I would’ve waited forever

The 19th street bus stop

The sky was getting dim. I waited at the bus stop, like we always did. Everything was the same: the sky turning into a purple-pink hue, the streetlight flickering, and cricket chittering. A year ago, I watched you get on the bus with her, while I stood behind waving goodbye. She was the one you loved, and I was merely your good friend.

The rain was starting to pour on this barren earth, with vast fields. Was that nature’s way of comforting my misery? When did it all begin? The day you suddenly looked different in my eyes? I watched you fall in love with her, while I saw my own self falling for you even more.

It was the 2^nd of July, the year 2001, I was sitting on the swing alone, loneliness had been my company for as long as I remembered. It was a clear sky, and you could see what creatures the cloud would shape into. Then, you came by with a book in your hand. You sat right there, beside me, on the dirt. Even though you were known as a clean freak, you didn’t say anything; you just continued to read your book. I remember it clearly now—it was a book about unique buildings around the world. In that moment, I found comfort in the silence we shared for the first time.

The flowers have started to bloom. It was spring again, and also our first day of middle school. This time, it was I who was buried in books. By the time I turned 12, I had already read 400 books. Well, you were always out in the sun. I could never understand how you played basketball in that glaring sun. Though you always had the habit of waving at me when our eyes met, even when you were in the middle of a game. I remember you getting scolded by your coach for missing the ball. You just chuckled when you came to me, even though it was my fault you missed the ball.

“Hey, you forgot your jacket!” as you ran up to me, from the school pavement, while taking off your own jacket and giving it to me. I just shrugged then, because you always did this. You were always nice to me, and I hated you for it. You didn’t mind, though. I wonder why now. Back home, you’d sit there for hours, listening to me ramble on. I was very talkative at home. I’d ramble about the biscuits the roadside seller sold, and the crazy twist in the book. You’d agree and smile at me after I finished talking. Sometimes, you called me crazy and laughed, but you were always there during my ugly sobs.

It was the last year of high school now, and I was screaming, waving to my friends. It’s crazy how fast the pages are flipping now that it’s over. I became well, extroverted in high school. I was not one of the popular girls, but instead I was the nice girl. It had such a nice ring to it, don’t you think so? I spent my days joking with my friends, going to cafes, and reading books. The extroverted me still craved for quiet time, so I never let go of books, like you. You taught me books were a great company, and they were still stuck with me after all these years. I still read the book you gifted me on my 22^nd birthday. Ah, now that I remember. I was handing out my science book to her when you dashed the door open. It was a loud bang, and you came in front of me. You stood there in silence, looking at me for a few seconds before you dragged me outside. I was furious at you that day. My hand left a scar for a whole week because of you. When we were outside, you were still silent. I didn’t know what to do. I joked about saying Was it my mother calling you again, but stopped when I looked into your eyes. You looked glum and were holding my hand as you looked down at the ground. Your eyes looked as if they wanted to say something, but your mouth didn’t want to. So, I just stood her, looking down at the ground too. We were at school, and if somebody saw me with you, I’d get in trouble.

You became the problem child when we got into high school. Your mother was always shouting at you, so sometimes you’d stay at our house, and whenever you felt sad, I always made your favourite noodle soup. There was this one time, I accidentally put too much salt on the soup, but you still finished it. You even smiled at me and told me how good it was. We all had our ways of finding comfort, and yours were always found in noodle soup. I didn’t need any comforting. I was the nice girl, so I had to play my part. We all had our own roles, and you can never deny them. Maybe that’s why you didn’t come to me when you were hurt again. You went to her, and I watched it all happen. This is good, I’m playing my role perfectly well.

(To be continued…)