Stuck | Adwin Finley

Stuck

Adwin Finley

He sits alone on a park bench, staring over the emerald and amber treetops towards the city. A grey suit and navy-blue tie complement his dark features. His phone buzzes in his pocket; he knows it’s her. Calling to yell, belittle him, to make sure he knows he’s a failure in her eyes. His heart starts to race, his palms turn clammy. He pulls the phone from his pocket and looks at the thirteen missed calls leering back at him. He’s stuck, always looking for a way out. Too scared to take the chance, he has never been good at being alone. A pretzel cart rolls by, pushed by a woman in baggy jean shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“One please!” he calls out, waving her down. As she approaches, the man notices that her shoes are worn down, her clothes torn and tattered.

“Nice day isn’t it?” she smiles up at him. The man smiles and nods in return.

He goes back to the bench, sits, and stares off into the salt crystals hoping to find the answer.

He sits a while longer, taking in the sounds of the birds and the rustling leaves. “Nice day, isn’t it?” he whispers to himself while walking over to a green metal trash can.

The phone in one hand and a cold half-eaten pretzel in the other. Walking away, he takes another bite.