Jack was driving home from work and decided to change his route. He read an article in the Reader’s Digest that suggested driving a different course every day to arrive at the same destination. According to the article, mixing it up, finding different ways to go home, keeps the mind sharp. Jack drove toward Martin Lyons Park, even though it was out of the way. But the route was far more scenic, and he was in no rush to get home. Jack pulled up along the south side of the park and decided to stop awhile.
It was an astonishingly beautiful evening. May flowers were blooming, and a gentle breeze was blowing, floating scents of grass, rose, even lavender all around Jack as he walked toward the gazebo smack dab in the center of the park. The gazebo was in ill repair, but Jack had a fondness for it. He liked to walk there on a Sunday afternoon, alone, and wander around the old structure. He never had the pleasure of attending any of the concerts that were once held there; he was just a child living on a decrepit ranch in Lightning Flat when bands played sets at Martin Lyons Park’s gazebo.
Jack stood along the north side of the structure and ran his hand along a Doric column. Lureen told him that the gazebo was more than 100 years old, and was once a favorite spot for families to have Sunday picnics. Jack didn’t exactly know what men wore at the beginning of the 20th century, but he had a feeling that on Sundays they donned straw hats, white linen suits, and in this part of the country, black bow ties. Jack closed his eyes and imaged a sandy haired male of about 25, wearing a red and white striped straw hat with a picnic basket in one hand and a black cane in the other. He was wearing a beige suit and walked beside a man who sported a white suit, a black bow tie and was hatless. Jack kept his eyes closed as the image became shockingly real. He found himself falling to the ground as he “saw” the 2 young men claim a spot for their picnic. “It was not a time for us,” Jack whispered, out loud. He opened his eyes, and just like that, the 2 men were gone. “There may never be a time or place for us, Ennis,” Jack grumbled, miserable. But he had the gazebo, and more than anyone else in the world, Jack could dream.