Ironically, Episode 2: The Person Who Leaves Nothing Behind

Ironically
Episode 2: The Person Who Leaves Nothing Behind
An old man was always sitting on the bench in front of the station.
It wasn't morning, it wasn't noon, it was just past four in the afternoon.
He would place his shopping bag at his feet, and every time a pigeon approached, he would shift his body just a little bit.
"Don't you feed them?"
One day, I asked.
The old man answered while watching the pigeons.
"If you do it once, they'll expect it every day."
"The pigeons?"
"People are much the same."
Saying that, the old man laughed.
I passed by that bench every day.
The old man was always there, always watching the town in the same way.
One day, I gathered the courage to speak to him.
"Are you here every day?"
"I suppose so."
"What are you doing?"
The old man thought for a moment.
"Nothing."
"...Nothing?"
"I'm doing nothing."
It was a strange answer.
After that, I started talking to the old man little by little.
About work.
About family.
About the new shop that opened in front of the station.
About the recent weather.
No matter what I asked, the old man answered with a hint of irony.
"Young people these days seem busy."
"They've just become good at pretending to be busy."
"You should take care of your health."
"Doctors would be happier if you took care of yourself after you got sick."
"You never know what will happen in life."
"If you knew, it wouldn't be life, it would be a schedule."
I laughed every time.
The old man rarely laughed.
However, when leaving, he would always say,
"See you tomorrow."
One rainy day, the bench was empty.
The next day, too.
And the day after that.
About a week later, I learned at the flower shop in front of the station that the old man had passed away.
It seems he had been ill for a long time.
They said he never complained to anyone until the very end.
I stood still for a moment.
Even though I had met him every day, I didn't even know his name.
That evening, for the first time, I sat on that bench.
It was harder than I thought.
The town was moving as if nothing had happened.
Students walked by laughing, office workers walked while looking at their smartphones, and station announcements played at regular intervals.
The scenery the old man had been watching hadn't changed at all.
Only the old man was gone.
Suddenly, I noticed a small piece of paper tucked into the gap of the bench.
When I pulled it out, it was written briefly in the old man's handwriting.
--People meet more often after they are gone.
I laughed a little.
"You were a man who said unpleasant things until the very end."
Of course, there was no answer.
Since then, I started sitting on that bench from time to time.
Sometimes I would read a book.
Sometimes I would do nothing.
If a pigeon came near, I would shift my body just a little.
One day, a girl around elementary school age sat next to me.
"Mister, you're here every day."
"You too."
"Are you free?"
"I suppose."
The girl thought for a moment.
"Then, let's be friends."
I laughed.
"That's quite sudden."
"Because you're free, right?"
"That's true."
After that, the girl started coming to the bench from time to time.
Before long, students on their way home from school started sitting there too.
An old man from the neighborhood started reading his newspaper there, and people returning from shopping started leaving their bags to rest.
Someone used it to meet up,
someone took a nap,
and someone just watched the town.
Before I knew it, people had started gathering at that bench.
One evening, the owner of the flower shop sat next to me.
"Before, only that man used to sit here, you know."
I nodded.
"That's right."
"He was a strange man."
"Yes."
"There was talk about giving it a name, too."
"A name?"
"For this bench. Like 'So-and-so's Bench'."
I thought for a moment before saying,
"I think it's better not to."
"Why?"
I remembered the old man's words.
--If you give it a name, people will expect it every day.
"I think he wouldn't like it."
The flower shop owner laughed.
"Maybe you're right."
Dusk was approaching.
Across from the bench, a pigeon was pecking at the ground.
I suddenly thought.
The old man didn't try to leave anything behind while he was alive.
No monument.
No photos.
No name.
He didn't even try to remain in anyone's memory.
He just sat in the same place every day,
doing nothing,
watching the town.
That was all.
However, after he was gone, people started gathering in that place.
Every time someone sits there,
every time someone talks to someone else,
the time the old man spent there continues on, just a little bit.
Precisely because he didn't try to leave anything behind,
it became a place that belongs to no one.
And precisely because it belongs to no one,
it became a place for everyone.
I looked at the empty seat next to me.
"See you tomorrow."
I whispered softly.
Of course, there was no answer.
But the moment I said those words,
for some reason, I felt like the old man was sitting there.
In the place where the person who tried to leave nothing behind had been,
the most people ended up remaining.
Ironically.