She sat there by the bus stop still like a rose with budding thorns ready to pick at naive skin. Every day she'd be there with a new disguise for the viewer to hypothesise on her state and emotional condition which reflected the subjective effects of passing time. Every day she'd walk the same three paces towards the end of that seat reserved for her by courteous charlatans she dismissed as nothing more then examples of old world patterns befitting of the modern man, pretentious and chivalrous only if the chameleon skin believes it can collect such actions social benefits. Many tried to decode her changing tides for no reason better then boredom, no duller then attraction and no smarter then contemplation. Of course, for all their hard work, the only thing they learnt was nothing and the only thing they gained was assumptions.
Yesterday she was raining to fertilise some foreign field left isolated for one moment past the irregular inspection date, with five salients enveloping the no man's land of a modern world's medium of connection and disconnection.
Today she was holding a bouquet of open ended questions for her many admirers and observers to ponder over, like an exam where you never knew the results less you dare ask.
Of course you wouldn't, your just a obsessive observer, lowly among the ranks of her associates and connections.
"Prove me wrong, go ahead"
I said as one of his many conflicting voices that resided inside his head
"I will, tomorrow"
"You said that yesterdays yesterday how many years ago? What if tomorrow don't come around? She ain't going to be at that bus stop all your life waiting for you to muster up an introduction worthy of an academics appraise. Think about that flower. I know you to be the half empty type of man. Maybe she needs a little reassurance in her life right now, maybe a conversation might light the dark to tell her it ain't all good but it'll be alright. Now I know, I know, them other voices are telling you its intrusive, none of your business, there are many afflicted with these circumstances who have no reason to be pompous but how can you learn to approach the greater issue without a simple start. I know it's not easy, I mean, I haven't figured out how to leave your head yet to speak to the world as myself so I too exist in your struggle. Treat this message with consideration but no expectation. If we fall together, we'll just laugh about it later alright. Nothing wrong with concern, only thing wrong is apathy. So what do you say? Will you follow me?."
Time, huh, a medium so callous and irrational it begs to question our acceptance of such a model.
Anyways, off the non sequitur
He straightened his back and drew an assumed to be appropriate face. The pores begin spilling like Vesuvius as the temperatures rose to melt holes in the former atmosphere of calm.
One step forth was made with two undetermined eyes unwaveringly fixated towards the cobbled rotten gum floor.
"A few more to go. You can do this. Your psychologist is going to be as surprised as I am proud. We're best friends forever right? Take your time, today's still here and so am I. Breathe, and remember, if your tongue gets lackadaisical and tired I'll be ready with the voice of fire"
"I'm not sure if I'm ready though."
"Nobody is ever ready or even steady. Stop trying to go back and look for something to hang on to. Movement offers no luxury, only experience which mind you is in itself worth more then any present measures of wealth."
He sighed. I knew he didn't know if I was right, he never knew, the other voices always said something asinine to prove otherwise. But I also knew he gave it thought, and with thought he went another step forward.
"I can't, I can't. I don't think she's in my league. You know what I mean, I think she's too good for me. She's just too perfectly imperfect. I don't think I'm worthy of her attention."
"What if she has the same thoughts you have right this moment. Has self pity blurred your ability for perception?I've seen you two exchange eyes with the dismissed thought of it being nothing more then the innate tendencies of a 180 degree pintle mounted camera yet I think those moments of subtle notice are enough to register some semblance of recognition between you two. I understand, mind you the level of difficulty and discomfort to which this task accommodates but please I beg of you not to stop. Your two steps done, one step more."
He thought about it as the other voices clambered for a mass Soviet front-line assault on his decision to follow.
He stepped another foot forward, near but not intrusively obscuring her with some quasi symbol of gender dominance. She briefly glanced up and met his eyes again as he looked upon her supple neck with the minute sequestered noose tattoo just under the space hidden by her formerly bowed chin.
"Speak while you have her attention. Slowly, gradually, without impulse or hurry, calmly and think about your breathing instead of your assumptions."
"Hello"
"Good morning"
"How are you tod-
Should I do so if indeed this question is sensitive to the nature of yesterday?
Yes. Heed to facial expressions, they convey a more immediate reaction then words. Alternate your dialogue if you must.
"How are you today, was that what you wanted to ask?"
Evidently she caught our conversation among the second delay.
"Yes, pardon me."
"I'm doing fine. Yourself"
The nervous twitches were inevitable but I was already proud and shocked. He initiated conversation despite the voices of protest from the majority vote.
"Fine"
She raised her lips to let a momentary smile pass by. Inside the gates who knew what contents she contained. Best to not assume nor guess less directed otherwise on the parties behalf.
"Nice tulips you have there. My father use to grow them in the backyard. They remind me of him. The florists don't grow them the way he did."
She let another smile pass by as I could contain my ecstasy no more. A barrage of applauds reverberated inside his head. Well done mate, well done. He'd managed to continue a stagnating conversation with a new point of interest!
"I lost my father too. Yesterday. These were his favourite kind of flowers too. He hung himself as me and my brother walked in after he called us over to celebrate his birthday and the birth of his new grandson. I don't mind saying it, it's an issue we keep closeted for no good reason. My mother passed ten years back from suicide too. Damn near left the whole family in shock till her diary said otherwise. They didn't like talking about even more back in the day. Stigmas kill. Left dad without will and us without parents."
She raised an arm to wipe the newly obscured eyes. Beneath her loose jacket of today was a glimpse at shed skin untended to.
"I'm sorry, so sorry for bringing it up"
She sunk into the familiarities of her arms as the trickle became a downpour.
The billboard we call a bus came and the queue rose in choreograph conditioned unison. She sat there motionless weeping while conscience clearing arms apathetically patted her back on their way to the bus as if she was some sort of donation box. Some blind firing trebuchets lathered her feet with tissues and condolences as if the destitute could simply make it past the day with well wishes. Everyone got on including him, except for her, barely so, as the bus was not of size to carry many more then one more- her.
She was still unmoved however, as the doors closed on another chapter as anti climatic as it was suspenseful, ignored by the conductor who still had the audacity to call her his friend.
He turned his embarrassment into anger as he thrust his thoughts at me.
You see what has happened, do you fucking see?
I guess he was right. There's a reason why the doctors want to get the voices out of his head. Maybe I've been too pretentious to notice my own flaws. I was the king to an empty court, with no subjects to highlight discord in the words I preached. Maybe I'm wrong but I know his right. My help is just another insecurity to add upon a tower built on insecurities, secured by insecurities and inabilities labelled as disability by a equally sick perfectionist society.
Easy to blame, hard to understand isn't it?
-Oliver Karuna 2016 (c)