II
Dale brushed his palms against the seat of the park bench. Ol', ol' bench. How warm, despite the chilly night breeze. It is this bench which helps Dale retain memories about his daughter. People say memories are best retained in photos, but Dale thinks otherwise. Oh, how we used to spend time together, he thought.
Dale slowly landed his bottoms onto the seat and squinted as his back ached. I ought to get this back of mine checked out, Dale reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He shifted his body in an awkward manner and laid supine, eyes staring at the vast universe that God have built. Stars were lined at every corner of the sky. How beautiful, Dale admired. The moon was also as bright as the stars, once again displaying the true works of the creator of mankind. Dale felt an agonizing stab against his chest, and led out a hoarse cough. He pounded his ribs in hopes the cough would subside. Alcohol has played a major role in Dale's life. It has been a friend of Dale, saving him from attempted suicides more than his previous shrinks ever have.
But this intimate companionship only came about after the death of Olivia.
The pain.
Dale never wanted it to end up the way it did. A horrendous ending of a dreadful nightmare. A nightmare which last for two and a half years.
Dale sighed and tapped the side of the bench and hummed a tune. A tune so filled with calmness and halcyon that even the chirping nightbirds stopped to listen. It was a tune so familiar to Dale, a tune made by him and his most beloved--Miley.
It was a sultry afternoon in the park. The jubilant giggles and laughters could be heard everywhere. The scorching sunlight shone through the dense trees and casted a mosaic of shadows unto the park pavement. Smiling and grinning parents could be seen holding on to their children, teaching them the tricks and ways to conquer the monkey bars. Some succeeded triumphantly while the others failed miserably.
Dale was watching all these from a park bench. The Boston Red Sox cap he was wearing was shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight. He shifted his gaze toward the ice cream truck parked under a shady oak tree. Mister Frost was what the neighbourhood called him. Always a jolly looking man, liked by both young and adults. The latter was probably due to the fact that Mr Frost was married to a fine looking Mrs Frost. The slim brunette, sultry as the summer air, gave up her career as a lawyer and married the love of her life, the neighbourhood ice-cream man. Mrs Frost was there too, giving out ice-cream and raking in dollar bills from either loving or perverted fathers. But Dale's attention wasn't on Mrs Frost's loosened apron, but on the love of HIS life--Miley. Dale saw her running toward him, both hands clutching the ice-cream cones, as clumsy as a Winnie the Pooh bear.
The pain.
Dale never wanted it to end up the way it did. A horrendous ending of a dreadful nightmare. A nightmare which last for two and a half years.
Dale sighed and tapped the side of the bench and hummed a tune. A tune so filled with calmness and halcyon that even the chirping nightbirds stopped to listen. It was a tune so familiar to Dale, a tune made by him and his most beloved--Miley.
It was a sultry afternoon in the park. The jubilant giggles and laughters could be heard everywhere. The scorching sunlight shone through the dense trees and casted a mosaic of shadows unto the park pavement. Smiling and grinning parents could be seen holding on to their children, teaching them the tricks and ways to conquer the monkey bars. Some succeeded triumphantly while the others failed miserably.
Dale was watching all these from a park bench. The Boston Red Sox cap he was wearing was shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight. He shifted his gaze toward the ice cream truck parked under a shady oak tree. Mister Frost was what the neighbourhood called him. Always a jolly looking man, liked by both young and adults. The latter was probably due to the fact that Mr Frost was married to a fine looking Mrs Frost. The slim brunette, sultry as the summer air, gave up her career as a lawyer and married the love of her life, the neighbourhood ice-cream man. Mrs Frost was there too, giving out ice-cream and raking in dollar bills from either loving or perverted fathers. But Dale's attention wasn't on Mrs Frost's loosened apron, but on the love of HIS life--Miley. Dale saw her running toward him, both hands clutching the ice-cream cones, as clumsy as a Winnie the Pooh bear.
"Look what i've got, daddy!" screamed Miley excitedly, licking the base of one of the cone.
"Vanilla?" asked Dale.
"They ran out of mint," explained Miley with a disappointing tone. "sorry daddy."
Dale couldn't help it but to laugh and pressed Miley against his chest, stroking her back. Miley led out a weak burp and they both burst into laughter.
"Who's that daddy?" asked Miley, pointing toward a bearded man lying on the bench opposite theirs. He was clearly a hobo, judging by his outer appearance. The checkered shirt he was wearing was missing the right sleeve and flies(or so did Dale thought) were circling his head.
"That's just an ol' man, Miley," Dale answered. "just an ol', ol' man."
"Ol' ol' man," Miley repeated, this time mimicking the tone of her dad. "ol', ol' man on an ol', ol' bench."
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