Happy

It’s warm this morning. There is a kind of white light, white heat coming from the sky as I trudge across the field and leave the walls behind me. My eyes are down at my feet as it is muddy in patches, due to the recent spate of rain we have had, so I need to pick my path carefully and find the ground that has been sufficiently dried out by the Sun. My eyes being so focussed on my feet also provides a good excuse to ignore any eye contact with anyone I may come across and avoid any greetings or communication this hypothetical eye contact may lead to. As you can probably tell, I am not in the mood for this. But to be honest, I have come so far already without any human interaction that I reckon I am safe from it for now. I look up and see the chocolate brown cows laying in a crescent-moon formation, tightly bound, and giving absolutely no shit whatsoever about my presence on their field. I look at my boots and notice that the front is getting wet, the tips of the grass still has remnants of dew from the chill of the night and early morning. I come to the kissing gates; I push it open with a thrust of my lower chest as my hands are recoiled inside my jacket arms to avoid directly touching the metal. Once in I do the same for my exit strategy, a push forwards and slaloming through to the other side before the gate swings back to its resting place. Now I’m in the secondary field. There is a slight ascent to this one and bramble and shoe bushes border the rising rectangle. I am heading for the bench at the top of this field which I’ve always enjoyed sitting and looking out from, and where I know I’ll be alone here. The ground is steadier, the path less trampled by man or animal, more predictable, so I can move at a quicker pace. I want this bench now.

The cows are starting to move around now. Green and blue. Green grass going forth in front of you and the blue sky, cloudless, just there. The trees, in their spring mode, are half full of leaves whilst the other is bare, the black branches scraggly, jagged, jut into the blankness of the blue. If I look further into the distance, beyond the fields, I see the brutal YMCA building and a crane building another set of luxury one bedroomed apartments. I take a deep breath, the first conscious one of the day. The inhale feels tight as it has been on and off for the last few weeks. This sends my mind wandering and I notice my attachment to the world around me weakening, my focus turned inwards, amplifying my thoughts and spiralling my worries. Am I ill, what is wrong? What has happened, why is it like that. What have I done wrong? I know I am capable of breathing, the unconscious act is keeping me going and has allowed me to walk through the fields without a concern, but when I try and take the wheel, that is when I am running into issues. I would like to get a hold on this. I close my eyes and start to imagine a brick wall, auburn bricks, with an invisible hand spelling out NOTHING in white chalk upon it. I focus on a letter at a time, the building blocks of each, the strokes of chalk to construct one after the other, my mind exclaiming each letter upon completion. Following this same process over and over. The world has properly gone. The fields, the trees, the cows, grass, sky, YMCA. My eyes are focussed on my immediacy, my mind and mouth repeating NOTHING. My eyes see the things that you miss moving about you. The dust, the skin particles moving in the air, lit up by the Sun, a wasp hovers, looking at me, I look blankly at it, our eyes connected, searching the other for threat. NOTHING. I close my eyes, open, and I feel a bit better now.

Someone is coming near. I can hear their feet moving on the path behind me. Though when I turn around to put a face to the shoe size, they are hidden from view by the towering bush. I may not know what they look like, but I can hazard that they will be going either of two ways. They may go straight, following the path and a route that I have never frequented, to an end destination that I will never know. Or imminently, by the sound of it, they will look left, coming to a gap in the bushes where there is a gate, and if they proceed through it, they will enter the field where I am currently its sole inhabitant. They will walk past me with not a word spoken, too wrapped in their own thoughts, thinking about their destination, which again, I will never know. The sound of wood on wood, the gate being pushed and gravity closing it. They have chosen my field. I look further into the distance, trying to spot an old friend from 10 miles away, hoping that my obvious focus will deter any possible interaction. I’m still looking, and all is silent around me. The footsteps have stopped. Are they too gazing out into the world? I don’t want to look round so I keep perfectly still. “May I sit here?” I’m confused and I’m startled by this sudden interaction. And in these moments your brain does not quite connect. Rather than say no, as I wish 5 seconds later I had of done, I slide to the left, offer my hand out like a waiter bringing a patron to the table and utter, “Please”. All whilst keeping my eyes firmly grounded. I do not know who I’m sitting next to. And now we are less than a metre apart. I bring my eyes up from the grass and aim them into the distance, acting as nonchalantly as I can to this invasion of space and time. They seem to be doing the same from the sideways glances that I am casting but I still can’t get a proper look. The cows are starting to move around now, their day’s grazing commencing, although some are still laying, heads up and aware but content in their current situ. The grass will still be there in an hour I guess is their mindset.

I hear movement next to me. It sounds like someone is unwrapping tin foil. That reverbing crackling which scratches your ears. I’m going to look properly now. It is a he. And yes, he’s opening a large bundle of something cocooned in tinfoil. It’s a sandwich. He must have felt my eyes boring into him and he looks up at me and smiles. I smile and return my focus to the cows. Some more have decided that breakfast time is now and so a few less are laying down. He is wearing a blue duffel coat I remember that. And a red hat. I know he smiled but I cannot remember his face. There is some munching now. Close mouthed so at least he has remembered his manners. Intermittent mm’s. He seems happy with his lot. I keep looking onwards into the field and see my first dog and human double act of the morning. The dog so full of life, glad to be stretching out its paws and amazed by the buzz of everything around it, whilst its human accomplice bumbles along still half asleep and their mind somewhere else. “Delicious!” I hear him whisper ecstatically, as if the peak of life on Earth had just been toppled. I turn to him. He’s smiling, looking out onto the world, his face so full of joy, enraptured. “Marmalade. Is there anything better? A slathering of butter, generous heaving’s of marmalade, and there you are. The most fantastic way to start a day!” Unsure of whether that outburst was to me or to no one in particular, I keep looking at him, waiting for a follow-up or anything to indicate my role in this so far one-man monologue. He turns and looks at me. “Do you not agree?” I nod, still unsure of the etiquette in this situation. He continues, maintaining a strong eye contact “Would you like one?” Before I can get out any words of polite refusal, a marmalade sandwich has been rustled out of the tin foil and is in front of my face. “Thank you” I say. “You’re most welcome.” He responds, breaking the eye contact and returning his gaze to the field in front of him. As I stare at the sandwich now in my hand, he has magicked another one for himself and is getting stuck into it. He is kicking his legs in the air; they swing delicately like they were underwater. He seems to be wearing yellow wellington boots. Although unsure of the sandwich and him next to me, I do not want to appear rude, plus my stomach and brain are tag-teaming me with the reminder that I had not yet had breakfast. I take a bite of the sandwich. It is quite delicious. Butter and marmalade make such a good combination and the bread is soft and has that slightly mushed quality that occurs when compressing an item within tin foil. “So, what brought you here?” He asks. “I needed to get out, get some space.” The generosity and sugar seem to have woken me up. “I can understand that, these are strange times.” “Yeah. It’s nice up here. No one really ever sits…on this bench.” I stroke the wood of the seat, thump my knuckles against it. “Yes, you are right. You could walk by here thousands of times and not see anyone. But, here, today, you find us two.” I look to him and see that he has a new sandwich in his hand, how fast did he eat the last one? Whilst I still have over half left. “You could eat those all day, couldn’t you?” I laugh out, looking him direct in the eye to let him know that there is no maliciousness behind my question. “Ha-ha, yes, my one vice. They do tend to prick me up. They are made with love as my aunt used to say, so I’m eating love you know. Like viaticum, food for the journey, it sends me on my way, ready for the world. You know.” I nod in agreement and we both look out onto the land as if we had created it ourselves, taking pride in our toil. The sky is a bit bluer now, the Sun flexing itself onto its canvas, the cows all now standing. “I like coming here. It makes me happy. I feel comfortable and don’t have to worry about what is going on there.” I point to the world below us. I do not know where that outburst came from, I would normally be quite reticent around complete strangers, but he feels different. He may turn out to be a serial killer but right now he feels safe. He smiles when I look to him for understanding, for approval, for anything, I’m not sure. He looks at me and smiles brightly. I feel my confidence and sense of self burgeoned. It’s as if light has been beamed into all the dark parts of me and has forcibly flushed away the shit. I must take a big breath to relieve the head rush I am experiencing. He laughs and slaps my shoulder. “You’ll be alright, everything will be alright. Finish your sandwich and I’ll get you another.” I do as I’m told and finish what’s left in two big bites. He hands me another. He’s staring intensely into the distance, leaning forward to the very edge of the chair like he was looking for someone or something in a crowd. It’s like someone trying to reconnect with their friends at the end of a concert, inspecting each passer-by’s hair, matching voice patterns and accent, clothing, shoes, till they are reunited, or not, and have to take the train home alone. He smiles. And then he laughs, a gentle laugh. He leans back and giggles some more, slouching somewhat as if the exhalation of laughter and the force it required is sinking him into the seat. He points and I follow his finger into the field to a dog and its owner. “Do you know what makes me laugh?” He states. “I see that dog and its owner every day or every time I’m here. And at some point, in the new few minutes, the dog will stop and lick itself all over. Bum, bits, bobs. Totally natural behaviour. I don’t know why they do it, but they do and that’s that. It’s not the licking that makes me laugh. It’s the thought that at some point during the day the owner will want a kiss from the dog, a recognition that they are bonded together by more than food, walks and warm rooms. It’s nice to be affectionate, but those lips, the slobber. I know human beings are a haven of germs and all manner of delights, but every time I see a dog start licking, I can’t help but laugh. It has tickled me since I was a boy, teenager, man and now. Happy or sad, rain or shine, it reminds me of the joy to be found in daily life. Somewhere, even when it is hard to see.” I nod at him, to acknowledge that I have been listening. He continues “Circumstances change. It can lead us up good paths or into pits where we feel…meh. That does not stop our ability to laugh or to be happy. We can feel that the badness is sometimes all there is, but it is not. Dogs licking themselves and kissing their owners, whatever makes a smile break out, keep these thoughts, memories close. It helps.”

It goes quiet again. I think about the things that make me laugh, that make me happy, they swill around my head. He pulls back the blue duffel sleeve and checks his watch. “Oh dear. That the time. The Browns will be wondering where I’ve got to.” He stands. Stretches, hands reaching into the sky like he was about to snatch the Sun from its perch and pocket it for another day. He looks at me and smiles. “Here’s another sandwich, enjoy it. Goodbye!” He turns and walks off down the hill. The colours, the red hat, the dark blue coat, the yellow wellington boots pop against the green and azure of the day. I take a bite of sandwich, not quite sure how I am not yet full or sick of these. I’ll stay here a bit longer I think, I feel comfortable. As he gets to the kissing gates, the cows closest look up and pay attention to this strange looking concept in front of them. He slows his pace, taking little steps to not frighten the cows I imagine.  As he carefully navigates the gates entrance and exit, he raises a hand, a salute, to the wary, observing cows. Still bemused, as he walks past, the cows return to their grazing. Cautious about this strange sight in front of them they will add it to the extensive rolodex of the herd’s, of peculiar human interactions they face daily. He’s becoming a smaller and smaller figure in the distance, head up, absorbing, delighting himself in each new step or new smell or new sight that he comes across, like an alien who has just dropped into Bushey fields. More and more characters, runners, dog walkers, morning strollers have entered the stage in front of me. He’s almost gone, nearly at a point, where he will disappear behind a chain of bushes. He appears to turn at the last moment of visibility and waves in the direction of the bench. I feel his smile on me, as if it were as large as the Sun.