The Matchmaker Meets Her Match

THREE

At forty years of age, I, Beatrice Berenice, was a yet to be wed, childless woman who was unhappy and burdened by terrible news. There was not much of a distraction in my daily life and I had spent the last few days visiting the park near my home daily with the intention of keeping my mind at ease. I did not have an occupation and hadn't worked since a part time job I had as a waitress. I never had financial problems despite being unemployed and not having been born into a wealthy family.

My father was a poor countryman who worked hard and honestly; not for his family's sake, but for his drinking habits and his many women. He took pleasure in pleasing strangers more than he did with my mother, his wife, and she eventually left me with him when I was only five years old. He was a terrible husband but had been a terrific father. When my mother left, that had been his wake up call and he gave up his life of pleasure to devout it to me. That didn't last long, however, because he was diagnosed with an illness after I turned ten and passed on when I was fifteen.

He never mentioned to me once that he was ill until an autopsy revealed that he had died from an incurable illness; a hereditary one at that. At forty, I learned that I was diagnosed with the same illness. On the day I had consulted a doctor because my body felt very heavy and I had been vomiting for two days straight, I walked out of the examination room with a prescription for medication that would help relieve the pain while I waited... waited for my end to arrive.

The doctor had gently but firmly told me that it was already too late to do anything that could save my life and suggested that I visit his office every week so that I wouldn't have to go through the struggle on my own. He recommended a therapist as well in case I found myself developing panic attacks, but I didn't take any of his suggestions to heart. I was initially shocked by the diagnosis but soon came to believe that it was punishment for the way I had lived my life. For the sins I had committed and it was retribution for those innocent souls I did wrong.

I had no intentions of heading to the pharmacy to get the prescribed medication. Instead, I took a different turn down the road and walked about randomly, my mind far away from where my body was, until I reached a park. I was contemplating the remainder of my life during the short walk and decided to head into the park to continue my thinking there. I stopped before a bench, fixed the back of my skirt as I prepared to sit, then put my purse down next to me when I did.

It was late in the morning but the park was as active as it was in the afternoon. I was living in the city after all, having moved there the moment after I turned twenty. There was nothing left for me in the countryside. My father had already perished and my mother left, leaving me completely alone. It was ironic in the sense that I had never been alone before in my life until that point. When my mother was absent, my father was present and when he left me, too, I found a man to fill the void.

When I left him, I repeated the cycle over and over again, too many times for me to count. I had been a lover to many but not a wife to a single one. Many men had been my lovers, and many of them had been husbands to other people.

The prescription was in my purse. I would rip it apart at home and take my punishment fully without any relief. I deserved every moment of that pain. The doctor had told me that though the illness was hereditary, I stood less than a one percent change of inheriting it. I did not have bad luck. My life was filled with nothing but happy moments at other people's expenses and pain. I was diagnosed with the illness as punishment; one that could have been avoided had I lived a righteous life.

I was seated on a bench on the side of a stone path and across said path was a pond. I witnessed a group of ducks float across, the mother stopping every few seconds for the younger ones to catch up, then proceeded to float on to somewhere else in the park. As I watched the scene, a single tear rolled out the corner of my eye, forming a small river that ran down my cheek and eventually dropped off my chin onto my hand on my lap.

"Are you upset?" The voice of a young boy caught my attention. I turned my head to the other side of the path were a young boy was standing. He had watched me the entire time I had my eyes on the duck. I immediately brought my hand up to wipe away the tear and a small smile formed on my lips. He watched me curiously.

"No... there's something caught in my eye," I said to him and he hummed as a response. He was obviously skeptical of my response but would not pester me too much about it. I thought he would hurry along to where his parents or his friends were but he stayed there for a full minute, watching me.

"Are you here on your own? How old are you?" I asked next and that was when he crossed the path and stopped beside me. He didn't sit down. He was a restless boy who was always ready to run around and cause trouble. An uncomfortable child who gave his parents a hard time.

"I'm eight years old. My parents are in that building, over there," he pointed upwards with his small hand and my eyes followed his finger above the tops of the trees to the skyscraper across the street. They must have been in a meeting or something similar and he had ran out because he was too bored to wait for them to finish. While it wasn't okay for a child to run off without his parents, the park was only across the street and not too far from where they were.

"You must have been bored," I commented.

"Very bored," and he replied with a whiny voice to emphasize how restless he must have been from waiting. He was closer to me so I took in features. He was very short for an eight year old and his pale-blonde hair styled in a crew cut made him stand out. His facial features weren't bad either and I was certain he would grow up to be a very handsome young man.

"What's your name?" I asked him next and he pursed his lips in suspicion. I wondered why he was so reluctant to reveal his name to me.

"My parents are famous and they told me not to tell anyone my name... It's dangerous, they said," he stated in a boastful manner. I held in a sigh and kept the same smile fixed on my face. He was bratty as well and I hoped he wouldn't grow up to be one of those snobby, rich people. But what did it matter to me how he would be when he was fully grown? I wouldn't be around long enough to witness it.

"Well, my name is Beatrice... Berenice Beatrice. I'm not famous like you are but I want you to know my name," I said as a friendly gesture. He watched me with an expression of confusion written on his face. He wasn't certain whether to trust me or not. I was not concerned about him not trusting me. In fact, I had lost interest in learning his name, but he decided to reveal it to me off his own volition, which came as somewhat of a surprise to me.

"I won't tell you my full name... but you can call me Robin," he said, sounding rather proud of his name. He must have liked his name very much. There wasn't anything wrong with loving a name.

"Okay, Robin. Why don't you go on about your day now?" I said as a vague signal for him to run off somewhere. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and realized that being in a park wasn't exactly the best location for that. It was better for me to head on home instead.

"No, you haven't answered my question yet." I had been reaching over to my purse to pick it up when he replied, causing me to stop and look down at his face.

"I thought I already did," I said, intentionally sounding confused so that I wouldn't have to talk to him anymore. He wasn't being a menace or a bother to have around. I wasn't that mean to children but I didn't want to be near a nosy one at that time.

"You're obviously upset and you won't admit it," he stated, proud of the fact that he had debunked a mystery that wasn't all that mysterious. He was bright and knew that I was lying to him. Any other child would have believed my lie of having something in my eye but he wasn't about to fall for that.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you the truth?" I asked.

"I think it would make you feel better," he said, leaving me mystified. I had to remind myself that I was talking to a child and would not be tempted to open up to him. He may have been quick-witted, or perhaps he was just being a smart aleck, but he was still a child and I didn't want to traumatize him with my terrible problem.

"Well... I don't think it will," I said, my smile having dropped moments ago. I picked up my purse and stood up.

"You shouldn't leave your parents' sight. It's a dangerous world for small children like you," were my final words to him before I turned on my heel and began to walk away from him.

"Beatrice...!" I heard the boy call out my name. I stopped in place but didn't turn around. I thought I wouldn't hear more from him but it turned out that I was very wrong.

"I hope to see you again!" Were his final words to me that brought out tears from both my eyes this time. A painful lump was stuck in my throat when it finally hit me that I didn't have much longer to live. The boy had helped me realize that and though I wanted to see him again, too, I couldn't, no matter how much I wished to. He had been nice to me; too nice, actually. I didn't deserve such kindness but he showed some to me anyway.

I turned my head slightly so that he could only see half of it and flashed a smile in his direction. I didn't hide the fact that I was upset this time and let him reciprocate the smile. It was the last smile I would ever see because when I returned home and locked myself in my apartment to cry for a long time with so much regret, I never left again.