Bug

The din of traffic had ended, and with it the impersonal bleat of the day. The commute was done with families now setting about the transition from the public to the private. There was dinner to enjoy, stories of the day to share and a rare opportunity to quietly re-group. The calm, peaceful summer evening sent a personal invitation to anyone who cared to listen. Come and join us it seemed to say.

He sat a bench in the park surrounded by tall apartment buildings and a grammar school. It was safe to say that this was a stereotypical Nurmberg suburb, almost 5K from the city center and home to a mix of nationalities. From a fifth floor window he could hear a girl reading to her Dad (or tutor) in French. The kids playing hacky-sack were Middle Eastern and there was an impromptu soccer game going on with a mixture of jersey names that hinted at heros from Brazil, Italy and Morocco. There was an Irish pub on the corner. In the midst of all this, he felt very much at ease.

He was reading, relaxing, taking in all the sights, sounds, letting his memory drift to other park benches, other summer nights, distant places and times. A ladybug crawled onto his arm and began a slow yet determined march towards his shoulder. He was on auto pilot, allowing a rare indulgence of the visceral. His breathing had slowed, his muscles relaxed, his mind free. He smiled at the bug. Stay as long as you like.

From behind he heard Papa correct the girls use of the what sounded like an irregular verb as one of the teens went into an impressive hackey-sac solo to the clapping accompaniment of his mates. At center-pitch the Brazilian all-stars had scored another goal it seemed. There were no nets, just two well worn patches of dirt where maybe a thousand goalies perviously had left their prints.

And then everything changed. Day turned to night with no dusk to buffer, Apples turned orange. The jolt was like an electrical current. It ran the length of his spine and came to rest at the base of his skull. It was an old memory. A simple scene from not that long ago, but it still carried a charge.

It was summer. He was taking care of his girl friends thee kids. Boys, 11 and twins at 8. They went for a bike ride around the neighborhood. They lived in a rental house way too small for the four of them because anything more suitable was way too expensive. The house bordered on a new development, cookie cutter McMansions. They came across a small green belt area with a swing set and open field, not really a park, but space to play. There were three young girls playing kick ball and a man across the street with a push-broom, supervising. Without thinking, he stopped his bike and started to play catch with the boys tossing a nerf football that he had carried along. That lasted about three minutes before the boys were invited to play kick-ball by the girls. He was walking back to his bike to watch and allow the kids to play when the man with the broom came over and said that the boys couldn't play here. Rules. Residents only. You have to OWN one of THESE houses to use this space.

OOh, really?

Yes.

These boys live right there he said pointing to the rental house.

Yes, I know. They can't play here.

You're serious?

Yes.

They're kids.

I know, they have to go play somewhere else.

He could feel his anger about to take control, so he called the boys and said let's go. They rode off, leaving everyone wondering what had just happened. And more importantly, why.

The ladybug, reaching his shoulder, jumped into flight.