I couldn't hear you on the sidewalk over the static of my whirling giddy thoughts, the slow drip-drip of raindrops and the whooshing of the PUJs on the slick road. All I could hear was the roaring beats of my heart, rendering me deaf to you and sluggishly mute as I stare at the curves of your mouth, memorizing every line and contour of your face. I smile and I pinch a piece of your jacket while we waited to catch a cab.
"...going...Saturday...away...", I caught you say finally. My blood went cold, my index finger and thumb stuck on your stupid jacket and the world's veil around me lifted. I stared at you with my mouth agape in disbelief. All the other noise but the sound of your voice, faded into the background. I was pulled out of my daydream, out of the spell I was in. My attention to you, stark and snappy.
"Did you hear me, love? "
Oh yes, I can hear you loud and clear. You call your best friend "Love" because that's just your "expression", your endearment for me, you said. But it was always those three words, together, if not the other in the same fashion, not in the way I wanted to hear from those angel lips. The skies got darker, thunder rumbled as I nod my head, once, ever so slightly. You haven't been telling me much lately: the artistic ideas and plans you rolled over your head, your current state of mind, the condition of your hospitalized aunt.
"I'm leaving on Saturday. I... I could not tell you until now. I might be gone for a long time. So I'm leaving you with Chipper. He'll accompany you, love. Anything you need, he's got it."
No. Chipper was your computer-geek partner-in-crime when I wasn't around to help steal the latest drone electric signal transmittor from our candy shop's son. He wasn't sloppy and was very slippery to get a hold of. Why would he service me? We barely saw each other excluding lunch at the square on Fridays. No. I see the look in my best friend's eyes. He's holding back, not telling me something. Stars be damned if I find that out from someone other than him. I'm done holding secrets. I'm tired of keeping this from him. I've got to tell him how he makes everything all right with his top-notch brain, how awesome it feels to be harbouring electronic pieces from the deli shop's son, how he makes me feel with those small gestures of his with something sweet and sour and funny when I'm sick and not feeling well. I've just got to. He's going away without knowing.
Mustering up the words to launch themselves from my now dry lips, I let go of your jacket, straighten my back, tuck my hair behind my ears and I suck in a deep breath.
The wind blowing strongly past us, the whooshing of the cars slow, hard rain starts to fall.
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YOU ARE READING
An Anthology of Blacks and Reds (One-shots)
RastgeleIt's about heartaches that are too painful to reminisce. It's about the trying times and twisted fates that give everyone the headaches. The memories left burned at the back of our minds that fuel us to keep going on with life.
