I’m sitting on the damp grassy hill waiting. A cool breeze makes me shiver, but I don’t move. I’m worried that he won’t show up. He promised that this time he would make it. I shouldn’t believe him. He’s broken his promises so many times that they shouldn’t mean anything to me anymore. Yet for some reason they do. I still hope that this time he’ll show up. This time he’ll keep his promise. He’s late, but that’s okay. He’ll show up soon, probably complaining about traffic. I’m sure he’ll show up soon.

I scan the park spreading out below me. There aren’t many people here. It’s almost nine a.m. on a Monday. Most people are at work or school. An old woman is walking her dog along the path that winds around the pond. It’s a small dog, one of those yappy little things that I hate. It was barking a while ago, but now it’s quiet. The only other one here is a girl reading on a bench by the pond. She looks like she should probably be in high school. I think she’s skipping, but who am I to judge? I certainly skipped enough when I was in high school. It was only two years ago, but it seems like an eternity.

The breeze comes back and I shiver again. I hope he gets here soon. Maybe he’ll take me out to that restaurant I liked last time. I can’t quite remember the name, but I know he will. He’s good at remembering things. I shift and scan the park again. Where is he? He promised that this time he’d make it. I know he’s busy, but we haven’t had a real date in so long. I’m starting to get tired of waiting for him, but I don’t want to leave yet. What if he comes when I’m gone? The dampness from the grass is making me uncomfortable. Strange, I hadn’t noticed it before. I shiver again from the breeze and don’t stop shivering.

My skin covered in goose bumps, I get to my feet. I’m tired of waiting. I pause for a second, intending to scan the park again, but think better of it. I know he isn’t coming. I turn around and walk out of the park, the sun warm on my face, my skin warming up as I begin to move again.

Today is too nice to go to school. That’s why I’m out here in the park, reading my book. The park is almost empty. It’s nice and peaceful. I can’t believe that there aren’t more people skipping. There’s an old woman walking her dog across the pond from me. It’s a little white dog with curly fur: cute, but annoying. Its leash is long enough to let it wander a bit, sniffing at random things lying by the side of the path. Another woman, younger, sits on a hill above the park. I was thinking about sitting there, but the grass was too damp. I’m surprised that she’s sitting on the ground. She looks like she’s ready for party or date, not like someone who likes getting her clothes wet from the dew.

I turn a page in my book, reading it but not really thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about the letter I got yesterday. Another rejection letter from a university. My third. It’s not unexpected. I knew my grades weren’t good enough. Still, it hurts. I know it’s my own fault. I should pay more attention in school. Skipping today probably wasn’t the best idea either. On a day like this, however, how could I resist? It’s our first nice day of the year, and I needed to get out.

The woman sitting on the hill is getting up now. She turns and walks away like she has somewhere to go. I don’t know why she wants to leave. It’s so beautiful here; all I want to do is soak up the sun. There’s a bit of a cool breeze but it doesn’t bother me. The old woman is still here, though. She walks slowly, and her dog scurries around her. For a while it’s only her and me in the park. We don’t talk to each other. I never talk to strangers.

After a few minutes a man appears. He’s almost running and looks worried. He runs up the hill and looks around, then swears and goes back the way he came. The park doesn’t seem quite as peaceful now. The little dog is barking and the old woman is glaring towards the man. Sighing, I close my book and get up, then walk somewhere that I’ll have peace and quiet so I can enjoy the day again.

My bones are aching. I didn’t feel up to walking this morning, but Alice, my active little Bichon Frise, needed the exercise, so I decided that I could handle it. I’m beginning to regret my decision now. Alice is fine. She’s full of energy. I don’t know where she gets it all. Of course, she’s young. I, however, most definitely am not. My daughter says that these daily walks are good for me. She was the one who bought Alice, saying that looking after her would help keep me healthy. Personally, I think that I’m old enough that I don’t have to worry about my health anymore. I’ve already lived a long time.

I’m not the only one here in the park. There’s a woman sitting on the hill. I used to do that, but now the damp is too much for me. I miss it sometimes. I’m tempted to go and sit there too, but I’m afraid that I couldn’t get up again. On a bench across the pond from me is a girl reading. I usually don’t approve of skipping, but she’s just reading. I don’t see many teenagers reading. They’re usually too involved with their social life. They frustrate me sometimes, though sometimes I have to admit that I wasn’t that different when I was their age.

Alice pulls at the leash, surprising me. I’m off balance for a moment, but she doesn’t pull again. If she had, I would’ve fallen. I pull back on the leash and she walks back to me for a second before going off on her own adventures and, when she gets far enough, pulling the leash again. I wish I had the courage to tell my daughter that I didn’t like dogs. I’d much prefer a cat. They don’t need as much attention. Actually, I think a fish would be good. Then I’d just have to feed it and watch it.

The woman on the hill is gone now. I’m surprised she didn’t stay longer. It’s still early. A man is coming up, but I don’t think that he’s going to be staying long. He has a worried look on his face and is looking around as he walks. When he gets to the hill, where he can see the whole park, he looks around. Then he swears. I’m furious. How dare he disturb the park with that language? He’s already leaving, and I’m relieved. I glare after him for a moment and look around. The girl is also gone now, and I’m alone. My bones ache as I continue along the path, trying to ignore Alice’s barking.