What do i do with this story?

Christian Fazio
Advanced Fiction
Story 3
Tony Barnstone

I wanted to make it implicit that the woman in the park was at one time in a relationship with this fellow...any sugestions?

Pigeons Love Bread

Pigeons at my feet gobble up the bread I throw. The fat one waddles back and forth, while the others encircle him. He moves bravely pushing them away—slowly pecking at the others, before his skinny counterparts snatch the food from under him. I rip off another piece of bread and throw it to him. The others dive for it. He just watches waiting to strike. Before long, he gets frustrated and dives in. they peck and claw at him for a few moments, before he gives up and waddles by my foot looking for sympathy. I give into him. His red blank eyes make me feel sorry and I toss him another piece. He grabs it happily and runs off before his friends can notice. I sigh and put my bread back in its paper bag and fold it over. The paper is hard and stiff and crinkles as I do. I shift my foot slightly so one of my new friends doesn’t try to sit on it. It doesn’t matter, they won’t stay long; there is no more food for them. I sigh again and watch as the pigeons disperse, saddened by my loss. Its early morning, the park is empty and quiet, with only pigeons and the sounds of children in the distance. It’s easy to lose yourself in parks like this, easy to forget.
I sit and shuffle my feet a bit staring at my shoes, before the sound of laughter jerks my attention away. Across from me on the playground a little girl soars in the air. Her pale little legs dangle from the swing, while her mother pushes her. Her brown hair is caught by wind and flows gently with it, giving in to the back and forth. It moves in thick sheets across her eyes, while little fingers sweep it out. She seems so happy and carefree. The mother watches with intent motherly eyes, staring blankly at her child’s back. Her red curly hair falls gently at her shoulders covered by a scarf that matches her sweater but not completely. At her side a man who might be her husband stands. His large, masculine hand firmly placed on her arm—his thumb massaging it with precision and care. He is a big man, athletically fit and clean shaven. His blue sweater accents olive skin that sits just above his collar. His face is strong looking; as dark, longish hair comes down to create prominent sideburns that look outdated but are fitting. These cover a prominent jaw He reminds me of something you might see on the cover of a romance novel, or maybe a fireman. Looking at him, I can tell he is all she has ever wanted.
The child laughs as brown strands of hair come down in her face. She smiles softly and pushes them aside. This is to no affect however and more hair flutters back thicker then before. The little girl laughs harder, delighted and husband and wife, look at each other, seemingly pleased with themselves. This is before the little girls attention is grabbed away by the rest of the playground. She swings her legs frantically and lets out a whimper signaling that she wants to get off. The woman stops pushing and lets the swing slow down. As it does the little girl hops off and runs with all her might towards the monkey bars. She climbs up and waves to them, they smile wider and wave back, happy and content.
I stare back down at my feet, in hopes that some pigeons will notice me. Its no use, they are all pre-occupied with whatever. My fat friend who worked so hard to get a bit of crust is now off by a statue, squatting, staring at nothing. I grab a bit of bread and wave it in his direction, in hopes that he might come over. His friends see this and scurry forward for me. I watch a bit to see if he will come over too, but he doesn’t. He just sits and stares. I throw the bit of bread and his friends instantly pile on top of it. Flakes scatter as bestial urges dig into the dough. Two skinny pigeons squawk at each other as both try to claim the bread for themselves. I smile slightly and throw another piece down. Both walk away happy with bread in their mouths. I stare at my feet again, shuffling around, reaching for my pack of cigarettes. I pull one out and lit up. Grey smoke wafts into the air, moving like a jellyfish, sliding with transparent glee out of sight. As it does I do, I try and think of the last time I was happy–or if I ever was...it’s hard to say.
This thought is interrupted by the sound of the little girl. She is laughing again. I look up and watch her at the top of the monkey bars. She stands at the top of the ladder, pressing her weight on the top bar. She smiles a big, baby tooth smile and tries to catch leaves falling from near by trees. The father looks at her with cautious eyes, mouthing the words, “be careful.” The little girl doesn’t notice, as a big orange leaf catches her attention. Her eyes follow it as it spins in the air. She tries to catch it with open baby palms. The mother begins to walk over. Looking at her, I can tell this is what she has always wanted. The way she strides across the playground, authoritatively, with slim, tense shoulders and arms, pale and pristine, swaying at her sides. She looks like a mother, or motherly. Like how she always dreamt a caring mother would be. Her eyes are focused sole on those monkey bars, all else at the moment probably seems irrelevant. As she reaches her destination, she places one of her dainty hands on the ladder and looks up. Concern is smeared all over her face. Looking at her, I can see, she wants to be concerned, she wants to care and does.
Her husband or what might be her husband watches, with his arms folded. On his wrist a sports watch glints in pale sunlight, and I can tell by looking at him he loves the life he lives. After a moment, he walks over, moving with confidence and charm that might have drawn her to him, in a sports-bar, or wherever they met. He stands and smiles, again placing a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder. She smiles back at him. The little girl reaches for her parents with outstretched arms. Again the might be father mouths the words “be careful,” while she nods her gentle head and begins to climb down. This is before he catches me staring.
The mans eyes move from the little girl to me and for a moment, he and I make eye contact. His face shifts from contentment to a blank gaze while I take a drag of my cigarette, wondering what my face looks like. The little girl plays at his feet, picking up clumps of sand, piling them on top of each other while the woman stares at her, bustling with contentment. I do nothing. I sit and keep my eyes trained on them. Before long, the man looks away and grabs his wife by the arm. She looks away from her child and up at him. In my chest I feel my heart thumping against my ribs and my hands crust with sweat. The woman’s eyes shift over at me. The corners of her mouth anchor down into a frown and she turns towards the man. He embraces her and places his lips on her forehead. I lick my lips and take another drag of my cigarette. My attention shifts to the little girl for a moment. She seems so happy and carefree. The way I was when I was young. The woman turns back to face me. She mouths something but I am not sure what, maybe “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter. She waves at me slightly. Delicate fingers topple over and land calmly on her wrist. I wave back. Looking at her, I can tell this is the life she always dreamt of. The one she whispered in the mans ear late at night before they’d go to bed.
This thought is interrupted by the laughter of the little girl. She dances around, her dress over her head, waving her arms around. The mother look down at her and smiles. The man does the same. Before long, the family turn their backs to me and begin to walk away. I sigh and take a final drag of my cigarette, before I put it out. At my feet two pigeons stand and wait for me two toss them a piece of bread. I sigh, reaching for my bag. Pigeons love bread.