It had been a long time since he felt such peace. Under the table, he easily swung his left leg over the right one, his hands tucked in the middle. It was weeping cold and outside it was still drizzling, yet he didn’t consider shifting his usual spot at the window. It was the only coffee place that opened its doors early. “Good morning, anything I can get you today, coffee, tea or water?” She smiled at her later suggestion. And he was fairly pleased by her cordial joke and her never changing warm reception. And an easiness and politeness that reminded him of the past. A past that many times he tried spinning, but he knew won’t go away. He had it all, an incredible friend and quiet life just as he always wanted. But things can get rocky, it’s like sometimes the earth spins on a different axis.
He loved the feel and smell of cappuccino and scone, but with it came loud whispers of the past he once knew. He missed the sound of her voice, he missed the smell of her skin. He missed the still of the silence when it was her rare smile that filled the room. He missed the day they were all over the best Chinese salad. Three times they turned to the Spittal of Glenshee before the spring, the winter sports. It’s not like they were a team, they just loved walking on ice, the sansation of rolling on ice. Her mother sanctioned it, his mother never rejected, never said a word. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. There are so many moments you can share with anyone someone and you just feel like it will last forever, those were the moments he knew would last forever.
Not better, not worse. No one knew the nature of their relationship. He was a quiet one, he spoke not to be heard, he spoke when it was a necessity. Her friends called him “the silent weird boy of colour.” She never disputed, she never affirmed it either. They were just a girl and a boy. And she knew exactly what he meant to her. It’s fair to say it wasn’t her place to care about his weakness or strength. If at all there was need to, she understood that everyone had a flaw, a crack on the wall. But colour is about perception and nature, introversion is a personality trait not a weakness. Above all no one is ever closer to perfection. She was lovely and lively in such a way that you wouldn’t know if you weren’t part of it. And she was a reservist.
It all started as a nice weekend out, a relaxing but rather interesting bike riding for hours from home. As he made it down the the third bend, minutes after enthusiastically taking the road. He found himself riding slightly behind a Vaude dyse light blue short and a long sleeve top dressed beauty. When he drew level with her, he took it to another level. “I’m awfully sorry to ask, are you doing what I’m doing?” Of course he was kidding, she was riding. She was made exquisite to look and he was willing to start from whatever angle, just to have the time. And he picked a fairly wide angle; silly question to be exact. Perhaps he understood the philosophy of consultancy from a hidden perspective and a rather reverse construct. Ask ignorant questions and listen to the many answers. “I’m equally sorry for I’m not exactly sure of what you are doing, but I assure you, I’m riding a bike.” She eased her face as he looked into her eyes their wheels turning delicately slow and he returned the smile, pleased at her sense of humour. And so it had began. They were exceptional, absolutely lovely to watch as they rode across the city street. It would not have been a mistake if it escaped and individual were it to be told that they had never met before. Indeed judgement is based on outward or just visible aspect of a person or thing. And what cannot be seen may as well count for nothing, they could be seen. We humans are incredible, but we are creatures of habit and an avaricious need to feel the conversancy with other people’s actions. He wasn’t interested in personal information of her life that pointed at any commonalities. But he fancied her from the instance he learned her existence and maybe more than he actually knew, perhaps more than he could fathom.
He could remember the day he told her how much he cared. It was after showcasing their best Scottish dance moves of which she won; she was a native and it’s never a good idea to outdo a lady on the dance floor. It’s obvious that our humanly characteristics are different, how we react to circumstances and our behaviours are entirely not the same. She didn’t respond, she said not a word, except for a line of tear that rolled down her cheek and she hurried off. However improbable certain things may be, he was certain she was upset. And there was a linger of regret. He wasn’t keen on sabotaging the friendship they had built. He never wanted to, yet he got carried away. He could imagine the silence that would be the day after. He knew he had to say sorry but he was not sure of his ability to, for all the shame that was locked deep inside of him. But her words sitting on a bench next to him that following day, were all the difference and all the medicine. It turns out, everyone wants to connect to something or talk to someone.
There was a room inside his heart that no one ever knew. A room she had discovered. He could remember just standing there dripping. It was cold but he didn’t care, he watched startled as they carried her body away. Her friend told him she was found unconscious on the floor. News he thought concocted by a fool up to no good. Her mother told him, “sorry son, she is no more.” He didn’t know what news was worse, he hoped her mother was wrong. He wished what she said was just a crude joke. Oh, how he wanted to tell them how mistaken they were, she was still there somwhere. He hated everything, his life, relationship, the people who were there, the winter and the fact that he was still breathing the very air he was told she had stopped. He was broken. As he watched the snow falling from the comfort of his seat, his coffee and scone still waiting for another sip, another bite, he swallowed hard and bit his lip. He could not understand why he had let his sister into his head when he had the chance. One day, he thought; the Blessed Virgin will reunite them. She belonged to him and so did he. Be ware tragedy never tells when it’s due. The past is like a shadow that’s predicted on the existence of the object itself. The past has an ugliness that hurts. The ripple effects, the trauma. However you roll it, it always hurts. Be ready when it comes around, scaling the walls of cemetery to go waking the ghosts.