AFTER THE RAIN

Strange how a simple shift of the wind, as
it stirs the branches of a nearby tree, could bring to mind something which
occurred to me years before. It was after the rain. The path I walked upon felt
slick beneath my shoes. There was a clean, crisp feel to the air. It was early
morning. The birds were singing, and I for some reason decided to walk down my
backyard and sit on a make-shift wooden bench. My mind was occupied by
something which kept me from sleeping, when this memory came to me of another
summer, another place.
It
was during my last semester at university. Often, I found myself going to a
spot I came upon by accident one day. There is an enclosure in the middle of a
square of buildings, surrounded by trees and bushes completely isolated from
the rest of the university. In the clearing of the enclosure stands a weathered
wooden bench. I spent my lunch hours and study periods there, to escape the
noise and distractions of the world I found myself in. It became my secret
place.
Until
one day, I happened upon someone sitting on the wooden bench. Her face was
smiling while her feet swung playfully beneath her. I recognized her. We took a
class together. She always sat at the back of the lecture hall away from
everyone. I found it strange that she sat alone; she was quite attractive. I
heard her once as she spoke to someone in passing. Her accent was thick and
exotic, like women in those James Bond films. My presence woke her from her
reverie. We looked at each other in dumb silence.
I
remember her methodically picking up her belongings, disappointment written on
her face. I felt ashamed, for I knew that I had disturbed her. Like me, she
found comfort in this place. On impulse, I awkwardly offered her half a
sandwich I had. She looked at me intently and smiled (in a crooked, thoughtful
kinda way). It was a look I would later learn was her way of considering an
unusual or awkward situation without seeming disrespectful. To my surprise, she
accepted.
We sat and
talked, formally at first about school. I could tell she was self-conscious
about her accent. Little did she know, her accent and shyness made her that
much more attractive to me. The conversation soon gave way to more casual
subjects as we began to share parts of our lives. In on time at all, I could
not understand how either of us could ever have felt uncomfortable or uncertain
around each other. The place soon became our place. We often found ourselves
there, even when it was raining. We would huddle up underneath an umbrella
finding warmth and comfort within each other’s arms, as the world past by
around us.
The summer all
too soon came to an end. I had no further reason to go to university. We saw
each other when we could. Then we spoke on the phone. Then we wrote. Until we
lost contact with each other all together, as the days faded into years. I
wonder where she is today. Back home no doubt with a husband and children. The
romantic in me began to speculate whether or not she ever thought of me, as I
was thinking of her now, and if she still smiled that certain way whenever she
considered something off-hand.
The wind stirred
once more. I found myself sitting on a damp wooden bench in my backyard. How
rude reality seems when compared to such a vivid memory. But I know that I will
always be able to look back and relive that moment. It is the gift she gave me,
an escape locked deep within my imaginings. I thank her for that and the summer
we spent together years before. If life is nothing more than a string of
experiences bound tightly together by memorable moments, then I know that in
her small way she has forever enriched my existence, by provided me with an
experience to cherish and treasure all the days of my life…