Bread

Steven wiped the dust off his hands on his trousers and walked through the neatly packed cardboard boxes of the single apartment room onto the glass balcony. He took a deep breath and stretched his hands high over his head, as he began to feast his eyes on the Sydney cityscape for the final time, the city he felt he knew so well. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he was too tired to bother answering it. He leaned on the rail and stared down at Hyde Park, which lay just below his apartment building. A warm feeling glowed inside him, as he began to reminisce on how he would observe this sight every morning, sitting by the window, sipping his tea, and looking down at all sorts of different people hurriedly commuting to work and tending to their own private lives.

Everyday he noticed a particular individual, someone who did not seem to be bounded by the shackles of work. The old lady in the mottled grey coat would saunter at a snail’s pace through a different winding route each day. She was so carefree and nonchalant that even foreign tourists stopping to take photos every so often and with no knowledge of the place would overtake her. Out of curiosity to pass the short time he usually had before leaving to go the work himself, Steven would wait and see which park bench she would pick to sit down on.

Today she did not sit.

Steven was intrigued and watched her even more carefully, as today she stopped and stood still by the Memorial Fountain. His phone stopped buzzing but he did not notice. Instead, he realised that never before had he paused to see what she would do next, that he did not know anything about her, except that she was always alone. After a while, her hands began to tremble as she uncoiled her swollen, gnarly fingers, unveiling a purse within. Out of nowhere from all directions, a flock of pigeons began to gather around her. The old lady smiled at the family of birds, as she peeled open the pouch like a lotus flower and reached inside. Only then did Steven notice that a great number of pigeons had already crowded around her, a flurry of wings obstructing his view. He felt a compulsion to find out what was inside, but she seemed so far away.

A knock at the door disturbed his nostalgic sightseeing.

“Steven, my boy, it seems today is finally the day. Here, I brought a gift for you,” a burly man put a box of beer onto Steven’s unexpecting hands.

“Ah, thanks…” Steven stopped, discovering that he had forgotten his neighbour’s name. He looked at his wrinkled face with its bulging eyes, and for a while they stared awkwardly at each other.

Steven scratched his head. “Yes, thanks, but sorry, I got to get going, yes,” he coughed up a pathetic reply, as he placed the drinks on the ground, disappointed, because he never had interest in drinking alcohol, and briskly walked down the corridor.

“Have a good one mate”.

***

Waiting at the lights, Steven looked back up behind him, counting the floors up to the apartment building to see which floor was his. All of them looked them same, with the same windows and balconies. He gave up at around eight or nine, as his neck got sore, and wondered why he came out again. When the lights displayed the green man, an image of the burly neighbour in the stained singlet came into his mind. Steven shivered.

There seemed to be a greater number of people out today, far more than usual. Steven wandered down the crisscrossing roads of the park, with hands in his pockets. Couples and families laughed and played joyfully on the grass, talking to each other, holding each other’s hands. They all looked like they were having a good time, why wouldn’t they be? The sun was glowing a bit too bright on his face as well, and he could do nothing about the blinding scene but to squint his eyes and push on. A flapping of wings.

Steven instinctively looked towards the sound, but found nothing. But before he turned to move on, in front of him he recognised a grandiose statue of a godlike man perched on top of the fountain. He saw three other bronze figures around it, probably some mythical characters, but he did not care for them. The final person was missing, the elusive figure who roamed through the park everyday. Yes, Steven remembered why he was here. He stopped and looked around amongst the blur of unrecognisable faces for the old lady in the grey coat, the flock of the pigeons. He tried to listen for the flapping of wings – but the unending splashing of the fountain water drowned it all out.

Steven whimsically thought to call out for her. But how? He did not even know her name. He knew nobody here. His fiery spirit from the morning burnt out, as he looked at where he believed she was standing earlier. There he discovered on the ground the discarded remains of a few pieces of uneaten bread.