I might have said something else or kept my mouth shut if I’d known or had thought a little more. I’ll be more vigilant next time; it’s the only promise I can make. You can never tell what’s disguised behind a person’s smile.
Last Sunday, I walked along my usual path by the lake. The city had recently upgraded those old beaten-up benches and replaced them with a composite construction — they’ll never rot. To the backrest of each one, they’ve attached a tiny stainless steel plaque, commemorating someone in the community. Inscribed are a name, a year and a few kind words. I’ve looked into it, don’t ask me why, and several thousand dollars will buy you immortality for twenty-five years; that’s the length of the lease of that polished honour.
As I approached, a family hovered near one of those benches. One of the ladies smiled at me as they attached a dozen roses to the frame. They were three young mothers with their children and husbands; and one very old lady in a wheelchair.
I didn’t think when I asked the question, “Is this a relative?”
After the family had left, I googled the name on that plaque — talk about irony. Louise was sixty-three when she passed in July 2021. She’d worked in the MRI department of the McGill University Hospital. Eight years ago, I went for an MRI and Louise was my technician. How do I remember? She shared her family name with a famous hockey player, so I asked if she was related. Louise laughed, and so did I.
I’ll remember Louise every time I walk by that bench. And when I think about it, a tiny legacy in a beautiful park is a wonderful idea. Another thought crept into my head, what would be my legacy?
Damn… I’ll have to start hustling and finish my novel, or better yet — start writing one.