The laces on Henry’s running shoes were starting to come undone as he ran around Columbus Circle heading towards Central Park. He was frustrated by the cotton laces he used on his shoes. One more time they had snapped while he tied them while preparing for his run. Even so, he continued using the cotton laces. He loved the way they felt when he tied them into a knot. The feel of the cotton reminded him of the success and praise Pops had heaped on him as a child. He could hear his father’s words, way to go, son, as he pulled the cotton strings together. The laces were a daily reminder of the warmth his dad had filled him with, giving him the confidence he continues to hold onto, and the self-esteem that propels him on his lunch-time runs. The simple gesture of knotting them is an homage to the man he loves so well. He made a mental note to take them to the concierge in his building after his run. The concierge would fix them. He fixed everything for the executives in the high-rise offices.

Henry’s lunch hour commonly gave him enough time to make the loop up Columbus, into the park, around the merry-go-round, the smaller duck pond, and across the two baseball fields. Forty minutes was all he needed to get his cardio in for the day but today he was running a little late and so began to pick up the pace.

As soon as he rounded the merry-go-round and started heading for the duck pond and the first ball field he spotted him. The man’s large frame nearly covered the length of one of the smaller park benches, leaving scant room for another body to sit. His hair was matted, and his brown overcoat was growing even more tattered. The man’s shoes were still on his feet, in good shape, not too worn yet, Henry thought, and then Henry’s eyes checked the condition of his trousers and woven hat. All seemed to be intact. The scarf was still new-looking. That was the last thing Henry had gotten him.

Even though there was a light drizzle, Henry had left his umbrella back at the office. He liked to run in inclement weather. The morning forecaster assured her viewers there would only be a little moisture advising no need to bring an umbrella for the day. But this was New York, after all, and the weather was as capricious as a cat in heat. He was beginning to wish he had.

He glanced at his watch. It was 12:17 PM. Twenty-three minutes left. He had to be quick so he could wolf down that sandwich at his desk, ordered by the concierge, delivered by the deli man, and then quickly change back into his suit and tie before the next client.

When he got to where the big man was sitting Henry carefully sidled up to him and asked the man if he could sit down. It was hard to see him like this. Pops smelled pretty bad most days, but from past experience, the cooler weather made it easier to be near him. The rain, however, made it doubly hard.  

The old man’s head sluggishly turned in the direction of the presumed stranger. As the man on the bench faced Henry he seemed braced, as though ready to deflect any attack. Henry noted his eyes were a dulled brown, not the vibrant color they had once been. One eye was completely clouded by a thick cataract, the other was starting to cloud over as well. It took the old man a few moments to register who was standing in front of him. Once he did he slowly nodded and patted the space next to him. “How are you son?” Henry was crushed by the beauty of his smile.    

“Pretty good, Pops,” Henry answered, shuffling foot to foot, “pretty good.” A self-consciousness had overcome Henry. He loved his father.

“Weather’s starting to turn. Fall drizzle.” Pops was rearranging himself on the bench. Henry sat next to him, facing him as best he could. “How I love the fall,” Pops mumbled seeming uncomfortable while moving. Then he coughed a violent, phlegmy cough. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he almost gagged with the difficulty of the spasm, his face turning red, his body shaking. Once he cleared, he spit the glob over the side of the bench onto the dirt. Pulling the back of his hand across his mouth, he smeared what appeared to Henry like a little blood. While recovering, Pops’ breath became wheezy. Even from his distance, Henry could hear the rattling in his chest.

Henry wanted to look inside the man’s chest, get a kind of “sidewalk” diagnosis, make sure the man could stay out in the elements, at least not needing something for infection, catching TB since he last saw him.

While Pops recovered Henry stumblingly offered, “Smells good, this fall air,” embarrassing himself.

“Yeah,” the old man said grunting, recovering from the explosive coughing spell, his wheezing beginning to subside. He turned his attention towards Henry. “I’m guessing you’re pretty busy, like usual, huh?” the old man asked, making a feigned attempt to brush something off his ample belly, bits of breakfast Henry hoped. Henry made another mental note, Pops needs some new gloves. The ones he was wearing were worn through the fingers.

“Yes sir, I am,” Henry replied. “Always busy, but not too busy to stop and talk to you.”

“Well you don’t have to stop son, I know you gotta run,” he said, chuckling at his own pun.

“It’s okay Pops. I can take a few minutes.” Henry said, uncomfortable, not really wanting this interruption in his lunch-time routine. He had back-to-back meetings in the afternoon and needed to get himself prepared for a new client coming in from Japan.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” Pops asked, teasing, always genuinely interested.

“Just a few meetings,” Henry said. “Nothing big deal.”

“Well, I guess my day will be spent going on over to the shelter. Get me something to eat.”

“Have you eaten yet today?” Henry asked.

“Nope,” Pops answered, looking off at the children on the ball field as they gathered their things to get out of the rain. The clouds were opening a little wider now and the drizzle that started on Henry’s run was bolder, beginning to cover the pavement.

“Can I get you something? I could run to the store,” Henry asked, genuinely concerned, while glancing at his Apple Watch, Series 2. The doorman to his condo building had been impressed, commenting on Henry’s taste.

Pops interrupted Henry’s thoughts. “I just didn’t feel like eating. Haven’t wanted to put much into this old thing,” he said, gently slapping his mid-section.

“You see the doctor at the shelter last week?”

“Nope,” Pops said. His eyes seemed to dance along the backdrop of skyscrapers on the outside of the park. The huge buildings towered over the ball field where the children played. ‘Monoliths of the industrial age’ Pops used to call them. He would chuckle at the irony the idea held for him. ‘Population containment’ he would say, as a younger man, while giving speeches in great halls. His illustrative career long gone, the only speeches he gave were to people in the shelter.

“You want me to put some pressure on the place?” Henry asked, lovingly. Pops could do what he wanted but Henry wanted him to be safe, at least as much as possible.

“You gonna get all those doctors, lawyers and Indian Chiefs riled up to take care of me?’ Pops said. He had teased Henry on many occasions about wielding his power on Pops’ behalf.

“Henry. You’re a good boy. But I don’t need your help and you know it,” Pops voice grew slightly louder, not reprimanding, just asserting his edges.

“I know Pops, I know.” In spite of everything that had changed in the old man’s life, he needed to preserve as much of his father’s dignity as he could. “I just want to help. If you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything right now, son,” Pops said and started to move as though he would stand. “You’ve done more than enough,” the big man said, scooting his bottom forward. “I gotta get up.”

Henry popped up off the bench offering his hands, spacing his feet, and bending his knees to offset the weight of the larger, older man, assisting him to stand.

“Thank you, son,” Pops muttered, scooting even more forward, seeming to try to steady himself before rocking his upper body to stand.

As Pops rose Henry noted that Pops pants were stained between his legs. Then the smell hit him. Pops pants stuck to his leg. Henry bent slightly and gently lifted the pants leg. There was stool pooling in the space between his sock and shoe. Henry steadied Pops, holding onto his arms, his eyes searching for Pops’ crutch. He saw it. The rubber underarm protector was missing, leaving the bare, solid wood on the old frame. Even so, it was out of reach, propped behind the bench.

Pops staggered and rocked forward before Henry could reach the crutch, pulling Henry off balance, losing his grip on Pops. As Pops staggered, stool smeared across the asphalt walkway causing both Pops and Henry to slip. Henry was unable to steady himself or the hulking man. Pops’ huge body fell onto his side. He breathed out a grunt of what seemed like pain, or was it despair? Henry didn’t know. Henry remained standing, leaning over Pops, his shoulders slumped forward, his hands reaching for the old man. Pops couldn’t seem to move. Henry was not sure what to do but was desperate to do something.

Then the sky opened and the rain poured pelting Henry on the top of his head. He watched the water pour onto the still man at his feet. Henry lifted his face to feel the rain and was grateful for it washing away the tears that grew in his eyes.

Standing above his beloved father, his face skyward, Henry heard the horns of cars honking in the distance, their cacophony echoing over the stone-walled perimeter of the park. He heard the mimicry of the black crows crying high in the bare trees as they searched for shelter. He heard the squeals of the children as they exited the park, their guardians scurrying them away, out of the newly earnest downpour. Henry and Pops were alone, just the two, in the middle of eight million people and no one around, no one for Henry to call.

Henry knelt next to his father. He leaned over Pops’ face trying to protect him from the rain, hoping he was still aware enough to hear him. “Oh Pops,” Henry breathed out, “I am so sorry dad.” Reaching to caress the man’s face Henry was repelled by the stool and grime. He let the rain wash away as much as it could before he put his hands over the man’s eyes and nose, covering his face, protecting him from the growing onslaught. He touched Pops shoulder, gently, nudging the man to see if he was still awake. Pops did not move.

Slapping his own body, Henry sighed in anguish. “Oh Pops,” Henry said, “I don’t have my phone. I left it. I have to leave you here, Pops…go and find some help.” Henry gingerly lifted the man’s head and pulled his cap off, placing it under his cheek. “There Pops, that should make you more comfortable,” he said, cursing forgetting his phone.  

The rain pelted the old man where he lay. Streams of water were beginning to course off and around him, rolling down the sides of the sloped pavement and under the bench where he had sat.

“I won’t be long, Pops,” Henry said, beginning to stand. “I won’t be long,” he said, bending once again, touching his father’s battered face, finally comfortable enough to wipe away the stuck grime, the rainwater making it easier for Henry.

“Can you hear me Pops?” Henry begged.

The old man didn’t stir.

“If you can hear me Pops,” he began again, then stopped. Fully standing now, he searched the park, scanning the grounds. Shielding his eyes from the rain, like a tired salute, Henry tried to focus on the openings in the stone fence that pedestrians used, the great stone fence that edged the perimeter of Central Park.

“When I’m gone, if you can get up, just lie on the bench here and wait,” he said, pointing towards the bench, as though the old man could see.

“I’ll get some help dad,” he said, choking on the rain he breathed in, it too now coursing down Henry’s face.

“I promise Pops,” Henry said, raising his voice, hoping the old man could hear him.

“I won’t be long,” he repeated again, and then once again knelt down next to the man, holding his body over him, shielding him from the pelting rain, unable to leave his beloved father.  

– Carol Anne Perini