How it Has to Be

I love my favorite bench. Every year, I go back to it, and every year they try to shove me off. I fight them. They think that because I’m old and white-haired, I won’t fight hard. They’re wrong.

This year was no different. I sat there, loving the bench, going cross-eyed as I tried to watch the snowflakes drift right past my nose. The cold air tasted icy-sweet in my mouth. The whole world had that smell, the one that you only notice when you bury your face in a wet snow-cone cup and the paper starts to go soft. The delicious frost melts in the cup, and you smell that wonderful sharp cold. Your teeth go numb and the chill pushes past your throat and down your aching chest, but it feels good. Not like the pushing I got that day.

I didn’t notice him at first. He must have sidled up to my bench like a strange yellow ninja. His clothes were bright, as always, and he was as young and sensuous as ever. I caught him looking me up and down, shameful, looking at an old woman that way. I instinctively ducked my head. I hunkered down. He wouldn’t knock me off this time. I was prepared for the bastard.

“It’s really time,” he said. “I’ve given you extra.”

“Not enough,” I said. “Grant an old lady just a little more comfort. Go away.”

“No way. You said that last time, and the time before.” He pushed up his sleeves, revealing tight and muscled arms. He was a little pale, as was to be expected at my time of year. Pity. With a body like his, it’d be nice if he had a tan, like the one that will come to push him off the bench.

I could tell he was irritated with me. I didn’t care. Was it my problem if he was always in a hurry? That’s young ones for you. Rush, rush, grow up; make love and babies, push old women away. He sat down at the end of the bench, and that’s when I really grew frightened. He meant business, and poor old me, I was in his way. Oh dear, dear, he was going to try to make me leave. I just wanted to rest a little more. I was so tired. Working hard like I do. I’m always tired these days. Global warming, maybe. I don’t remember it being this hard a few years ago. Not the work, and not the end that always came too soon.

The young one looked up into the trees, and we both saw the robin. In my pride I tried not to react, but the tears were already sliding down my face.

“I’m not ready,” I said. “Please…”

“It’s my turn,” he said. “You know how it has to be.” He nodded at me, and his eyes flashed in the sunlight. It was already changing, going from that bright white light that I loved to that egg-yolk tint. I felt fear in my belly, but mostly I just felt so weary. Why did he have to make me go when I was already so exhausted? It was a long walk. He slid nearer to me on the bench, and I moved away from him. Immediately, I knew I’d made a mistake. By scooting closer to the edge, I just made it easier for him to shove me off. Quickly, I slid back toward him, though it took half my energy right then and there! I bumped into him, and his skin burned me. I flinched, but I didn’t move away from him.

“You’re not supposed to be the hot one,” I said. Anger rose in my head like the slushy lakewater pushes up against the ice, trying to break free. For a moment, I wanted it to break through the ice, through my skull, in a great release of all the pressure. It would be the end again, but so orgasmic. No, no, I was just feeling this way because of being so close to HIM. I had to get him off my bench.

I sat up straighter. I put my hands firmly on my knees. I let my feet sink down into the wonderful cool soil where I hoped they’d take root like a strong evergreen. Evergreens are gorgeous, aren’t they? Smelling alive and good even on the coldest day, reminding you that the season isn’t all about death and endings like so many people seem to think it is. It’s life too! The little seeds just waiting under their blankets of cold, swelling with their need. The bears, curled up in their caves, drowsy but so full of potential. This youth next to me thought he had such claim to sensuality and life. He had no idea! Had he ever even seen a snowbird? Had he ever stayed up all through the short, black night and watched the artisan create the spiderweb of frost on a Christmas-light decorated window? I think not. He thought he had it all, watching the days grow long. They all thought they were better than me.

The really hot one who would come later, she was even worse. Thank goodness I’d rarely had to deal with her. Once in awhile, one of us barely got to move in for a visit before another came along and forced us out early. We all hated that, but we also all had the urge to do it to each other. When those times came, sometimes I was still hanging around, hoping to catch just a half-day on my beloved bench. I’d see her running naked, her golden hair streaming behind her. I knew it wasn’t quite her time yet, and she couldn’t get too close to me. Still, if she was visiting while I was still awake at all, it meant that the young one wasn’t getting his full due this year. I could imagine how those two would fight. It would be much worse than he and I. Perhaps he did have some restraint, knowing that I am always old and tired. I don’t think his competitor had any inhibitions at all, from what I hear. The late pumpkins and lettuce sometimes whisper to me about things they’ve heard about her. They say that when her time is fully come, there are fruits that I’ve never even seen, ones who cannot live without her burning ways. They tell of red and spicy things that grow wild and tall in the heat. I tremble to think of it. The tender grass that withers upon my arrival, it fears her more than me. I am gentle in my approach, letting the blades go from green to yellow so slowly, like just falling asleep. They tell me that she sets fire to them with the passion of her sun, and that with the passing of two moons she can roast them from green to brown. Then only Storm and Shower can help, and during her time they too are sometimes frightened away for a long time. They’re never frightened of me. I may slow them down, and turn them from falling waters to floating flakes, but I don’t scare them away completely. Granted, I don’t give them open reign, like my fair-haired boy here. I watched him, waiting for me. He seemed reluctant to push me away, in spite of his tough talk.

“Old woman,” he said. “Why do you stare at me?”

“I was thinking of the rains and how they behave when you are around,” I said.

“They behave any way they wish,” he said. “They know how I love them. They nourish my family and bring everything to life again after you’ve brought your doom on it all.”

“You’re harsh,” I said. “I’m not all darkness, like you all seem to think. Why would my time be so white if I were? You want to talk about doom, consider that wretched bitch that comes after you.”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he said. He turned his face, but I saw the anger. I knew I’d made another mistake. Now he would start pushing me. I had to change the subject, and quickly.

“What about the other? What do you know of him?”

“I’ve never seen him,” he said. “Why would I know about him?”

“Surely you hear talk.”

“Don’t we all? You should tell me about him. You push him away from this very place very year, and you can’t tell me you don’t. I know how it works.”

Ah, a chance for me to stick around a little longer, by keeping his interest. I pushed my feet a little deeper into the earth. As I did, a little flower near my feet wilted and bent. I felt sad, though I’d never admit it to any of them. Sometimes I wish I could be one of them for a day, just to see what it was like. Dear me, my thoughts wander more every year, where was I? Oh yes…

“He’s more like you than you probably realize,” I said.

“How so?” I saw curiosity light his eyes. I was delighted. We all knew that we couldn’t stay together for long at all, and therefore we rarely visited. By gaining him as an audience, I’d won just a little time.

“Well, for one, he isn’t interested in the heat or the cold. Like you, he likes things more temperate than that.”

“That makes no sense,” he said. “It’s my job to make things like that, so they can make new lives. Why would he do that when you are about to arrive?”

It’s not that,” I said. “The hot one, believe it or not, she often does more damage than I ever thought about doing. I guess she doesn’t mean it that way,” I admitted. “Her job is to burn out all the old and make way for the new. When she does that, it’s hard on the mother.” I wiggled my foot in the earth affectionately. “The soil gets so dry during her time that it erodes away. Little creatures that didn’t get strong enough during your time, they’re long gone during hers. So, the other one, his job is to prepare everything for you and I.”

“How does he prepare it?” His eyes were full of wonder, and though he fidgeted uncomfortably, he waited. He and I both knew our time was running out. Our nearness brings opposites so close that the tides and heavens begin to react. A few times we’ve fought and clashed, and when we do we cause catastrophic events. We don’t intend to, but we all forget ourselves at times. I knew that I should just go, but at least I could try to answer him. I had started this, after all.

“He just takes everything down a notch,” I said. He cools it all off after all that heat, kind of like you warm it up after my time. He doesn’t let the rains go wild, like you do, but he does welcome them back after sometimes long vacations. The earth gets to moisten her parched throat, and she relaxes. Then some wonderful things happen. All the trees that had lots of leaves through your time and hers, they drop their leaves on the ground because of his work. Those leaves become a blanket for all your precious creatures. By the time I come along, my snows just bring nourishment to that blanket. All in all, without he and I, your work would be for nought.”

“Yes, I suppose I believe you,” he said. I was surprised. He’d always been rather cocky, saying he was the important one. Deep down, I think we all know that we work together. We fight because it’s part of our work. I tilted my head, feeling the electricity in the air. Our closeness was bringing on a front. It wasn’t too late, yet. I stood up, and yielded the bench fully to him. He blinked at me.

“You’re going?”

“You know I have to,” I said.

“I know, but you’ve never gone without some kind of fight.”

“Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow or the next day,” I said.

“You know I sometimes wander back for another challenge.” I laughed.

“That you do,” he said. He leaned back into the bench. He held up one hand, and a big butterfly landed on it. “Come back for a challenge,” he said. “I’m ready for you, Winter.”

“We’ll see, Spring. Keep your eyes open.” I felt a little wistful but I couldn’t help but smile as I left him in peace. For now.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, Places, Names and Events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitious context. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental