I am often told many things. People come to me to confide their secrets, they ask me for help, they even come to thank me when all is well. I’ve never minded. People have always been welcome to come and see me and I like that I get many visitors. Apparently, I am seen as somewhat of a guardian. I suppose I do tend to watch over people, especially during the important moments in their life. Like this man, for example, the sleeping man.
He has been resting here with me for some time now, pale eyelids shutting out his gaze, body clad in a black suit. I don’t know his name but I’ve seen him before.
I remember watching him when he was an infant, having his little head washed. I remember him standing with a woman with red hair and blue eyes. They both said I do and then I played music as they skipped merrily under an archway of rice and confetti. Heading towards a car with cans attached to the rear and ribbons stretched over the bonnet.
I remember his eyes squeezed shut as he begged for help. One time he asked for a healthy child, another he asked for his money troubles to subside so that he could look after his growing family. Every time he graced me with his presence, I started to notice little details that were changed. He was accompanied by his wife, then one kid, then two, then three, then four. An odd grey hair, his back a little hunched. Some months he wore a woolly jumper and some months his shirt had shorter sleeves.
His wife changed too. Getting paler and pale, and thinner and thinner. Her movements slower and slower. Her hair dropping out strand by strand. She came here to rest too, eventually. I watched her sleeping dressed in a beautiful green lace dress. A dusting of makeup and a new wig so that she would look herself when she woke up. The man told me and the other guests a little about her. The whole time his brown eyes were wet.
I didn’t see him for a long time after that.
Then one day, he came back. His remaining hair almost entirely grey and white, his eyes and forehead etched with lots and lots of lines, but he was still recognisable as him. He approached me with four others who you might consider almost adults, but to my old eyes, they were still babies. They were getting to the age where one tends to fly the nest and explore the world alone. One week there were only three, then only two, one, then the man alone.
That was the last time I saw him before today. The eldest child came back once. They sat quite far at the back and kept their head down in silent prayer.
I suppose this means that later he’ll be taken to rest in my garden. Don’t worry children, I promise I’ll watch over him.