This short story is participating in Write Story from Picture India 2012 – Short Story Writing Competition.
WSPI-2012-02
Photo credit: Nevit Dilmen
It must have been a month or two since the occurring of the incident that touched me, deep within, and transformed me as a person, completely. It was a day with no contrast from any of those typical December mornings – cloudy sky with no signs of the sun ever showing its visage, fog that didn’t seem to shun away, appearance of people, extremely less in number from what you’d find in those lovely spring days. Yes, people, covered in fur from head to toe. People, varying in appearance, structure and thought, as I reckoned. Till then, that is.
It was a majority of humans who were different from each other, but wherever I went, there was one group where except the looks, there was no difference you could find. As for the looks, it includes nothing more than the height or shape of their faces, or their eyes, if they were visible behind those four strokes of makeup. They walked in the same fashion, carried the same bags, wore almost similar clothes, the length of their heels was the same, and so were their facial expressions. I would hear about the clique every moment of each day. It became annoying, but the desperation of the girls to get along with them overpowered my annoyance to a great extent. Their passing through corridors led to ten minutes long discussion about the color they wore, style they carried and what snobs they were. It never bothered me much however they were, they were not going to affect me in any way, or so I thought, because in no time, it was my best friend who beseeched their attention. Even then, the thought of losing her didn’t occur to my naïve self. When it did happen, it struck me akin to a clasp knife. What to do and where to go were secondary questions. The primary concern was how the shock hit me and if I was ever going to recover from it.
Days passed by with no sign of her near me. Her seat changed, after five years of being my consistent partner. I wondered how she managed that and the constant query in my mind was whether it bothered her or not. Her actions compelled me to presume the answer in negative, but the quality of bond forced me to think twice. One night, while struggling with the search of my passport, I discovered a picture. A picture having two girls, sitting together, aged three probably, as if they will never part. another thing that was visible was the infinite blue of the sea, calm, serene, peaceful, nonchalant, in complete contrast from the state my mind was in. One drop, and the second, and the third and then it did not cease. I turned on the waterworks by the mere sight of it. It had the same two girls who were not together anymore. The question of being best friends couldn’t arise because they didn’t even communicate. It had all ceased. I wished that it would affect her too, but then she was nowhere in the parameters called ‘near’ to view it.
I was oblivious to the fact that my mother had seen those tears rolling down my chin and being a mother, it wasn’t something she could bear. And the aftermath was that she posted that picture to Anna’s place.
Nothing happened though, until that one morning. Yes, the same typical December morning where I found a girl shedding tears in front of the school building begging her mom to take her home. The faces were familiar. I could recognize them from a distance much away from what would be considered reasonable. But I didn’t feel like. Though I knew I’d have to face it, there was no other longer or shorter route. And so the meters between us decreased, both in terms of physical and emotional. She had been ditched, just like any other clichéd snob-clique tale. In her words, it was different from the other stories. I never asked her for the details, never demanded an explanation. It wasn’t required, I felt.
We never required reasons, excuses, explanations. It was all understood, well before. And so we walked on, in those same corridors where there still existed the ten minutes long gossips about the clique roaming all day, every day. We moved, paying no attention and life became perfect all over again.
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