Some days were just funny. Because all it would take, would be a solitary moment of expansive lassitude to put an end to life-binding pretense.
It wasn't like I talked a lot. I did. But not a lot. I think I liked to believe that I did not talk a lot because the most ostracized kid in my school days used to be this skinny boy with squeegee brown hair and large round rimmed glasses. Everyone found him annoying, perhaps because the things he talked about never appealed to anyone. What, by preaching scientific truths and calling out on some renowned childhood fantasies, such as, "all festivities are to cause all you dumb children to spend money!" He was no one's favorite. Because which child did not like to cajole their parents into buying new goodies under the pretext of festivals?
The fact remained that, Arin constantly reminded all of us of the sub-par living conditions we used to live in. Our school was a state aided school, back in the 80s- educational reforms were still far-fetched, we didn't have benches and we all sat on the floor, internalizing screeching noises of friction between chalks and black-boards. Honestly speaking, it didn't matter to me much at the time, because my world was too small- between life amidst cramped slum dwellings and materializing delightful evenings of playing cricket out of a single bat and ball (which all my friends took turns using), I thought life was how it should be. Content. That was truly all that I ever made out of my childhood.
Naturally Arin's complex critique about inadequate education went over all our heads. He even constantly engaged in arbitrary debates with teachers about things that probably shouldn't even matter to twelve year olds. He was different. Always had been. Even when we became friends and after we had become more.
It all changed the day, news of Arin's death confined me in unsolicited nostalgia of the star- eyed boy with bright sun-reflected brown hair who adorned a mind so untouched by socially constructed realities. My first love. The man who taught me that there were plenary truths of life that were inexplicable and yet, complexly logical. Much like our love itself.
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A/N: Remember, this is a collaboration between I and my co-writer, Merakioni. Please, go and support this story which is up on her profile as well!
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Going Back To You
Short Story"It all changed the day, news of Arin's death confined me in an unsolicited nostalgia of the star- eyed boy with bright sun-reflected brown hair who adorned a mind so untouched by socially constructed realities. My first love. The man who taught me...
