Vignette No. 1

A young woman sits on a park bench. A jogger passes, going east; a jogger passes, going west. A boy rolls down a hill, collecting chlorophyll and stray blades of grass on his shirt and jean shorts. Jorts.

The wind picks up subtly. Pages of a newspaper under the park bench flutter. A cloud eclipses the sun. A bird in a tree behind the bench starts to sing; a bird in a tree in front of the bench replies. Distantly, the horn of a car is sounded. Twice.

A foil gum wrapper tumbles down the pavement. The young woman idly watches it go by. She feels a vibration from her purse and retrieves a phone. After a moment, she replaces it. Her knees slide over the wood to touch each other. Her legs, crossed above her ankles, swing back and forth; the soles of her shoes scrape the top of the turf with each pass.

Her legs stop swinging. She stands, slinging her purse over her shoulders. She walks past a young man, sitting against the tree behind the bench; and with a small bag of popcorn in his hand. She smiles, just for a moment.