Sonder

sonder

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

I.

I glance up as the bells jingle lightly above the door of the record store, signaling the entrance of another customer on this quiet evening. A young man walks in, a shock of tousled brown hair obstructing my view of his face, but I can already tell that there is something different about him than the regular college students who visit here. He walks with a steady gait toward the vinyl collection two aisles away, hands in the pockets of his dark denim jeans and thumbs casually hooked through the belt loops. He wears a navy and white checkered suit jacket over a blue and white plaid shirt, every single button perfectly sewn and held together in place over his tall figure. I wonder if he has just arrived from a job interview or maybe a date with his significant other, if he had one. I had seen many people come into this place before, lightheartedly in love or heartbrokenly in pieces, hoping to find a song that would cure them of their euphoria or despair. I was here for neither of those reasons.

The young man peeks up and notices my gaze, offering me a fleeting smile before returning to leafing through The Beatles albums, his long fingers slowly flicking past Abbey Road. I’m so caught off guard by the unexpected moment that I barely catch a glimpse of his eyes, but I find myself imagining that they are a beautiful shade of copper brown, the kind that you could see every day for years yet never fully realize the mysteries they contain. Absentmindedly, I continue searching through a stack of CDs, sensing the movement of the man as he crosses over to the next row and stops right across me.

My eyes are longing to take another look at this intriguing individual on the other side of the bin, so different in style and demeanor, but I focus on the albums in my hands instead and swallow the words forming in my mouth. Neither of us looks up, and I am fully aware of the soft rock music playing in the back room and the rhythmic clicking of plastic underneath our fingertips. His head leans in as he moves to the top of another column of CDs and I hold my breath as I catch the intermingling scent of coffee, lavender, and sandalwood.

II.

Time slows to a standstill and a stirring of unexplainable sentiment blossoms from the center of my chest, paralyzing my entire body. I hear the rushing of blood in my ears and feel the knotting of my stomach as my gaze drifts upwards. The young man looks at me with a slight tilt of his head and a question in his eyes, and I answer with a hello and a hopeful smile. The corners of his lips turn up slightly and he offers me the Bon Iver CD in his hands. This is better than sleeping pills, he tells me. Guess I better buy it then, I reply jokingly as I take it in my hands. He laughs, the warm sound tickling the hairs on my neck. He follows me to the register, placing his hand over mine when I start to hand my money to the cashier. This one’s on me, he says with a smile and thanks the store clerk for the purchase.

We find ourselves stepping out together into the twilight and he beckons for me to follow him as he begins to jog slowly down the sidewalk through the throng of people returning home from work. My heart palpitates wildly as I run to catch up to him, the city lights around us blurring into one beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. I am floating on the sound of his laughter lingering in the air and we are suddenly soaring through a world illuminated by our own brightness. We pass by a park, where he radiates excitement and adventure as he tells me about the month he spent in Brazil as an exchange student in high school and his younger brother’s dream to play for the Houston Rockets. His hand lands softly on the small of my back as he guides me along the San Francisco Bridge, where we both begin humming quietly to a tune only we know. As the sunset cruises begin to embark below us, we peer down into the gently churning waters and whisper our secrets to each other, confiding our hopes and fantasies to attentive ears. His smile reminds me of everyone I have ever loved and will ever love, and the faint touch of his skin against mine fills me with warmth as I breathe in the frosty night air. I hover in the stillness, drinking in his thoughts and wishing to know him.

III.

The clicking has stopped and I look up to see the young man choose a CD from the bin, holding it close to his chest as he approaches the front of the store. “It’s for my girlfriend,” he explains to the cashier as he pays. “She has trouble sleeping sometimes and I think Bon Iver might help.” With a wave of thanks, he picks up the CD from the counter and strides back across the store, down my row. He gives me a polite smile as he passes and this time, I can see that his eyes are a light blue-green. The boy walks out the door, the bells above him ringing in echoes, and disappears into the city lights.