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His name was Frederick. He knew that much. The waitress at the diner down east called him "old Fred". The six punks who he passed every day on his way to the park called him "fucking wino". He preferred to be called Frederick, but no one ever asked him what he preferred to be called. Sometimes he'd just pretend that he was talking to someone and that the someone was calling him Frederick. It made him smile.
Every day Frederick would shuffle to the park clutching his paper bag. Frederick wasn't a strong man, and he could barely find change in his pockets without his hands shaking, but he held that paper bag with the might of steel. That was how he liked to think of it. Anyone with the might of steel can't be all that bad, and Frederick knew he was not all that bad. Frederick sat on his favorite bench in the park and looked around once to see if there were any children around. He had once uncovered his paper bag in front of a little girl, and the little girl's mother looked like she wanted to kill him before she quickly took her daughter away. Frederick had felt sad when that happened. He wasn't a bad man. He'd tried to live without the bottle once. It wasn't a happy life. The bottle helped him forget. He felt something squeeze in his chest, but he'd been getting those pains a lot. He didn't have enough money to see a doctor, and besides, the nurses would look at him funny if he went looking the way he looked and smelling the way he smelt. He waited until the squeezing sensation left, then looked around again. There were a group of children in the park but they were too far away to see what he was holding. A woman in white jogged past him, and he smiled when he saw a brown stain on her ivory trackpants. There was a boy and a girl at another bench ten feet away from him, but they were old enough not to be offended by a lonely old man with a bottle. Maybe they were as old as the punks he always passed by. They looked nicer, though. The girl was spinning in the grass in front of the bench, her arms flung out and her head tipped back. She had a pretty smile, and Frederick liked her laugh. It sounded like the bells his mother used to hang on the tree at Christmas. Frederick hadn't thought of his mother in a long time. The boy was sitting on the bench watching her. His face looked like the type that would frown sternly at Frederick if he caught sight of the bottle, but right now he didn't notice Frederick. He was gazing at the girl with a slight barely-there smile, his eyes lit up. Frederick recognized that look and smiled to himself. He used to look at Marley Jane like that, before she walked into the wrong drugstore at the wrong time. She'd only wanted to get a home pregnancy kit. She shouldn't have had to die. Frederick's smile faded and he tipped the bottle back, feeling the bitter bubbles slide down his old throat. The girl spun close enough to the bench that the boy could reach out and snag her by the waist. She squealed as he pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled his nose in the crook between her neck and her long blonde hair. "Silly Sebby," she giggled, wriggling in her seat. Frederick heard the boy give a muffled groan before squeezing her closer. Frederick smiled and tipped the bottle again, his old eyes still on the couple. He wondered if they would notice him staring at them and move away in disgust, like so many couples did. Frederick hoped they didn't. He liked looking at them. The girl wriggled more, as if she was about to spin away. The boy gripped her harder, his forehead against her shoulder. "Don't move," he said hoarsely. The girl looked at him, then down at his lap on which she sat, and obeyed. Soon her light fingers began stroking his close-cropped brown hair. Frederick could hear the boy breathe deeply and harshly. He looked at the girl on the boy's lap and Frederick smiled, knowing why. He remembered times like those with Marley Jane. The girl didn't blush the way Marley Jane had, however, nor did she duck her head. Her face was fair and smooth like perfect china porcelain. Her eyes were a vivid blue that even Frederick could see from where he was sitting. She continued playing with "Sebby"'s hair, not noticing that it only made his breathing more ragged. "I like that song we heard," she said simply, as if they were sipping milkshakes through red-and-white straws opposite each other in a diner. "I like a lot of songs that we hear Down Here, but I like this one a lot." She spoke not like a maturing woman who knew she was wanted, but like a young girl unconscious of her appeal. Poor Sebby, Frederick thought, and choked on his liquor with a laugh. She started singing softly and Frederick stopped choking. She had a magical voice, like lilting flutes.
I've been biding my time "Lia, stop," Sebby said hoarsely.
Been so subtly kind "Lia!" The girl stopped singing. She looked down to see the storm flare across the boy's gray-green eyes. Her hand stopped moving against his hair. "I'm sorry," she said. "You don't get it, do you?" he demanded. His hand captured the nape of her neck and pulled her mouth down to his. She moved obligingly to accommodate his lips. Frederick's fingers tightened on the neck of his bottle. The couple finally parted, the girl breathing hard. Frederick could see a spark of male satisfaction in the boy's eyes, though his jaw was still hard from wanting. The boy buried his face in the girl's hair, inhaling her sweet scent. Frederick imagined the girl must smell like summer flowers. "But we're Down Here," she said softly. "We can -- you can. . . do things now. Things you want to." Frederick coughed on his drink and struggled for breath. There was no mistaking what she meant by "things". He sneaked a look at the couple but they didn't seem to hear or notice him. Couples were like that about sex, especially when they were young. Frederick remembered doing it with Marley Jane in the janitor's room once, both of them muffling giggles and hoping they didn't get caught. Frederick wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He didn't know what the girl meant by "Down Here". Maybe they were from up north, like Alaska or something. The boy lifted his head, his gaze meeting the girl's. "But do you want to?" "Of course," she said simply, her hand now playing with the collar of his black felt coat. The boy's look remained stiff and hard, then he rested his head on the girl's chest. "You're too innocent, you know that?" "I know," she said. "But I have you." "You should've remained Up There," he said roughly. "That's where you belong. Innocent and sweet and pure. Your place is not here." "You were once Up There too," she argued. "And I left! Or have you forgotten?" "How can I forget?" She was back to tousling his hair again, her face as young and guileless as before. "You shouldn't have followed me. You belong -" "I belong with you. I wanted to follow you. He was wrong." Her head rested on his. "He often is, but He never listens." They were silent for so long that Frederick thought that was the end of it. Pigeons investigated Frederick's feet but found no crumbs and left him. He wanted to take another gulp from his bottle but didn't because the paper bag would crackle. He didn't want to make any noise. Then the girl started to sing, and Frederick didn't move at all.
So now you feel rusty A muffled sound came from the boy, like a stifled laugh.
So now you feel lusty Her voice faded with the breeze back into silence. Frederick thought she sang like an angel. He looked down at his bottle. His vision blurred and he was unable to read the label. He felt something squeeze in his chest again. He tried to breathe but air wouldn't come into his lungs. Maybe he should see a doctor. It didn't matter if the nurses looked at him funny. Maybe. . . The bottle wrapped in a paper bag slipped from his fingers and clinked softly on the grass at his feet. Maybe he would see Marley Jane again. Frederick smiled as his eyes closed.
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