The grocery aisles, all awash in tube light, crisscross over a few hundred square yards. Not a soul in sight, being a dull mid-week afternoon. My sweaty palms grease the push cart handle, empty but for assorted knickknacks. The air conditioning has failed me miserably. I feel an embarrassed burning around the ear lobes and a rush of blood to the jowls. In addition to a nauseating static, all I sense is the aching thud of my heart. I feel parched. An in-store promo chimes in the distance. For its déjà vu, at the corner of Staples and Salsa.
Those eager eyes have always been the give-away. Still crowned by increasingly arching pencil stroked eyebrows, contemplating the small print on a pickle bottle. The hair, held in place with a sport band, has the odd grey that might have escaped your habitual left-handed smoothing. Your choice of ear rings haven't changed yet, generic silver trinkets of course. You don't ever seem to give much for accessorial fashion, do you? Sporting a miniature duffel bag that was passé for the 90s, and I'm afraid to say, this decade as well. Maybe you'll try the next! I catch the delicate profile as she moves on to peer over stacks of half-price Colombian, much like me, out of place in that aisle. I spy crow-feet, or maybe I don't. Small faced Citizen on your wrist; as is your fashion, should be ten odd minutes ahead. Got you earlier to class, so you claimed. Faded denim, crumpled cotton. You still carry grunge as it should. Lightly.
Two decades and half way around the world later, memories flicker away. Youthful fancies had shriveled and crumbled in the harsh seasons that followed me into later youth; your memory but a bittersweet reminder of an innocent, carefree time. When, smitten and at a loss of words, I proposed, via snail mail. At the very mature age of 17. You were considerate, to haul me aside one memorable evening, even while declining. Must have been hard, considering the prospects this no-job, no-spunk, mealy-mouthed avatar had offered. Since then, I’ve been around, you know. Navigating the shallow social prerequisites of college, more college, jobs, and then, family.
Do I say 'Hi'? That was always easy; it's the follow on conversation that I stumbled on. Or should I let her and the moment pass; that'd be easier and time-tested. What I knew I couldn't do any more is stay there, frozen with stage fright. Twenty years, God. I ply a resume that trumpets my calmness and communication skills. All lies.
I make my move. A half-turn. The other way. My life can do with what it had, or never did. My heart, whatever, could not take a snub. Not from her. Some memories are best left untouched, unrevised.
Just then, she moved too. Sans cart. Right my way.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
II of II - The Fountains of Miramar
A quizzical look, followed by that lopsided smile. She stepped forward briskly, side stepping my push cart, with a loud, pleasantly surprised "Hey". I mumbled something to the same effect in return. She grabbed my arm and almost gave me a hug, giving me a once-over even as I recover poorly from shell shock. A torrent of queries followed. Of her friends, some common, most I had never noticed back then. Note to reincarnating self; pay attention to beings accompanying, yet not including amorous interest. Of places she left behind. Of chumps that went for my friends, still my friends, chumps nonetheless. She smile on their mention, a chuckle a split later. I might know what that was for, oh dear. I spy a sparkle in her eye.
For all that I left unsaid, it seemed she'd the most to share. Almost catching up for lost time. Eagerly waiting for answers, prodding when I groped for names, an old affliction. Even a sly poke at the little chubby I had become. She spared the baldness, thankfully. I dare say I got to know her more in those few minutes, than ever I'd done before. It wasn't crow's-feet by the way, my eyes might have aged. The odd silver strand does her some credit too.
Of course, 'how have you been' is no question. But since you ask, do I mention the numbness, the drift, the unkempt beard kept only as long as I could take the teasing? Sighs unseen and sobs, a few? Life threw greater twists in your wake. I stopped remembering out of preoccupation, so to speak, and not because I didn't miss you any less. Not that I've wondered about what would have been. Those ghosts have long hushed; too busy completing the chores of life. Am I happy? Sure. What else would I be.
We reached an awkward pause, as I fumbled without anything more to say. Then it popped. Not, I swear, by design. "I missed you". I groan inwardly as it slips past. Twenty years to say this. Half a lifetime to inherit the earth. I wish all would go away. I so badly wanted my life from a quarter hour ago.
The lines harden around her eyes, the lips purse. I feel my eyes moisten, a tingle on my nose. What have I done? She winced, and then straightened herself. As if reeling from a jab. Now intently peering at my face, she’s probably toying with the idea of just moving on. Regretting ever stayed. I cannot but find my sorry self looking down, pinching my palms, fighting tears, pain, anger and years of whatnot. All I can manage, as a mid-life crisis-ridden grownup, is a blurry sounding "Sorry". "I must go now", I add.
"I know" she said. I look up. A slow, weary smile creased her lips. She seems to have aged a bit. A shadow falls across her face, as her eyes look into the distance. She sighs. I guess it's been all about me, all this time. And at that moment, I wished none of this happened. The single silver strand has raised itself, only momentary; the long fingers on her left caressing it out of sight. “You haven’t changed”, she chuckled. Or grown up, for that matter. We say our goodbyes soon after. I'm an invitee to a dinner.
I lug my carry bags out the front door. The fountains at the mall entrance gush skywards, dancing to a hummable symphony playing somewhere nearby. As their mothers watch, toddlers scoot around in the mist. A rainbow plays peek-a-boo. High amongst the spray muddying the west bound amber and purple Florida sky.
I am parched no more.
For all that I left unsaid, it seemed she'd the most to share. Almost catching up for lost time. Eagerly waiting for answers, prodding when I groped for names, an old affliction. Even a sly poke at the little chubby I had become. She spared the baldness, thankfully. I dare say I got to know her more in those few minutes, than ever I'd done before. It wasn't crow's-feet by the way, my eyes might have aged. The odd silver strand does her some credit too.
Of course, 'how have you been' is no question. But since you ask, do I mention the numbness, the drift, the unkempt beard kept only as long as I could take the teasing? Sighs unseen and sobs, a few? Life threw greater twists in your wake. I stopped remembering out of preoccupation, so to speak, and not because I didn't miss you any less. Not that I've wondered about what would have been. Those ghosts have long hushed; too busy completing the chores of life. Am I happy? Sure. What else would I be.
We reached an awkward pause, as I fumbled without anything more to say. Then it popped. Not, I swear, by design. "I missed you". I groan inwardly as it slips past. Twenty years to say this. Half a lifetime to inherit the earth. I wish all would go away. I so badly wanted my life from a quarter hour ago.
The lines harden around her eyes, the lips purse. I feel my eyes moisten, a tingle on my nose. What have I done? She winced, and then straightened herself. As if reeling from a jab. Now intently peering at my face, she’s probably toying with the idea of just moving on. Regretting ever stayed. I cannot but find my sorry self looking down, pinching my palms, fighting tears, pain, anger and years of whatnot. All I can manage, as a mid-life crisis-ridden grownup, is a blurry sounding "Sorry". "I must go now", I add.
"I know" she said. I look up. A slow, weary smile creased her lips. She seems to have aged a bit. A shadow falls across her face, as her eyes look into the distance. She sighs. I guess it's been all about me, all this time. And at that moment, I wished none of this happened. The single silver strand has raised itself, only momentary; the long fingers on her left caressing it out of sight. “You haven’t changed”, she chuckled. Or grown up, for that matter. We say our goodbyes soon after. I'm an invitee to a dinner.
I lug my carry bags out the front door. The fountains at the mall entrance gush skywards, dancing to a hummable symphony playing somewhere nearby. As their mothers watch, toddlers scoot around in the mist. A rainbow plays peek-a-boo. High amongst the spray muddying the west bound amber and purple Florida sky.
I am parched no more.
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