The Watcher

The Watcher; 2/13/2015; Bryan Sawatzki

He watches the sun rise and fall day in and day out.  The rays piercing through the clouds and beaming his hair, cheeks and shoulders.  The warmth is familiar, comforting.  He looks around slowly to make sure he is not being watched.  Not a darting look around, but he just wants to blend.  His front right pocket of his boxy jeans sticks out just a bit.  The causal sidewalk stranger wouldn’t notice the bump in his pocket, but make no mistake it’s there.  He knows it is.  He knows the power it will weld on his life, from the time it showed up in his possession to the time he no longer owns the object.

He watches the sun rise and fall day in and day out.  The rays are not piercing through the clouds today, and the hard cold pelts of rain are hitting his hair, cheeks and shoulders.  The dampness is not a familiar feeling, nor comforting.  He looks around quickly, not worrying about who is looking at him.  He is in need of quick shelter.  The bump is still in his pocket, still sticking out, and still only noticed by him.  The rain is too much for him today.  He cannot risk his possession getting damp. 

The bench he passes every day is cleared.  He sits and occupies it.  He sprawls out, to make sure he is the only person on his bench.  He watches as the people pass by.  One by one the sidewalk strangers mull by.  Dangerously oblivious to whom they are in contact with as they rub shoulders in passing.  He feels his front right pocket and it’s still there.  It is waiting.  Waiting for the right person. 

The sun is peaking now, he thinks to himself, it must me noonish.  It must be.  Down the street, he sees what he has been waiting for.  He’s been waiting for this, day in and day out.  The sun, rain, breeze and cold days waiting.  The sun today, is perfect.  It’s beaming perfectly.  He looks slowly around like before, to make sure he isn’t noticed.  The look is the same, not a nervous look around, just an inconspicuous one. 

He stands up slowly, he’s body slightly turned away from the direction he was facing, to ensure he isn’t noticed.  He smells the scent.  He knows what he’s been waiting for has passed.  The swoosh of air when he was passed wafted towards him.  It was a familiar smell, comforting.  He walks towards the smell and catches up quickly.  He reaches out his hand and places it firmly on the shoulder of the woman in front of him.  She is startled.  Being grabbed from behind amid the sidewalk strangers is an uneasy feeling for her. 

He has his object in full display awaiting for her to turn around.  He doesn't know if this is the beginning or the end.  He hopes this doesn’t cause the scene he’s seen in numerous movies.  She turns and directly looks into the eyes of the man grabbing her shoulder.  She relaxes, and moves her eyes from his and notices a stiffness in his face and he breath.  She looks down, gazes up on the object.  It sparkles and shines, she doesn’t notice his quick movement.  He’s down and looking up at her now.  His eyes staring at hers.  Waiting for her eyes to move from the object and meet his eyes. 

Silence befalls the sidewalk strangers.  They don’t stop, they actually don’t become silent at all.  But to him and her, there is silence.  The world is actually revolving around them right now.  Her eyes finally meet his.  Their world gets smaller and tighter around them.  There are only a few nods from her head.  He stands, relieved.  Their hands intertwine, hers being a little more heavy than they had been 2 minutes prior.