There's an old gentleman sitting on a park bench. His short white mustache stretches out as he grins and stretches his long legs out in front of him. Who is he and what is he doing there?


Adam wondered if his face would be sore tomorrow. Those smile muscles hadn't had much of a workout lately.

Everything changes with the coming of spring. He wished he would have remembered that back at the beginning of February when he was trying to decide if it was worth opening his eyes on another day. If he had only been able to envision this one. There were blooms and blossoms everywhere. Redbud trees and Bradford pears were beginning to lose their edge with the mix of green leaves among their blossoms. Still, backed by the deep French blue of receding storm clouds, the tree blossoms and tender green leaves glimmered with the most stubborn of raindrops that resisted being sucked into the air by the brightening sun.

The forsythia bushes were clotted with yellow flowers. Pink, purple and white flox edged beds of finished jonquils and about-to-bloom tulips. The grass was truly beginning to green. It was the kind of scene that made a man want to put a camera on automatic and toss it in the air. There could not be a bad picture.

He could feel the breeze run invisible fingers though the thick curls of his white hair and then crawl down his neck. Adam pulled the windbreaker a little tighter against the chill. It would not due to come down with a cold this soon and have Caroline back in her nursing roll. He just couldn't take that much attention again so soon.

The solitude was lucious. With nothing to derail his train of thought he let his mind flit over things like having Walter Haley over to play chess, and getting back together with the book club. It was so quiet except for the birds who seemed to take such delight in singing after a night of rain. Not many people were up and about this early. Had his children known he had left the house even before dawn had truly broken, they would probably have dashed down here to coax him home out of the cold and into an overheated house to swallow unsalted, unsweetened oatmeal, no coffee, and half a glass of orange juice to sluice down the myriads of pills that seemed to fill his belly these days before he even got a chance to eat real food.

Two weeks ago Adam would have sworn that this day would never come. He thought he would be in pajamas and slippers forever, with his daughter Caroline hovering at his elbow asking how he was feeling and reminding him to do everything just as the doctor perscribed as though he had no memory left at all. Stewart would come by and read him the paper as if his eyes no longer worked then have him sign checks and papers to keep the gears of red tape turning smoothly. The only highlight of the long recuperative days was his granddaughter Pearl who seemed to ignore the fact that he had been sick and treated him like the grandpa she had always known.

He had heard the whispered arguments between Pearl's mother, Amy and Caroline about whether Pearl carried too many germs, or if she should be sitting on the bed, or if she stayed too long and wore him out. Adam would have died right then and there if Amy hadn't stuck to her guns and won these battles. The little girl was the torch held out in front of him that led him to the end of the tunnel.

Adam stared at the tip of his shoes and wondered if there was a way to straighten things out with Amy. How he wished he could. Things were easier exercising their relationship through her daughter, but these past couple months had impressed on him the fact that there wasn't endless time ahead of them. How much had they missed out on already and how much more would they allow go by before they tackled the tough stuff?

Here in the sunshine on the park bench, Adam felt it was time. He just wondered if he'd feel that way once he was back in the house where his courage and dignity seemed to flee from him these days as his children tried to do the "right thing" by him.

Adam stood up and stretched as though he were about to take off on a run. The path snaked over a gentle hill and then disappeared into a stand of elms that were throwing off bright green seed pods. Birds flitted in and out among the branches and he wondered how anyone could keep such a creature in a cage if they really knew--as he did now--what it felt like to be cooped up against your will. He settled into a long, comfortable stride, probably fast enough to give Caroline her own heart attack if she could see him. Just as he got to the trees a young girl jogged past him with a small dog on a leash bouncing forward at her side. Adam came to a standstill and watched the pair of them lope on in perfect harmony.

That was it. He needed a dog.

His Cocker Spaniel, Sophie, had been killed in the collision that had nearly claimed his own life. The heart attack had struck as he pulled away from the intersection of Tenth and Broadway headed north. He'd been lucky that the impact had happened at a relatively slow rate of speed. The other driver was uninjured and the heart attack was the only thing Adam had had to recuperate from. But Sophie had been tossed into the windshield like a rag doll.

He had missed her once he had been allowed to go home, but Caroline wouldn't hear of hair and germs in the house while it was under her watch. Now she was back home with her own family, her job finished with the doctor's pronouncement of full recovery. Stewart had just been sent to California for his job. It would be a perfect time to call Amy and enlist the assistance of she and Pearl on a quest for a new companion.

And perhaps he would find a way to regain the companionship of his daughter. Or at least start the journey to another kind of healing.