To Dance Among The Clouds

An Unprepared Plan:

Sometimes we leap up, trying to touch the stars and fall just out of their reach. Then we try again. Maybe our efforts end in vain, our hopes of getting there becoming completely crushed. But looking around we find ourselves surrounded by other not-quite-high-enough-jumpers. And then we all come to realise that maybe it's not so bad to dance among the clouds.

PART ONE:

Along the once familiar sidewalks and through the once-puddled potholes I walk, feeling nostalgia from our not-so-long ago youth froth up into my eyes as I shed a few happy tears. I can almost see those twin silhouettes of ours darting about in chase of one another amongst a bustling crowd.

The image of them leaping from one waterless puddle to another, filled with youthful vigour, seems a not-so-long ago reality to me. I wish I could grasp it. But even with a quickening to my pace, their figures only seem to slip farther and farther away. Then, as they swerve sharply down a dark side-street, I give up on the pursuit. If that weren’t bad enough, a shin-grazing fall that shreds a not-so-fashionable tear in my shorts hurtles me back to the present.

I am alone in a crowd of strangers, strangers who normally would do no such thing, but today have chosen to unabashedly display their love for one another. Out here, in the busiest of streets in town, they flirt and kiss like nobody's watching. Well I am.

Although not a single one of them seems to care. There is not even a half-hearted “hello” to be shrewdly discarded my way. I guess that in saying“Valentine's Day is not one for meeting new people,” I land correct. It would be ludicrous to expect any response from all those single minded love puppies. Even so, a few words or short conversation would be a heaven-sent blessing in anticipation of my endeavour.

I understand that none will come from those love-locked fools. But just this once I don’t want to be the one feeling the blues in a red-hot sea of amour. Just this once I want to be a fool like them.

Wearing the same board shorts I always do and my favorite blue Adidas top beneath a plain-grey jersey, I feel like nowhere near prepared. All I can do is hope she doesn’t mind. My goal today is simple in thought, but maybe not so realization. I want to make her smile. The same teeth-showing grin that had always got me giddy with self-satisfaction.

In the rounding of one last corner my thoughts come crashing back to the material world, a sure necessity in hindsight for what is to come. I have arrived. The establishment is in crooked antiquity, void of a prolific logo and clearly in need of a new paint-coat. It causes me to groan inwardly as dark ideas conjure themselves in the backlogs of my mind. Would she have sent me to a random rundown cafe and left me there to await a no-show from her for a prank? No I firmly decide, remembering a girl who was too kind to do such a thing.

Risking the frustrations of a pessimistic voices warning I decide to at least loan her an extra half hour of my time and venture onwards to the place.

My entrance is announced by the light jangling of doorbells. Then having made a few steps inside, I take liberty in studying the crowd and quickly come to realise that my first take was completely wrong. Although it may take shape as the next space to purchase for super-cheap hotel development from the outside, like a masterpiece of a book with a failing cover, it is a beautiful reminiscence of an old-style cafe from the inside.

With my doubts having been quenched to some extent, I sit down to watch the longer clock hand come full circle. During that time I have been told to order something or leave by a handful of waiters, watched my neighbouring tables change over between old men reading newspapers with their coffees, families with too-full-of-energy children and the lonely individual trying to survive another Valentines Day whilst I revert back to a more pessimistic outlook on the day.

But, by the grace of some much needed luck, she arrives just as I am about to leave. This instills the memory of so many just-in-the-nick-of-time fairy tales into my head and the days prospects soar rapidly in my head, maybe a little too high. It could end in the same way as all those perfect-endings to children's tales I momentarily wonder.

Another soft jangle chimes from the store’s aperture and I barely take a look at the new lonesome figure standing at the entrance. But then something about that nameless figure goads me into a second look. And then I take a third. And then I stare at her. Even though it has been over half a decade and she has definitely changed, I definitely know it’s her. Maybe it is in the way she holds herself, but there is something too familiar about her. Though it does not drive both ways, her eyes still search the sparse ocean of heads with eyes sparkling with growing worry.

Too overcome by the arrival to care about her obvious lack of recognition, I set about imagining a distant future. A future void of anything other than a long and fulfilled relationship between us.

Following the idea that food is the best way to a girl's heart, I purchase two blueberry muffins from the counter and make my way towards her. Throughout my try-to-be-casual march in her direction she doesn’t once look up at me, not until I tap her gently on the shoulder. Following a startled recoil she finally realizes that I am her date. We exchange the normal formalities and then sit down.

I’m on the last bite of tart and we haven't even said anything to one another aside from a breezy comment on the weather. This was not the lunch I had come to envision. And her trembling hands don't tell the tale of a meeting between two long-lost friends. No. She seems nervous, worried even, and my sealed lips are not helping a single bit.

Our gazes and thoughts are elsewhere, averted far from the table. It feels as if strong magnetic forces pulled our focus anywhere but at each other. And it begins to really tick a nerve inside of me.

How can she not remember me? I ask myself. The thought is rolled over and over in mind, but no reasonable answer does arrive. All I want to do is yell, scream, complain. She has to remember, or I am going to thump it back into her.

Before I can though, a waitress interrupts us. “Could I interest you two in a coffee and a bite to eat,” she asks with a toothless smile. “Yeah..,” I huff, my response prompting her to shove a rather grubby menu under my nose. And after a quick glance down the unappetising menu of canned soups and cereals, I hand it back and order only a coffee for the two of us. My date barely registers the purchase, signalling her agreement with a solemn nod.

The waitress picks from my sweat-riddled fingers a measly sum of cash and goes off to make our beverages, eventually returning in that same minute. Luckily, because any longer than that and I would have most definitely succumbed to a turbulence of emotions.

Steam ripples up from our cups, reassuring me that the dirt-cheap coffee may at least have the ability to warm the dwindling embers of my soul. That same column of heat shoots me back to the past, to a time where we were closer.

On that day, on our rock overlooking the whole city, the sun had barely awoken. Its rays were only just beginning to evaporate the night’s icy coating. The sky was bathed in a fine mist which reflected the sun’s illuminescents onto us with shimmering rainbows. It was as if the world were shaking off its cloak of sleepiness to prepare for another day, a spectacle of wonder performed only for us.

That rock was our special place, the one we’d meet up at to undertake many, many adventures. “Our. Special. Place.” I sound out the words slowly, recalling the meaning it had once held in my heart. What every single time spent there with her had meant. Then I say to the woman in front of me “lets drink,” and down half my cup in one gulp.

I cough, feeling it tickle my throat and then all rush back up.

A hot black liquid dribbles from our lips as we try to expel the taste from our mouths. Then, almost in unison, we regurgitate it all over the table. “Disgusting,” I smile between each tear. Finally, in the act of wiping down our table, the ice between us is broken.

From our recent travels to a debate on the hierarchy of the taste of fruits, we talk about everything and anything. I begin to feel like it is reminiscent of the mood we shared between us back then. The only thing missing is the topic of our childhoods, but I can tell she still does not see the connection between us. Eventually our conversation came to that of what we wanted and were expecting of tonight. I await her response before choosing whether or not to spill my heart out.

Her eyes flit timidly between her coffee cup and the table, avoiding the confrontation of my own gaze. Then, after clearing her throat, she nervously takes another sip before spitting it all out again. “Well...” she starts, before retching out more of the dark liquid, “I thought that maybe, because you seemed so friendly through text, you could help me deal with this boy I like.”

I froze.

And then I said something terrifying, ushering words that I should never have spoken. “Umm… I could always give it a try.”

The next half hour, unlike the previous we had spent deep in casual conversation, passed in a blur.

Politely excusing myself from the table, I take giraffe strides out of the cafe. My feet carry me with relentless pace towards a friend's car parked in a distant street. I know that if I stop now, the tears won't hold themselves back.

I searched up and down the street where his car was supposed to be parked once, twice and thrice without any luck. Then I take one last look at the sole car in the street. It’s the exact same model as my own. And, as I have nothing better to do, I take a closer look at it. That’s when I notice it has the same number plate as my own vehicle.

I take out the keychain hidden away in a back pocket, and sure enough it slots right in. The car open, I pull open the driver's door and take a seat inside. The touch of the polyester on my back and neck is comforting, a healing crystal to my broken heart. Keying the ignition I look down to place foot on clutch and acceleration, but find an envelope standing proudly in front of the brake pedal.

The letter is easily opened, showing that the owner wasn’t too bothered about keeping it sealed. I notice that it’s short, and scribbled in my friends almost illegible scripture.

“Hey mate.

I hope you had a good Valentine's Day.

I thought you might want to have a little time to yourself, judging by that text you sent me earlier.

Here' s a box of chocolates, I thought you might like them.

Remember that no never means that all’s lost.”

I take one bite, savouring the mix of alcohol and chocolate in my mouth. And then I finally begin to think about the day's events.

A first tear trickles smugly down a cheek and lands noiselessly on the seat below. A second splashes on the car floor. A hundred more tumble down from my eyes, leaving a puddle of calamity below me.

After some time of non-fate-changing thoughts I make a laudable sniff and wipe my face with an arm. Flooring hard on the accelerating I manage to false start. “Just like my day,” I laugh. “It was going so well, but ended up going nowhere.” Although, with some perseverance, I manage to get the car going.