Have you ever watched a movie? One of those movies where the credits roll and a somber tune begins to play; the birds are chirping; the scene cuts to a field of roses; and suddenly, you are standing before me.
You smile with teeth like pearls and eyes creasing out of joy, slowly raising a hand above your head, waving goodbye.
Nostalgia kicks in and I am suddenly transported back to that night on the metro, stuck on a 2-hour train ride to the other side of the border. You sit on the shiny seats, your height surpassing half of mine standing. I hold onto the handle as the train wheels rhythmically collide with the tracks.
Clickity-clack
Clickity-clack
Clickity-clack
We banter and I laugh at things you laugh at though I am not quite sure what you find funny. Tales of school and projects are lost in friendly fire, and you exclaim when I begin to look down at the floor,
“What are you looking at?” “My feet?” You joke.
I let out a hearty laugh, a laugh that is a chestful. In my mind, I can’t help but wonder what taught you to be so outlandish. I furrowed my eyebrows at you; but not with the force of hatred or annoyance; but rather, a look of entertainment.
“I can help you.” You say, so genuinely, with a stare filled with limitless intent.
And all I can do is look back, timidly, unnervingly, because I was unsure of what you were capable of.
In my mind, you reached out a hand, gently like the wind when it flutters against the leaves on a willow tree, and while doing so, your gaze glided over my pupils and understood everything within my being.
To the hand you extended, I hesitantly held, silenced by the tranquility of it all. For a split second, on that train where motion was absolute, where the tracks were bumpy and the ride long and hard, things were at equilibrium like birds perched on electrical wires.
The street was lit, and you were the lamp.
The train enters a tunnel, one that blows out the flame. For a moment, the world was pitch black again, spikes of asphalt creeping in from the peripherals of my eyes into the lightless voice in my throat.
We do not speak for a while.
It is like I am marching through a hazy grass field, nothing is clear, and everything is grey and aloof. My head is spinning.
The darkness reaches, preaches, and races toward me, but so does the light at the end of the tunnel.
We crossed the border over to a land that is not our own, we transcended time in the blink of an eye. My fondness for you is built upon the imagination within the asphalt, behind the absence of light, hidden in the melted wax of a lamp.
The wheels screech to a halt and voices on the loudspeaker welcome passengers to load off the train. Luggage in hand, I step into a field of roses and turn back to look at you.
Luggage in one hand, my memories in the other, I smile, raise my hand slowly, and wave at you goodbye.
The credits roll, a sunset plays, and there you are on the horizon: blowing the trumpet, making music, and stopping occasionally to smile back at me.