The Bench

A lot of times, when I am figuring out my shot, I try to come up with a story that I try to convey in the finished image.

This old bench screamed its story to me without me having to do much thinking.

The bench told me a story of the depot in the mid 1960’s, a young man in a grey suit sitting nervously on the bench with a bouquet of roses laying next to him.

He keeps looking at his watch, wishing the train would be early, or at least on time, anything but late. It felt as if he had been waiting a lifetime to see her.

The her, was the love of his life. When he came back from the war, their plan was to marry, and get to having a family, just like his parents, and their parents had done.

Finally, the train rolled into the station. His heart filled with excitement as the passengers and their suitcases spilled out of the train. The wait was killing him. He kept waiting impatiently as the passengers continued out of the train.

She never got off the train, well, she never got on the train to begin with.

You see, she met some people in California that explained the atrocities of war, and how the love of her life had probably killed many innocent women and children, and the man he was when he came home would not be the one she loved when he left. It was easy for her to believe, seeing the news coverage of the war. She always believed Charlie, after all he was a very smart man.

The trains no longer roll into that station, now all you hear is the laughter of children playing among the railcars. If you listen closely, hidden behind the sounds of the wind and the laughter, you can hear the sound of a young man crying.

That’s what this lonely old bench said to me.