Fresh Ink 2022
Vanessa Thelma Owoicho* “Hi, is this seat taken?” The woman seated looked up at the silver-haired man beaming down at her. The woman often sat here on this park bench alone and threw breadcrumbs at the birds. “No, it’s vacant,” she replied. She moved her bags to one side to make more room for the smartly dressed man, and he sat down. “If you don't mind me saying, I see you sitting here most days as I go for my daily walk. Do you live locally?’ The man had worked in the same New York high school for 40 years and was enjoying his retirement. “Yes, I do, said the young woman,” as she brushed the remaining breadcrumbs off her skirt. “I live here”. The man crinkled his brow but did not pry any further. “She lives here?” he thought. The young woman looked familiar to the man, but he could not place her. Was she one of his students? Her long black hair hung all the way to her waist in braids and was tied off her face with a red scarf which complimented her dark complexion. The lights flickered on as twilight descended upon them. “I like to sit here and feed the birds and watch the passersby,” she said. “I’ve lived in the neighborhood my whole life,” said the man. “I know,” said the woman. “You know?” said the man. “I'm sorry, but have we met?” “Don't you remember me, Michael?” the woman replied. The man peered at her again and took in her full form and stopped at her piercing black eyes. “It’s me, Vanessa.” The man trawled through his memory to recall this face, that voice, and then he grew cold. He spoke. “Vanessa?” 62
