A Bench on a Hot Summers Day in London

It’s one of those days where it’s absolutely boiling hot and the clouds are hanging all too low in the sky. Muggy and thick, the air seems heavier and moister than I’ve ever known it. My forehead is damp and sticky with sweat and vines of hair flop loosely from my fringe, plastering themselves to my skin.
The bench I’m sitting on cuts into my flabby arse cheeks cruelly but I don’t bother to move. I merely shift my weight lazily and take another pull on my cigarette. Some of the sweat expunged from in between my pudgy little fingers has soaked into the lower base of the cigarette that I’m smoking; darkening the white where it touches the orange filter, I can barely make out the “Mond” on the “Richmond” logo.
She’s kicking again. My distended stomach bumps and groans like the hull of a great fat ship as I flick a finger against my belly button churlishly. It won’t be long now I suppose. I’ve been counting down the days till the end of August; her birthday. That’ll be the day that this curious little thing will burst out from inside me, out of my womb and into the hands of some stranger and then again promptly into the hands of another. I don’t care to know their names, not anymore.
I like to come for walks. Strolls really, I never go too far. It’s usually when I get bored of watching the telly or listening to the radio that I come out. Usually round here to the park. I’ve started watching these two body builder types on here. There’s a man and a woman, the man’s the trainer and she’s the pupil. They’re both built like houses.
I like to imagine that I know them. I’ve named him Linus. He reminds me of a footballer that Howard always used to chat on about. It took me a while to think of one for her but I eventually decided on Sarah – seemed appropriate, she’s got the same kind of look as my sister so she may as well have the same name. Not that I talk to my sister anymore, she called me immoral and said that she no longer knew who I was. I don’t blame her; once I’d told her about it she could have gone one way or the other and would still have been right whichever reaction she chose.

... punch, duck! Left pad punch, duck! Right pad punch, duck!...

I dunno if I’m reading a bit too much into things or if it’s the heat of the day here on this flat green expanse but I always sense a chemistry between them. Sexy little sparks alright. Take now as she jogs up and down up and down on the spot and he stands watching her. He steps over to her and puts his hand on her hips from behind, steering her with his own pelvis. He’s whispering into her ear. It seems sexual.

...Lunge! Then stand up quick! jog on the spot and then lunge back!...

I fan my breasts a little. They both look very athletic in those spandex things they like to wear. It’s almost like I can stick my big red tongue right out and taste the thick sweaty air around them and me.
The kid rummages around inside my belly again. Not like she really particularly means anything to me but she can be a comfort. Generally these periods of pregnancy that I go through every other year are full of discomfort and irritation, however, one of the few pleasures derived, (apart from the money obviously), is the strange sensation of having a life inside of me. This is our private time that we can both share before I permit her entrance into the world. I feel like an oven must feel when it’s got a little cake inside of it. Toasty warm.
So I just sit here watching those two people keeping fit and rubbing my belly. Whenever I look down at it when I’m stood in front of the mirror at home all I can do is marvel at its sheer size. So fat and round, like those unfortunate little youngsters you see who have rickets – the stomach just doesn’t seem to fit. Other times, I like to imagine that there’s nothing really inside and I’ve just eaten fourteen bowls of rice pudding or something, swelling up like some cartoon woman and chuckling away jollily at my strange calamitous radius.

Oh, yes now they’re getting to my favourite part! Linus sets up a harness from the boughs of the tree under which they train (nearest the fence by the main road). Framed by the white houses beyond it, he rigs up the gymnastic rings and demonstrates to us exactly what is supposed to be done. Upside down first and then steadily twisting and rising up, he ends there, solely using those big black arms, pulling himself up and up until he holds himself in the air horizontally and does press ups; his arms taking all of the weight and held up by that sheer muscle. Gosh.
I peer trying to catch Sarah’s face and now I’m really really grinning as I’m thinking about what her thoughts are probably thinking and I’m imagining how her face is probably looking. I rub my belly and think about the baby inside of me and how it’s not quite the career I had in mind when I was in school. I rub and rub my stomach in smooth circular motions, not stopping for a single second. Sarah stands with her legs akimbo stretching down and she’s rubbing and rubbing her ankles up and down massaging the balls on the sides as she looks up and watches Linus. The air is close and heavy and the grass is green but drying out yellow. Both of them seem captured in the moment, watching each other as I’m watching them...those stretches.
Suddenly a dog pounds over to me and snaps me right back to life. Looking at me with those dull thoughtless eyes it rudely interrupts my reverie. My womb remains calm but by now I have stopped the incessant rubbing. The dog drops a stick on the floor by my swollen ankles just to the left of me. I pick it up and throw it over the fence.
“Fuck off!” I tell him matter of factly – I mean it.

...Sarah squat, Linus lower. Squat and up squat and up squat and up. Stretch arms out, out and up...

The dog stands there regardless, looking at me all dozy and thick. It simply has no idea about anything. It has Howard’s eyes; that dull cow brown colour accompanied by long drooping eyelashes and a sense of placid, docile optimism. Attractive - for about ten minutes.
“Go away.” I kick my ankle out at it and hiss like a bed of snakes, but just like Howard it doesn’t get the bloody message. It cocks its shaggy head at me quizzically and watches me, waiting for something.
“He bothering you love?”
“Oh no he’s fine! He’s a sweet little thing isn’t he?”
“Yeah they’re no bother at all at this age. You got one of your own?”
I don’t answer, I just keep looking at Sarah’s perfect figure as she squats and stands and jogs and manoeuvres. The man and his stupid animal are soon on their way.

...Squat thrust squat thrust squat thrust squat thrust...

Finally the sun comes out from behind the grey canopy above. It’s a relief really as my sallow white skin needs the sunlight. Relief from the muggy enveloping air of the park and of London itself is really something, even if it is replaced with the overbearing heat.

I light another fag and open the book I’ve brought with me but I’m still never more than two sentences away from a sly glance up at Sarah and Linus, drinking in their all too short session. I think delicious thoughts to myself. Strange ones too, mainly revolving around various hypothetical conversations I might have with people and the things I might say. In my mind I am consistently succinct and witty and I always justify my actions to anyone who asks.
All of a sudden Linus and Sarah are finished. They stand opposite each other, trainer and pupil. They breathe heavily in that skin tight training gear, hands on hips and chests pumping hard in this suddenly hot glorious August afternoon. I kind of wish they’d do something other than just stand there.
My wish is granted as Sarah hands him some money and then just jogs away like she usually does. Linus stands watching her as she delves into her bag and starts to chat on her mobile phone. Even from this distance of say, 200 yards, I can make out the outline of the muscles on his thick legs and the solid instep of his trainers.
He takes hold of the harness and the rings dangling from the tree behind him and swings on it and for a second I wish that I was right there with him. I wish I was swinging there like it was five years ago with his arms holding me about my waist ensuring that I won’t fall to the ground; holding my thin un-pregnant waist as I turn upside down not really caring if I fall or anything because it’s August and nothing matters except exactly what I want to happen and the worst that can ever happen right here is a bump on my head.
Soon though he’s packing his things away and I smile to myself because I know that all I’ve done is sit here on this bench and lose myself for a while. Linus or whatever his bloody name is, is smiling as he walks away. I’m sure that we’re both smiling for completely different reasons.