was nicely landscaped. They really tried with this one. There were ducks and geese by the pond. Frogs and turtles.
“There ain’t no fish in there”.
Lester used to go the pond to reflect on life. People-watch. Meditate. Think about the preacher’s Sunday sermon. He used to, but now he just goes. No real reason except he’s been doing it every day for the past twenty years. Why stop now? Everyone says ‘hello’ to Lester and he says ‘hello’ to them. That is all. He isn’t a conversationalist. He is an old man with a friendly smile and wise old eyes. The kind of person you say “hello” to when he looks at you without thinking. An involuntary gesture of acknowledgement and solidarity to your fellow man. Good ol’ Lester. Friendly eyes. Warm smile. “Red Tater”.
One summer evening, a Wednesday or a Thursday, while surveying the ducks and families walking around the pond, something caught Lester's eye. There was movement in the woods on the edge of the property. A flash of pink and orange. A rustle of branches and honeysuckle. Out from the thicket appeared four people. Two middle aged women, maybe 45 years old, maybe younger -- most certainly aged from hard living. Two small children, a boy and a girl. Ages 6ish and 8 respectively. The orange and pink flash came from the sun shining on an abstract expressionistic pattern on one of the women’s bright and tight yoga pants. The other woman wore yoga pants too. Yellow and purple, a little more impressionistic. Both too bright. Both too tight. Vacuum sealed.
Orange-pink held a bag of cereal in her arm. Fruit flavored (artificial) shapes of grapes and strawberries. Bananas and watermelons. Generic brand. Purple-yellow held an empty white grocery bag tightly in her mitt. The children appeared to be unburdened. As children should.
Lester watched as the group made their way over to him and a gaggle of geese and flock of ducks that congregate in the afternoon. He thought they must be there to feed cereal to the geese, which is expressly prohibited. He didn’t care...truth be told he fed them saltines he stole from the Big Pig Grill every now and again. “Better to give them to the geese than let them reuse them down there, cause you know they do...”.
These people were new. Strangers. It wasn’t uncommon to see strangers at the park. The city was growing. People move in, people move out. He would smile and say “hello” whether or not he knew someone. They came closer to him, stood by the water's edge and made brief eye contact. He said “hello” and smiled. His warm eyes traced the contours the sun made on the many abstract ripples of the yoga pants...warmly. They said nothing and immediately went about their business.
The women motioned to the children and they reached in their pockets and pulled out some crumpled napkins and handed them up. They opened the contents and pulled out some fishing line with snap weights crushed on, tied to a couple of small, rusty hooks. Lester looked on. There ain’t no fish in that pond. Orange-Pink reached into her bag of cereal and dug out a few choice pieces and passed the bag to Purple-Yellow. They tenderly and expertly threaded the hook through until they had a shishkabob of small fruit. Quite adorable.
Some crumbs fell to the ground and the ducks and geese spotted it, waddling over with a quickness. As they approached the group the children started chasing them off and kicking at them. The ducks backed off first and then the geese. They could tell these children meant business. This was not their first rodeo. The women praised their children's efforts in an inaudible mumble then proceed to throw the hook and weight of the fishing line out a few feet in the water. They let it sink and slowly towed it back in.
Lester watched in amazement as Pink-Orange pulled up a small bream and smirked at Purple-Yellow. She was obviously the better fisher-woman. Lester watched in confused horror as she ripped the hook from the Bream and threw it to the ground. Should I say something? The children ran over to the flopping, bleeding fish and scooped it into the white plastic bag while keeping a keen stink eye on the geese and ducks.
All Lester could do was watch. This went on for another fifteen minutes until the bag was half full of gasping, bleeding, baby bream. Then Pink-Orange reached in the bag of cereal, took a big handful, shoved it in her mouth, and rolled the open part of the bag closed. She shoved the cereal bag in with the fish, squeezed all of the air out of the bag, and tied it closed. Vacuum sealed. Purple-Yellow balled up the fishing line and put them back in the crumpled napkins after wiping her wet hands down and gave them back to the children.
They all turned around and looked at Lester. They were neither happy or sad. Blank and emotionless. He looked back at them as they disappeared back into the woods, never to be seen again.
“I guess there are fish in there”.
Good ol’ Lester ‘Red-Tater’ Pitts. Friendly eyes. Warm smile.