Secret Rendezvous
...And we'll take a walk; one on the outskirts of the football field, through
the empty corridors, dotting the perimeter of the basketball court, behind the
small stage that is lined with trees. We'll walk on the grey impaled
marble floors, or on dust-laden cement, slow as snails, for as long as we
wanted to. We’ll
hear the crickets chirring, the grasshoppers singing, while
the rest of the world danced to their own tune, enjoyed their own follies…
We’ll catch up on things we had lost track of. We’ll speak about people,
how much they affect out lives; chat facetiously about our distinctly alike
tastes in music; shared insignificant little stories of our lives that had
somehow affected us in the slightest possible way.
We’ll
be joking about trivial matters still, as we cross the big black gate for the
second time, heading towards the driveway again. And I’ll push you gently as I
tease you about another guy in your chess club, saying that if there were team
chess matches, you both could make babies by the time the opponent makes
a move. You’ll push me back too, with a wee bit more force, saying it was as
easy for me to score girls as it was to score goals, and that girls liked taking their
shirts off at hot footballers anyway; I’ll pretend to have not heard the comment you made about me being hot, and I'd know you’ll be apprehensive about saying something like that again.
After
more rounds of the driveway, the sand pit, and the mini garden near the
reception with the water fountain at its center, we’d finally settle down to
sit, at the uneven piece of rock outside the periphery of the tennis court; there is nobody there to see us, except for the footprints sitting idle on the tennis court, and cobwebs that have gathered on the corners of the walls. Only I would sit down though; you'd want to keep standing for a little while
longer because your legs feel restless. I’ll pull on your hand once, twice, mocking you to come sit with me before you'd want to; you'll
retort back with an impish, almost inaudible scream, calling me a retard. Finally
you’ll sit, right beside me, and for a fleeting moment we'll look at the stars together, both of use in awe of, and revering, our spontaneous, secret rendezvous. Another moment of silence follows, this one more tangible, and we are just about to start talking again
when your phone rings and you have to leave.
I'll
escort you back to the auditorium, where everybody is watching the proceedings
of a dance show they’ve already seen an umpteen number of times during the
rehearsals; a dance they don’t like much, but still want to watch. And you see
me off with a brief hug goodbye; nod your head as you wave your hand.
I start walking around the football ground, trying to distance myself from the commotion that is going on next to it, in the auditorium. I stand still for a second, stretch my back, and look up at the stars again, your voice stuck in my head like a song on repeat.
X-x-X
WAIT.
Now that you've read this, you should know that...
~> I wrote this long back and had decided against posting, but then, it's Valentine's Day.
~> I have a Physics Practical tomorrow, for which I should be studying, but I took a break to finish editing this because of YOU, my beloved reader. So lest something bad were to happen tomorrow, prepare to be bombarded with a good ton of hate mail.
~> This is not the complete story. The complete story neither begins, nor ends, like this.
Peace out.
Wish me luck for tomorrow.
And nobody's getting no hate mail 'cuz I don't have the time. Or the addresses.
Ciao.
\m/ (-_-) \m/
