Andrew Mainini, '11

The Bench

     The courtyard in front of my Spanish family's flat was a large oval almost completely covered by dull tan bricks. Somehow the sun seemed to be shining on this open area at all times of the day despite the tall residential buildings that lined its perimeter. The stress from the constant sunlight left behind a few patches of burnt grass and various pots of wilting flowers that hung from balconies. As if being timeworn was not enough, the courtyard had a peculiar design that was highlighted by a lone bench that stood directly in its center. It was a fairly standard wooden bench that was propped up by iron supports. The wood had weathered to an aged shade of gray and very little of the black paint that had once covered its iron legs remained. Each day as I walked home from school and turned the corner into the courtyard, I was overwhelmed by a wave of unsightliness. Although it was conspicuously placed, I always seemed to come dangerously close to stumbling over the frustrating obstacle. In spite of our turbulent relationship, there were some days when it seemed as though the bench had changed shape, and brought me a welcoming feeling.
     These specific days the bench was occupied by a stoic figure, a man, nearly ninety years of age, posted up on what is normally my daily obstacle. Wearing an old fashioned brown hat on his hairless head and a pair of dark, impenetrable sunglasses, he would sit there free of his cane, which would lean up against the side of the bench. Carlos, the patriarch of our family, would be waiting for lunch to be served. Occasionally my passing would catch his eye and he would offer me a wave or a nod and I would continue on to the fourth floor of the building behind him. "Abuelo" was a man of few words, not only because of a peaceful air of indifference, but also his frequent inability to hear what people were saying. Family, friends, and strangers alike were enamored of his presence, personality, and the few words he had to offer. The days I turned the corner and Abuelo was resting on that bench were always one of the highlights of my week.
     After a year of walking through the courtyard daily, I realize I never gave that bench a chance. Maybe there was more beauty in front of me than I had thought and perhaps this bench was the perfect spot to take it all in. What did Abuelo see during all the time he spent there? When I return to visit my Spanish family I will not have the opportunity to see Abuelo in the same setting or enjoy his company at lunch. What is certain is that I will take a minute to sit down on the bench, take a breath of fresh air, and remember how he was able to transform such an empty, unappealing sight into something warm and inviting.