Sometimes, life deals cards that don’t exist in the 52.
Sometimes the butterfly retains the soul of the butterfly.
It had been a decade. Almost. The city had changed, so had the people in it. The memories were there. Very much so. Yet, they were curling up at the edges, faster than either had anticipated.
They’d met a while ago, in between. He’d become an older version of his decade-old self. The intelligence. The humor. The sparks that set the air off with unsaid - but imagined - innuendos. She - well - she had changed. Or rather, had grown up. Into a woman, a person. But the soul was the same. Free-wheeling quietly - yet distinctly - in control. Mellowed. Where volumes were left unspoken in her eyes…
And so they passed an evening. Looking over old, familiar sign posts of memory. Dredging up tidbits to feed the fires that had burned them both. His own scars so visible and hers just about beginning to show that time did indeed heal.
A warm buzz then, enveloped the evening. A tableful of laughter and a memory full of smiles. They sat at the same table slightly set apart by their shared history. What was it then? Some call it the magic of the evening. That moment, when the most spectacularly fabulous idea becomes the almost inevitable.
This was a man - boy, if you will - she’d seen growing up. Snotty nosed and shorts. Petty quarrels and exam papers. School books and homework sheets. They’d never really known each other. Even way back. Yes, they moved in a small world, marked by people and places familiar to both. But other than the occasional conversation of intellectual ideation, they barely knew each other’s world. Or had reason to. She had always been the Quirk. The exception that proved the rule. Except - there were no rules. Life never does, does it? She’d made her own way, pretty much as she used to as a child. A troublesome child. Temperamental. Cerebral. Slightly dangerous. No one was invited inside her world. Well, at least not him. Not then.
So what was it then, that evening, that made these two distant figures, who once shared a common life for six hours a day, five days a week, over 3 years, acknowledge each other as individuals? Chemistry? Age? The Night?
Maybe they’d know the next morning when they woke up.
Part 2:
It is always all about the coffee
It was bound to be strange. I mean, seriously! It was more than a decade since we had met, other than a brief encounter in between. Maybe strange may not be the right word for it. But yes, there was a definite buzz in the air. And whatever one says, things were not the same as they were a decade ago.
Both of us were different from what we knew each other as, but yet at the same time, we had not changed. Both were out of our old caterpillar exoskeletons and emerging as butterflies. The brief encounter had both of us pleasantly surprised (I hope it was both. I for sure was!!). But it was too brief an encounter. Hence the buzz this time, as it was bound to be longer, certainly more time to catch up, to compare notes. And to add, it was probably going to be our last meeting for quite some time too.
The date started off pleasantly enough, at a popular jazz restaurant. As we got talking about the past decade, the catching up was nice and easy. All laughs and giggles all around as harmless and not so harmless gossip was traded. It was as if we were back in the navy blue uniforms, catching up on the who’s who at school.
Then slowly as the alcohol got our tongues loosened up, the darker experiences came out through. Both of us had been handed scars, branded with them for life. Some old and dark, others green and fresh. And at this point in time, both were at a same crossroad. A tad vulnerable, both needing support and caring. And both lonely.
That would have been that. The first meeting for a decade, and the last meeting for a few more years to come. If only it had not been for the invitation to the cup of coffee.
I certainly love my coffee!
Edit 1 :
Question for all: what follows? ;)
