The darkness entered the park gates with me as I let the dog loose and followed. Twenty yards in, the path forked at a small copse, I kept to the left but a movement in the copse caught my attention. In the shadows under the hanging branches, I could see a youngster, head bowed, head in hands sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. Continuing along the path a little further, I couldn’t help but stop and turn to look back, the posture of the youngster troubled me; the figure looked so dejected. I walked back to a position where I could watch the seated figure, but in the slow seeping darkness, I could not be sure if it was a boy or a girl. Slowly, so as not to startle whoever it was, I proceeded down the slight incline to stand in front of the youngster.
“Are you all right?” I enquired.
The head came slowly up but still looking at the ground. “Yes I’m fine.” It was a young boy.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” He said the word without enthusiasm or conviction.
“Look,” I squatted to be level, “you can tell me to go and I will. But I can’t see your face and you can’t see mine. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so it doesn’t matter what you tell me. We will probably never meet again, and if we did we wouldn’t recognise each other, so why not talk to me.”
For a moment he was silent and then without looking up he said, “It’s my girlfriend.”
Quietly I enquired, “Has she dropped you?”
“No,” he replied looking directly at me for the first time. “She’s going away to university in a couple of weeks.”
“And you're not?”
“Yes!” This time is voice was sharp and then it returned to its former tone, “But to a different college. We won’t see each other for ages; her parents say it will be good for both of us to meet other people.” Once more, with elbows on his knees he placed his head in his hands.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” I asked, and saw his shoulders shrug as he answered.
“No, help yourself.”
Before sitting on the ground, I whistled to let the dog know where I was and then sat facing the boy soon to be a man, experiencing his first love separation. Into my thoughts came the saying, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’ But I know there is nothing sweet about parting from one’s first true love. It can create such a pain, that one who has never felt it could never comprehend the agony that it can produce and the long-lasting scars it can leave on soul and mind.
“Are you afraid she might meet some one else?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She says she loves me.” He looked up at me and with a resigned voice and said, “Go on say it, ‘we’re too young to be really in love.’ That’s what her parents said.”
His words brought back a memory of my childhood and my father singing a song with those very words and I covered my mouth and smiled.
“Do you think you’re too young,” I asked.
“No, maybe,” then with a sigh, “oh! I don’t know? I was sure, I really believed it, but I don’t know about her now.”
“I know you will think I’m talking a load of bull but, believe me, I’ve been there and I do know how you’re feeling. That’s why I know there is nothing I can say to make you feel better, nor can I give you any real advice.” As I spoke I wanted to reach out and touch him, to take his pain onto myself but I knew I could not touch him or relieve him of his anguish, all I could offer was my sympathy, and that was the last thing he would want from me at the moment, but I continued on with what little I might offer in the way of comfort, “This is something you will have to sort out for yourself. I will say this though; you can and will, get through this, no matter what the outcome of the separation.”
Hearing a rustling behind me I turned to see my dog, I called him to me and he came and sat at my side and nuzzled me. The boy looked up, but in the darkness I could not see his face.
“What’s his name,” he asked.
“Laddy,” I answered.
He gave a little laugh and said, “Laddy! Why Laddy? That’s a funny name for a dog.”
Laughing with him I explained, “He’s a Rough Collie. You know like Lassie. You must have seen the films of Lassie?”
“Oh, I see, Laddy, as in a boy Lassie,” he exclaimed, and for the first time he seemed like a normal young boy.
“Do you have a dog,” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his melancholy.
“Yes, a Labrador bitch,” he answered.
“How old is she?”
“Eight”
“She’s no youngster then,” again I laughed and said, “and I bet she will miss you when you go to college, have you thought of that?”
He gave a light laugh and said, “No she won’t, she’s really my Mum’s dog. I hardly ever take her for a walk unless I have to.”
He did not continue the conversation and we both sat in silence for a few minutes. I knew that I would have to leave him, but I did not want to leave him here on his own with his despondent thoughts.
“Look, can I make a suggestion,” I asked, “Why don’t you talk to your mother about this, women, especially mothers, understand these thing better than men, Dad’s get all embarrassed and mumble a few platitudes, but Mum’s will always listen, and try understanding. Let’s get up and out of here, it’s getting too dark to see.” And standing up I said, “Come on, you make your way home and have a talk with your Mum.” Without a word he stood and walked up to the path, I followed him and at the path I said, “I must finish the dog’s walk. You go on, that way we won’t see each other in the street light.”
Turning to face me he said, “Goodnight,” and turned and walked towards the gate and the now bright lights of the road.
Not moving, I watched him until he had left the park. Putting the lead on the dog I then also left and made my way home. On entering the house, I stood for a moment in the darkened hall, listening to the silence of the now lonely rooms since she had gone.

Tom Bowman