A Confession

I could have told her then –at that particular moment. The breeze blowing in was warm, her head tilted slightly to catch the most of it. We were sitting side by side and our elbows touched a little. The thought occurred to me for the umpteenth time and I almost lost myself in figuring out how many times exactly. Too many to count, you idiot, another part of me cut in, cutting short my reverie. Just tell her already, won’t you? And I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not daring to move my head in case she’d move hers too. I watched a distorted version of her profile for a while, her jaw line and the tensed muscle in her neck I love so much. The sky was blood red, the light just right. I cleared the rubble from my throat, the years of half truths and flat out lies, when she took a sharp breath and said, You know, all of a sudden. We turned to face each other and her idle expression vanished as soon as she caught sight of mine. What? She asked, alerted, sitting up a little straighter to match the rise in her voice. I touched a hand to my throat, all the while thinking of hers, and said, Nothing, just a tickle. She narrowed her eyes and looked at me suspiciously. You were saying? I prompted her as casually as I could. Oh yes, she said, a lazy smile back on her lips. She leaned back and launched into a recollection of her thoughts, putting a stop to mine.

Solitude

Why do I insist on filling my head with ceaseless chatter? It would be all too easy to let the waves drown out my inner voice. But instead I talk to you –without pause, about anything and everything. And I don’t even mind the fact that you never answer back.

Hallway

Walking down the over lit hallway of my apartment building, as I do any other night, I stare at your narrow back and wonder who you are again. Have we met? Have we ever had a conversation? I can’t be sure. I watch you fiddle for a moment with the double lock on my front door, then disappear inside. I follow you, still wondering.

I’m Sure It Wasn’t Acacia

Every time I have a headache I think of the girl named after a tree. We shared a desk in primary school until we were put in separate class rooms. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the tree. It obviously wasn’t oak, or beech or ginkgo. And I’m sure it wasn’t acacia, though of all the trees out there, surely that would make the most sense. She had a mousy, eager face and a dorky pair of glasses. They don’t make children’s glasses that dorky anymore. A dark brown pony tail hung limply down her back. She was a friendly girl, never had any qualms about sharing her freshly sharpened pencils. And she had headaches all the time, though she put up a brave little face. She never confided in anyone but me, and continued to smile her mousy smile. From time to time, she even raised her hand to answer questions. And while she talked I watched her temple, and how a vicious vein throbbed there. Sometimes I would reach out and touch it with my finger, and she would smile as I felt its pulse. But our teacher frowned on such irregular behaviour. So we would quickly face the front, and titter in silent complicity.

Ancient History

I heard your laughter in the lofty halls of a museum, where it sounded twice as loud as laughter should. Our guide, who was young but obviously not prone to bursts of spontaneity, swerved his head around with an annoyed click of the tongue. The laugh came from behind the imitation sarcophagus, I was sure. Just as I was sure it belonged to you. I hadn’t heard it in a decade, when you were still a child. Nevertheless, I knew. While some of the more pedantic ladies shuffled along on an impromptu witch hunt, I hid behind a giant flower pot. I wouldn’t have known what to say to you. From where I stood I stole a look in your direction. You and your companion –what I could see of him– seemed more interested in each other than in anything on display. You looked happy, which was a relief to me. I’d always wondered about that. I angled myself for a better look. You in profile, head thrown back in another bout of giggles, more quietly after being reprimanded by our young man in his serious blue suit. He accompanied the ladies back to the waiting group, all tut tutting and shaking their heads in unison. But you didn’t care about that, just like your mother wouldn’t have cared. I could tell from your expression. Your hand brushed his sleeve and, as if you needed an anchor, grabbed hold of it. In return, he put a steady hand on your shoulder blade. Our guide regained his composure then and herded us, like the sheep we were, along to the ancient Greeks. I followed, but cast one more look over my shoulder. I caught the last of your laughing fit, and joined in with a soundless chuckle of my own. That way I’d be able to tell myself that, once, the two of us laughed together.