The Reflection
In a neglected metropolis, there is room for those with a crowd rejection: trams. During the day, there is absolutely nowhere to hide, so you need to sit out until dark. I don’t have a home and wander every week from one hotel to another. Rental walls are not judgmental, you know, and I am exhausted to death from other people’s advice. Having finished a couple of chapters, I persuade the hands of the clock to hurry. Time and I were having a brotherhood drink, saluting the first signs of the night. The day fell asleep, and the city turned on its investigator lamps, preparing to pull night confessions out of the darkness. Taking cover in the shadow islands, I made my way to the railway station. It’s a strange thing: the number of people does not change, there are still a lot of them in the evening, but for some reason, nobody notices you in the evening.
The tram pulled up, and I took a seat outside the outer door. The tram resumed. I honestly have no idea where we were heading. I moved to this area only yesterday, and the routes were not yet familiar to me. Someone dies where they were born, and it will never fit in my head. I move. Each day is a new direction, cruising along the channels of a huge anthill. The rattling sound of trams must somehow deafen the mind since, without the context of the trip, this sound could drive you crazy, but as an accompaniment to the journey, it is surprisingly pleasant. I took a sip from my flask and stared out the window. Pictures replaced each other, whole story could unfold behind each one, you just had to get off. Get off the rails, get off your mind. The weather was conducive for a walk, why not. Someone sat behind me. I have been looking at these window pictures as we turned off the illuminated street. All outside the window lost clarity, and I had to look away. There was a transparent partition directly in front of me. The one that is designed to separate the seats from those who just entered the tram. I turned away from the window and stared at her. The realization took time to hit.
The zap of memory creaked but gave in, and a herd of goosebumps bursts out. The past looked at me in reflection. She indifferently gazed right into my soul, forbidding me to blink. I have not seen her for many years, a couple of lives have passed by, that is for sure. My mind knew she should not be here, and of course, it was right, of course, it was not her, but what the use? The mind would never shout over the heart. I shook my head, and the portrait fell apart: half of the face came off to become my profile. The right half must have belonged to the girl who was sitting behind me. She looked ahead with the tired gaze of an adult indifferent to my illusions. It’s hard to blame her. I straightened my head, and our reflections merged into one. I was pleased to see you again without being afraid that you would suddenly come to life and ridicule me for my weakness to see things differently. We rolled in the dark to the depot. The girl went got off, all the people did, and I followed. Strange thing, I thought. Nothing happened, but everything changed. Now I knew that some part of you which good and kind, the one that only I have managed to see — I always carry it with me. I returned by taxi.
