Our Falling Leaves: His POV, Ch. 1

???? Our Falling Leaves is a six-part, multi-POV (M and F chapters) mosaic about love, loss, and the ordinary moments that hold a life together. Across multiple fall seasons and shifting narrators, a couple's story unfolds--from a spark under an oak tree to intimacy, fracture, and the grief that follows--shadowed by a loyal dog, the man's own sketchbook and the woman's detailed memories.

Part 1: When We Met

I see green turn to orange, and the falling leaves brush against my boots while I sit on this bench. My sketches in this journal, and every charcoal stroke, capture the changing shape of the trees as they thin, each at its own rate. I try to capture the essence of reds and oranges through the strokes of my charcoal and in the words of my notes. It is the sepia toned time, so brown, tan and worn, like the leather binding around my pages. This is the time when memories of my life with you surface most.

The kids playing baseball on the field are winding down their little league seasons that they will remember in years later, with dads and moms in the bleachers capturing memories that they will talk about when those children are grown. I see these happy families from this bench as I sit and write my own life.

There's a crack! A hit to the outfield, a swell of excitement, claps, and parents proud of the son on first base. He runs the bases like I once did, and is anxious to get a round third towards home.

There may come a moment when that son is grown, maybe getting on to 35 years, and having difficulties in the tribulations of his own journey. His father, old and aging towards the end of his own winter, might reminisce about the days at this park and the time his son got that great hit. Maybe the challenges of mid-life won't matter, for a moment, so long as he remembers the joys of years past.

There's a woman walking her Saint Bernard, too, and the dog just ran against a pile of leaves content in his own joyful and messy game. The leaves crunch into his deep fur. She is small, and the dog looks comical in my sketches compared to her. I'm not sure if I drew her right because I think she looks too much like you on the page. Her hair isn't her true length, but how yours was last year. I'm not sure that I got her breasts the right way, or the way her hips look from behind -- it's all you. I see you most in my mind now that you're not here anymore.

This woman will come home to her spouse. The sparkle of a diamond captures the sunset light, and later she might have to decide with her husband which of them gives the dog a bath and who makes dinner. I don't think I've seen her before among the moms with their strollers or with their kids running the field. I wonder if that dog is actually some kid's best friend back at home. She reminds me of the life we ought to have had if the storms of summer hadn't destroyed so much.

The late sunset is when I like to sit here and bask in the happiness of others. Maybe the parents will be proud of their kid pitching a few innings, or I might hear this woman laughing at her oversized dog. The day hikers in the distance seem to have content faces as they rest in the air and scent of this crisp change. This park can be a happy place before it felt different to me. Nowadays I mostly see ethereal memories of younger times playing before me as I think of what else I could have said. How could I have made you happier, open? I adored you without saying it enough, or perhaps too much.

We met right over there by that large oak tree where the huge dog just jumped into the leaf pile. It was four years ago and I think I've even noticed the slow growth of that tree since then. I know there used to be a larger branch that shaded over the grass in that spot. We used to have picnics there. It cracked from some storm and the maintenance people cut it down so it wouldn't fall on anyone. If you look closely you can see the fresher wood exposed as the tree heals itself from the damage.

That day you were walking Max, that fluffy Labradoodle, and you looked like you were struggling just to keep him from tugging the leash. I loved the way you always looked in autumn, and you were dressed just so. Your green turtleneck sweater contrasted against the earth tone browns and hugged your perfect torso and breasts effortlessly. You had hair that waved softly, and in a color that shone with the sun whenever I looked at you. I can't believe how a woman could look so perfect without trying, or at least you made it seem so. That afternoon you had on your soft suede pants, and the only thing that looked casual was that pair of duck boots that you would wear if you were going to walk on any grass. You never liked to get your nice shoes dirty.

You never knew it, but I had seen you here before, as I tend to see most people when I'm drawing or writing. Why I never told you I don't know. Maybe I wanted my approach to you to have more serendipity in your mind. That way you might have cherished this story of our first meeting and have a beautiful story to tell our future kid about how you met me, your husband, had we ever had children or had weever married.

I didn't want to destroy that magic by admitting that there had been three or four times that you were walking Max and I was here admiring you, trying to muster any courage to talk to this beautiful woman.

I prepared for that day and hoped that I might see you and find a way to talk. I wore my soft burnt orange sweater under my faded jean jacket, a pair of hunter green corduroys and these same brown leather boots. I cleaned them before I grabbed my journal and walked to the park. I threw on this cashmere scarf and made sure to spritz myself with some cologne. You always liked that scent of sandalwood.

I started to walk towards you, slowly, acting as if I was casually sketching birds and lost in my book. Max, that fluffy kind devil, startled me with a few bright barks and I looked up. The only thing in my vision was you.

"Max!" you yelled, trying to calm down your dog--our dog-- tugging at the leash. I laughed at my startled jump, and you smiled while breaking into apology.

"I'm so, so sorry. He's usually calmer, I don't know what got into him," you said. I squatted down and offered my hand to the sniffing dog who decided he really had to smell my wrist.

"He seems friendly enough now," I replied as I started petting him behind the ears. Another yap.

Max broke your grip on the leash, and he leapt at me on his hind legs while launching his whole weight against my chest and knocking me back. I yelled in laughter as I tripped over on my back onto some leaves with my journal falling open next to me. I couldn't help but crack up with this dog trying to lap at my face and my stubble.

"No, no, it's fine! I love dogs!" I kept laughing during our first rough and tumble. "Who's a good boy? Yes! Good boy!" I told the dog as he started to calm down and you grabbed the leash again.

"No, I'm sorry! Max! What were you doing?" you scolded him.

"No need, he's fine, I'm fine," I told you as I smiled right at your eyes. "I told you, I'm a dog person, even if I don't have one." I reached down to pet Max behind the ears again as he sat. "He seems like a pretty good boy to me. What's his name?" I asked.

You looked at me directly with a smile back. "Max," you replied. Finally, I had your attention.

"Well, now that he and I are acquainted, what's your name?" I asked you, needing to know if it matched my thoughts. You knew then, the way I looked at you and the way you looked back at me, that I was flirting. Something about the way you looked at me that day told me your smile would grow and bloom in my life.

You told me your name. It was perfect. It was one I knew it would be, or maybe because it lasted deeply into my life, growing roots into my heart for those years.

I kept brushing the bits of leaves off my clothes and scarf as I talked with flirtation. I let you know my name, but I couldn't extend a handshake as if this were a business meeting. You deserved better, you always did. I gave you my best smile and a gentle lift of my hand in the air, instead, as my way of introduction

"Oh, your scarf!" you said, as you extended your hand towards my neck, slowly, as if to ask me if it was alright. "You have some still here," you said calmly as you hesitantly moved your hand forward to brush my scarf near my shoulder, and then picked off a few pieces of dry leaves.

"It's... beautiful. The scarf, that is," you complimented in your shy way.

"Oh, thank you. It's nothing, just something warm for a day like today. My parents gave me it for my birthday since they were tired of me wearing the same old one since college. This one seemed more 'dignified for my age' my dad told me," I explained, laughing. "As if I'm really that old."

You at least got my self-deprecating joke without me causing something awkward.

You went along. "Oh, trust me. Parents. I know what they're like. They act like it's so hard to live alone, so one day I told them I had a man in the house. I remember my mom was so happy, but then I showed her a picture of Max as a puppy!" You laughed at yourself.

I liked your joke, but I let you think it didn't land. We had a silence that wasn't strange but instead pregnant with something that might bloom. Our eyes and our smiles knew.

"Yaff!" Max said to interrupt the silence.

I watched you bend down to pick up my journal and you saw a charcoal sketch of the tree we were under with some words about autumn written in script around it.

"Here's your book," you said, slowly handing it to me and looking at the page. "It's-- wow. That's this tree? It's really beautiful how you drew it."

My opening, finally.

"Yeah," I replied, feigning a coy manner about my talents. "I try, here and there. It's what I originally went to school for, but I try to keep up my practice or else I'd lose it."

"Who's that?" you pointed, noting the beginnings of a sketch of a person walking. "Well, I was just here drawing, and you were walking," I replied, embarrassed. "It's just the start of a quick field sketch, so don't be offended. It's sort of you, I guess, if you squint hard enough."

You squinted harder, and then looked at me.

"You're going to have to work on the details. I don't even have a nose yet, and I'm not sure I'm that tall," you joked. You started to flip the pages trying to get a peak at everything else: my script hand writings, poetry entries, musings, and other sketches of flowers, animals, and people at the park.

"Look here," you pointed. "Her, this other woman walking here. At least, I don't think it's me. You clearly were way more detailed in her figure!"

"Arf!" Max interrupted the conversation.

"Max!" you smiled while chiding him. "Sorry, I think he's a little hungry and wants to get back home. We like to walk here sometimes, it's good for our exercise."

"Oh, I don't think I've seen you guys here," I replied. Not wanting to lose my chance I just had to ask.

"You know, the cafe around the corner has outdoor seating and they have these baked dog treats they sell. Maybe Max might like that? First round of treats on me?" I asked you while hoping to have this blossom in my life.

You thought about it for a good moment. "Yeah. Sure. Why not? I think we'd like that. Would you?" you asked Max as I just stared at the sunset light falling along your cheeks and lips.

"Yarf!" Max answered while tugging away in the direction of the cafe.

"Oh, I guess we're going!" You started following that way.

You walked in front of me. Your ass looked perfect in those pants, and I could already lust at you from behind as I witnessed your curves move. I had noticed your figure so many times before having sketched you on other pages, even if I was still practicing knowing your form. With each time I saw you, I got more detailed and accurate. Nothing was wrong about you.

We arrived at the cafe almost like a long-term couple, and the hostess, that pretty college girl, simply assumed that we were a party of two. Of course, with Max in tow it was obvious we'd need the patio, even though it was a little bit colder than we would have liked for an autumn day. You kept hugging yourself from the temperature, and I was worried I had already missed my first shot to try to be good to you. I at least asked the server for a heat lamp, and that helped ease your discomfort some. Max seemed fine with his white fluffy fur and water bowl beside your chair.

"So, I want to let you know that I normally don't just go out to dinner with a total stranger who has been sitting on a bench at the park, no matter whether Max goes after him or not," you opened. "I guess he thinks you're nice enough. And you know, I've been here before with him so I knew about the dog biscuits. You think with him that I wouldn't know about this place?"

I could only blush at the shame of my bravado in thinking I had impressed you with some secret knowledge of a cafe down the street from the park in which you walked. I could only stay shocked, looking at you, and smile.

"I-- I just thought he might like a cookie from here, is all." I tried to recover from being off balance to your sudden confidence.

"Oh yeah, he loves it here," you said as you were already giving him a treat that the server had brought you. "I just thought that, hey, may as well have a guest join us this time. It's usually just me and him and I think the waiters think I'm a bit sad, here always eating by myself--"

"Arf!"

"Well, not by myself!" you apologized to Max. "But for real, at a certain point after enough times the waiters get a little upset that they won't get as good of a tip from a single woman having a salad and tea."

I was with my book as you talked, already sketching what I could. I had the umbrella over the table and the beginnings of a detailed portrait of you. Your body looked perfect, your breasts amazingly perky in your sweater, and the cold forcing your body to reveal your nipples through the tightness of your top. But I wanted your eyes at that moment. The sketch of a face was beginning to materialize, and I'd already captured the shape of your eyes that I'd come to dream about, the way the curvature of your nose works, and how your lips are spaced when you sit calmly.

"Already, and you're not even listening to me? "Hello?" You challenged.

"Yeah, um, let me just--" I said lost in my book.

You propped yourself taller in your chair and leaned forward to get a peak of what I was writing or drawing. I let you see. I wanted you to see.

"Oh, it's me again?" you asked, knowingly, as you batted your eyelashes.

"Well, you're here, and I couldn't help myself. I think you are--" I paused looking up. "Pretty."

You couldn't hide the look on your face when you saw my sketch. At once you seemed impressed with what I could do with a pencil, but also taken back by the detail and reality in which I captured your eyes, the maneuvers of your facial muscles, and the spacing of your eyelids.

I couldn't help myself as you basked in front of me in the glow of an afternoon sunset and the color of the trees so matching your essence. In a moment where I feared I could have pushed too hard in this attempt, I could see that you were sparked with curiosity about me.

We ate, and talked about our careers, how long we've lived here, and went through the trivialities of a first date despite not having planned the day for one. I fear I said more about myself than you about yourself, but I wanted more of you. My drawing of you was enough to let you know I was interested, and you kept smiling with each laugh planting deeper roots in my heart.

I knew what I wanted to do when we finished eating.

We were outside the door on the sidewalk when you said, "I guess I'll see you around another time?"

I leaned forward, quietly, as you let me take my time slowly. You didn't stop at all, only your breath, as your lips awaited my arrival. My lips touched yours, finally, for the first time. A leaf fell on your hair and I brushed it off while I sketched the memory forever in my mind.