Thursday, June 13, 2013

Rainwashed Memory

He was running late. Usually by this hour he was in his cabin zapping out task lists and planning his day. He knew weekday parties was a very bad idea. Yet he had given in and gone out. One drink led to a tempting conversation inviting more drinks. The result was that he had embarrassed himself and was tugging along a very irritating hangover. Now, just because he had to pick up those very annoying but very effective aspirins from an apothecary five minutes out of his way, he was even getting late to work!

He cursed himself under his breath as he fumbled around in his massive jacket pockets for some change. He slapped it on the counter, flashed a pasted smiled, grabbed his bottle of aspirins and headed out in a hurry. A gentle drizzle slapped his face. He grunted. This is exactly what he needed. He made a mental note to hate June . He stood a little away from the door of the apothecary and took a deep calming breath. He wriggled his toes inside his stonewashed shoes. His yoga instructor insisted it aided blood circulation and helped calm the mind.

He watched little crystals of droplet hit the gray pavement and crash into a million splinters before disappearing completely. The sight was in equal parts heart wrenching and absolutely beautiful. He watched them for a couple of seconds more and then looked up.

That’s when he saw her.

The thin film of rain did nothing to hide her from his sight. She stood on the other side of the road fumbling with her umbrella. He watched her lips move. He knew she was talking to the umbrella, coaxing it open up. Like always, her lips reminded him of rich plums flirting with sun; their shade just the right kind of crimson, like wine made from the finest of grapes, aged to perfection. She had cut her hair. They now hung in soft curls around her neck. The gentle breeze ruffled through those curls drawing them over her face. She would angrily brush them away. The breeze would naughtily come right back.

He wanted to be the breeze.

He stood there watching her bottle green dress billow around her long legs. He could not move even if he wanted. The weight of memories of things unsaid between them anchored him to his spot. He watched with quiet fascination as she finally managed to get her umbrella open. She held it above her head. A slight frown still creased her forehead as she looked left and right, unsure of what she was looking for.

His heart skipped a beat.

Would she look at him? He felt his heart wake up and kick into gear. What would he do if she did look at him? Should he wave out to her? Should he cross the distance and walk up to her? He should have done that years ago. It was too late now.

That thought calmed him. It was too late. There were years of silence he could not explain or unfold.
He watched her hitch her bag higher on her shoulder. She turned away from him and started walking. He stood staring at the now empty spot where he had seen her.  One by one the memories rose. They always did. Each more poignant than the other, each more colorful. One by one, the rain bleached the memories of all color, till all that was left was a heavy sadness hanging from his shoulders.

His phone buzzed. Someone form work was trying to reach out to him. He smirked. How ironical was it that certain moments brought your world to a standstill and certain moments taught you that life moves on.


Timeless Memories - My Bygone ! said...

Hmmm Lives move on, along with the memories we take, well expressed with a pinch of pain somewher deep down..

Raj said...

amazing. :)

Pinku said...

such a poignant story....and yes sadly, eventually life does move on...and then there comes a time when one actually becomes tankfull that it does.

Well written