Just Us
A short story of unsettled emotions and vague expectations
It was nothing usual for me, the train station, the old deserted bench at the corner of the platform, and a few trains passing by. It was twilight. The awkward breeze brought with it the aroma of coffee from the stall nearby blended with some memories. It’s been years and still the same, it was early spring and cold. I went to the coffee shop to get my regular black coffee, the shopkeeper was an old man with a wrinkled smile. Age has made him grim but he acknowledged me with a curt nod. I looked up at my pocket watch, the small golden watch I always kept with me. Though technology has moved on to digital watches, some things hold a little sentimental value, the watch was my father’s, it had its own story, but not today, I decided, I will remember it another day. It was 5.30 in the evening and some anxious souls passed by me to catch the local train. It was a small station with a limited number of trains passing by. I didn’t come to catch a train, but it was my place, OUR place. The side old bench, the coffee shop, the few unknown people, the big rusted clock at the top of the tower, the evenings, the smell. It wasn’t grand but pleasantly soothing and it felt good. I wasn’t a regular visitor, but I can say frequently that human nature works in mysterious ways, amongst the strange humdrum affairs of life you feel lost with the familiar faces yet among the unknown it seems to be okay. No one to bother or no unnecessary smiles or handshakes. It was serene to be in that place. It was my escape. Some noises, some people, and honest hope.
But I was not there to escape.
All I felt was simple grief when she had left town. Her dad got transferred, and we were kids. ‘Simple’ because this was out of the togetherness, out of friendship. That’s all I knew. We were so young, so naive. We were only 14.
Fifteen years ago perhaps around the same time of the year:
“When will you return?” I asked when we all came to see her family off.
“I don’t know. Maybe after years” she replied.
“We would have grown up by then. Then I can also come to visit you.” I said enthusiastically.
There was a possibility and we enjoyed that. We were brave.
“Yeah! We can meet here when I come back. Promise?” she asked and brought her hand forward for a handshake.
“Promise!” I instantly replied.
That was all I could remember and it was all smiles and goodbyes. No tears. After that, we never met. Sure, there were some phone calls, some texts, and some mails, which eventually faded. Forgotten, later ignored. Perhaps someday, she might have popped into my head and some images would have formed and a desire must have risen, but time takes too much away. I was a coward then, or maybe, there creeps in some undefinable awkwardness that prevents you to do anything and the idle moment passes until another recollection, another thought. She never came back and I never visited again.
It’s strange how you cling to some people even after a long time. You can’t ever forget them. No matter how long you haven’t been together, or how far you are. They come to mind, a beautiful impression. Over time, I made friends, came across many people. I loved some, I lost some, but she was different. She was a friend I had since the time I don’t even remember. I don’t know how we started but yeah, I always cherished our friendship. That feeling stayed, even after all these years.
Nostalgia is a curious thing. It makes you think about forgotten times and memories. It doesn’t come back, and when you realize that your heart skips a beat. I could never describe that feeling. I had no purpose of being there but I felt gloomy, nobody disturbed me but sometimes feelings gnaw with an incoherent ferocity, there are things you are willfully caught up in life, some bring a bag of rocks and some are just ice creams melting away at their existence. As I was caught up with these jumbled thoughts the train’s horn broke me out of my musings. I looked up and saw some hopping down, some boarding, among the not-so-familiar faces I couldn’t find her. I looked around and realized, it’s been quite some time, it’s been a long time. I reclined back and reminded myself, this is not the train by which she’s arriving.
I was going to meet her after fifteen long years.
I had asked her to meet me, she wanted to “catch up”. I was still confused. I had in my pocket the unposted letter and I tried to recall our phone conversation. It was one night when everything was still and dark. I was in the attic going through some old stuff and I felt a sense of longing and feeling that I always had but I could never express. I knew I wanted to meet her, talk to her. I believed we were best friends. All this wasn’t clear, it was like endless thoughts crisscrossing at mad angles. I finally dared to call her.
She picked up, “Hello.”
“Hey, can you recognize me?” I was trying to be jocular, even though I knew I was serious.
“What took you so long? What fifteen years? I thought you forgot,” she was annoyed it seemed.
“Well, I wanted to…” I replied with a long pause. I was finding it very hard to say anything and I went silent until.
“I think we should meet? ” she said.
I replied. “Where?”
She with a low tone said, “Do you remember the promise?”
I happily blurted out, “Of course!”.
Well, it was a short one. But hearing her voice after such a long time was a relief! She later mailed me the details of her arrival and here I was sipping my coffee at the train station.
I was anxious, nervous and my heart beat faster with every approaching train.
Memory is formed of images. The good ones are like small rainbows in a puddle of rain. They leave behind little pastiches of wistful serenity. In all those years, I never felt like recalling the memories, because they would bring back some blurred sepia-colored images and random thoughts which would dissuade me. But at that moment I felt like remembering the past. I had time, but I wondered if there existed any images, any flashback. I could recall a framed photograph in my room, I was so excited then, she was a small girl with a braided ponytail and horn-rimmed glasses, and I was a taller lanky boy. It was a fun day at the picnic. We printed two images, she took one. Maybe she still has it.
In the dim lights, the approaching train’s horn grew louder and louder until it stopped. The place jumped to life. I stood up, startled, and started searching around. Years had passed and I wondered if I could find her. I was scanning all faces relentlessly, with that a fast-beating heart and I was sweating in the cold. After some time the crowd started dispersing and I saw her. I saw her still searching for me looking confused, it was different, looking at the cute and simple face made my heart clench with beauty and brought back confused memories of the past. I looked at her and realized it’s been years since I last saw her but I knew in my heart I would find her, even with everything that has changed. I walked towards her, the mist settled around the place, my heart raced faster and I approached her with a smile. I think she recognized me, I had no idea what to say or how to begin our conversation. I wondered, what was the convention to say someone when you meet them after years? I had a million things to say, to ask, but at that moment I had nothing, nothing at all. She stared into my eyes with an innocence that was persistent since I last saw her. She hugged me and whispered in my ears, “I missed you.” I felt flustered at this sudden warmth, I thought I could say something to reciprocate that. I couldn’t, I didn’t. I lingered on, intoxicated at the touch, the smell of her hair, it was different, she was different.
We were friends for as long as I can remember, it was nothing spectacular, or full of awesome, worth remembering memories, it was not the one you would go down the memory lane to remember again. No, it was not that, it was simple, nice, it won’t drag you down, it won’t make you feel nostalgic, it won’t make you want to go back. I still don’t know, what it was, but yeah when I saw her, everything seemed okay, there was no song, no ceremony, no background music, no grand entrance or exit. Yet, there was something about this bond, this relationship, this something I could never define, never had to. It was the one in which you learn, listen, comprehend, and maybe, so many words had been spoken, so much of history and it didn’t seem perfect anymore. It was just as what it could have been, I never saw it any other way. She was different, strange, kind of. But come to the terms with all that was happening around, I realized, how years, months, and ages pass with nothing being said. For me, it was all at a standstill. It resumed as it always had been, but yet something strange happened, I couldn’t help myself smiling, I found a part of myself back, obscure yet serene. Perhaps, these type of memories, makes you feel that it’s okay. These are not the ones that get written; what if time has passed, or even ages, I didn’t have any expectations but the moment is here, she is here and for me, it was enough.
It had to be.
For some loss goes as a metaphor of rediscovery, for some, it resurrects nostalgia, the touch, the vision. I never had this core belief, I felt different; the pain of loss, the profanity of joy, and the delusions of emotions. Somehow, among those dimming lights, the dizzying array of colors, noises, some unheard voices, I got what I always searched for. A small redemption!
She was a girl that’s full of life and enthusiasm and optimism and creativity and assumed profundity. Who I do not have to brag to. Who I can engage in a dialogue. I wished that it hadn’t changed.
But as I watched her smile back at me and frisk her hair, I saw everything in the world build up and then everything in the world fall down again.
Feelings crept back and I finally had the courage to hug her back. It was moments and she pulled back and with her beautiful smile, said,
“Shall we sit somewhere?”
“Okay,” I answered.
We walked to that corner bench of the old station. I believe there is peace and tranquility at the end of a long hollow story. But that’s how things go. To rest, to slumber, and to another start. And as we walked she was once again the small girl with a braided ponytail and I was the taller lanky boy.
- Satopanth Gourav Nayak
