As good as I can remember, I was somewhere between four and five years old. Easter was fast approaching. In a matter of weeks, I would be starting school. My dad was at work and my mother took me for a walk in the park. It seems funny how I can remember that day so vividly. My mother was holding my hand as I skipped along to keep up with her. One hand held on to her, whilst my other gripped hold of a bright red balloon she had just bought me from a local shop.  I didn’t know it at the time, but once I started school, I wouldn’t have many more carefree days like that.

The thing I remember most about that day was the old man sitting on the bench by the lake. For some reason, it stuck in my mind. As we passed him, he smiled at me and gave me a little wave. He looked vaguely familiar to me, but I wasn’t sure who he was. By the time I asked my mother, he was gone. That was the first time I saw him, but it wasn’t to be the last. Almost two years passed before I saw him again. It was lunchtime, and I was in the school playground. The bell had just rung, and lunchtime was over. As I turned to head back to class, he was there. I could see him through the railings. One momentary glance and he was gone.

Many years would pass before I would see him again. It was my first day at work after leaving school. I’d almost forgotten about the mystery man. When I was a boy, I imagined myself working as a fireman or driving a train. Little did I know that I would end up working for a bank. Nervous and excited, I was shown to my desk on the second floor. From my window, I had a good view of the street. He was there, looking up at me and smiling. A bus passed and he was gone. Once again, the years flew by. The office manager, Mr Thorpe, handed me a framed certificate for ten years of service. Ten years have gone in the blink of an eye.

Before I knew it, twenty-five more years had melted away, and I was now the office manager. The little boy, who once lived inside me, was gone. Not long after, my father passed away. His funeral was well attended. As I stood to leave the church, my mystery man was there, right at the back. I recognized him instantly. By the time I’d made it outside, he was gone. Who was this man? Why was he following me through life? The strange thing is, he didn’t appear to get any older. He always looked just the same as the first time I saw him. Perhaps he wasn’t real and I was going mad. But he was there again when I got married, and when I retired. Always, just out of reach.

I didn’t see him at my mother’s funeral. By the time she died, most of her family and friends had also passed. The church was almost empty. I looked for him, of course, but he wasn’t there. This surprised me as I thought he would be there. After all, he’d been there for every other milestone in my life. What was so different about this day? I didn’t dwell on it for too long. After the service, we had a little get together at a local pub. Apart from my wife and daughter, plus a few close friends, I felt more alone than I’d ever been. Standing outside the pub for a smoke, I looked across the road to the park.

For reasons, I can’t explain, I felt the need to walk over. As I entered the gates, the memory of being a little boy, walking with my mother came flooding back. As I passed the lake, I saw him, my spectre. He was sitting on the same bench where I first saw him. For once, he wasn’t moving. Finally, my chance to meet him. As I drew nearer, my heart was pounding. Even as I sat next to him, he didn’t move. I had a million questions. Before I had the chance to speak, from the corner of my eye, I saw two figures approaching.

It was a young woman with a little boy. He was holding her hand and skipping along as he held on to a red balloon. As if by instinct, I smiled and gave him a little wave. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I realized, that little boy was me. I turned to the old man, but he was gone. Of course he was gone. He was waiting for me at home, in my mirror.