Their destination drew nearer and nearer. He looked at his
watch. She was looking out the window. She indulged that for once, time was not
the number. She had no schedule to adhere to; no tick tock to make sure she was
on time. It was a luxury, a luxury she hadn’t known how to enjoy. Life was too
much of a rush back home. Not today, not now. She breathed deep and smiled. He
caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. He brushed his hand over
hers.
“Look, the water fountain” he pointed.
She turned her gaze to where he was pointing.
“The last time I was here, they turned it off. I was so
disappointed. I am glad they have it on today. We will go and see it later.” He
mused.
She nodded. She had never heard girls muse over water
fountains before. Perhaps it was because it never came into context? But he was
not the first boy to be fascinated by water fountains. Was it a gender thing?
She kept it in her thin box to figure out later. In her head, she was wondering
if there would be any ducks around for her to play with. Or at least pigeons.
As he drove into the city, he told her what he knew of it.
Most expensive city to live in, traffic was horrendous, they turned off water
fountains right when he wanted to watch them, it was difficult to find parking,…she
listened patiently and wondered where all the people were that he spoke of. It looked pretty deserted to her.
He finally pulled into a spot, but cautiously peered around.
Where she was from, it would have been fine to double park and leave your phone
number on the dashboard. Or you could park at the restricted areas. He was
cautious not to.
“I do not care. I will park here.” He says.
“Ok”
They step of the car, he locks it and he walks three steps
before turning to her.
“No, we cannot park here. We will move.”
“Um, ok.” She wonders what changed his mind in the three
steps that he had taken. But it was his car after all, so she tumbled back in
and they made their way out of the slot.
They passed building after building as he searched for a
place more agreeable to him. Finally, turning into one he found more to his
liking.
It was the most bizarre thing. The underground parking was spiraling
downwards with bays left and right. How does one know how many levels he had
gone down? It just went on and on spiraling downwards. Did it ever end? What if
you reached the end and there wasn’t a spot? How do you turn your car so it can
head its way back up? She pressed her nose against the windows looking out for
a spot.
Finally, one was there. Once again, they got out of the car.
“Do you have your keys?” she asked before he locked the
door.
He patted his pockets “Yes”
“And your wallet and phone?”
“Yes”
“We should remember the parking spot number so it’s easier to
find it later”
His head snapped up briefly “Yes, we should.” He went back
to look for the number.
“Ok, got it.”
“See, if you didn’t have me with you, you would have walked
off without knowing you parked your car. And then you would’ve been angry that
you couldn’t find your car.” She tossed her head triumphantly.
He smiled at her “Yes, I am lucky to have you here with me”
“Now, how do we know what level we’re at?”
Somehow, they managed to get themselves back to ground
level. He peered at the ticket machine.
“I must see what the rates are like” *looks down at the
machine and curses under his breath*
“…the most expensive city…” as he walked off out into the
crisp, cold air. She trotted behind him.
How does he know where he is headed? As she followed his
lead. She pointed her nose upwards, trying to whiff the air. It didn’t tell her
anything, not much to her surprise. Shops were closed, and there weren’t that
many people about. He had told her that the city was pretty much closed for the
event. She, on the other hand, still wondered where they were going and how it
was that he knew where he was going. There was a sureness in his step, a
confidence she rarely saw. She looked at his shoulders, and noticed the
strength in them.
Finally they reached their destination. A small crowd of
people were already there, all for the same purpose as he. He was visibly
annoyed; that he had to drive all this way and go through all this hassle for
this event. Never again, he says. Never with them again, and not if they do it
in this city. She irons out the wrinkles that forms the frowns on his forehead.
“You are angry again” she coos at him.
“I’m sorry. It is a habit of mine.” For a moment, their eyes
lock.
“When I get there, I will tell them I am unhappy. I will do
so in the local language.” He tells her.
Her head cocks to one side. Where she was from, many
languages are spoken, and no one apologized for speaking in a different
language, one where another person in the group might not understand. She
realized that when that had happened, back at home, it had always made her feel
excluded. Yet, it was not something anyone apologized for. Not where she was
from.
As they joined the line, she realized she was in a park.
There was a large floating balloon in the nearby fountain.
“I will go there” she tells him.
He looked slightly alarmed. “Do not go too far” he tells
her.
She was already five feet away.
It was drizzling, and she takes out her rain poncho and
adorns herself with it. He hated the rain poncho. “Rubbish” he called it. He was
disgusted at her insistence at keeping it. When she had taken it out, he cringed
as she crawled her way into the rustly plastic. He stayed in line as she
wandered towards the fountain. She sat on the wet stone surrounding the
fountain, knowing the poncho would keep her dry. Happily, she sat
people-watching and the gentle murmur of the waters behind her.
It had stopped raining, so she took off her poncho and set
it aside. A man came asking her for it. She was surprised. Who would want such
a thing? Then she realized he was a garbage collector. She politely told him it
was hers, and that she intended to keep it. Just as the garbage man walked
away, her twinkling eyes met with his. He was done with the events
registration, and had spotted her with the garbage man.
“What did he want?” he asks her, gesturing towards the
garbage man.
“I put my poncho down and he came to take it. I had to tell
him it was mine.”
“Ahah! I told you it was rubbish. Even a professional agrees
with me.” He looks at her triumphantly.
“What professional?” she crinkles her nose at him.
“He collects garbage for a living. He knows what rubbish
looks like. That is why he asked you to surrender that….that thing” he retorts.
She glares at him, defeated. But still, she firmly grasps
the drizzly wet poncho in her hands.
They walked out of the park, across the street, further down
nearer to the lake. He stops abruptly.
“They turned it off!” he says, staring into the distance.
She tries to follow his gaze, but sees nothing.
“Unbelievable. They turned it off. It was on just now, and
then they turned it off. I hate this city.”
It suddenly dawns on her he was talking about the water
fountain. He was truly upset that they had turned the fountain off. Frowns once
again decorated his beautiful forehead. She reached up again to smooth out
those wrinkles.
“At least we saw them just now” she tries to soothe him.
He looks down at her, meeting her gaze. He breathes in, and
they quietly walk away. Back to the building, down the elevator, into the
spiral carpark, and drive out into the small lanes of the city.
He taps something into his phone.
“Here, read this out for me”
She looked down at what it was. A GPS on their way back.
Well, that was what she supposed it was. But it was in their local language.
She read it to him. She had learnt some of it a few years ago.
“Not bad” he says.
“Yes, but here they pronounce it weird; different from how I
learnt it”
“No, it is the same”
She now understands the annoyance that was widely spoken of.
Regardless, she happily read to him the directions and they
were soon on the highway back home. On came the songs, as they sped through. It
was only a day, but it seemed like there had been a lifetime together in the
previous years. Two strangers were in the car, but not one of them felt like
it. They had had a lifetime together, and yet at the same time they had not.
He turned down little lanes, and then they found their way
up a mountain.
“I want to show you where I used to work” he says.
Up the mountains. Her spine was filled with little chills.
These were mountains whose beauty she had only read about. And now she was on
her way up one of them. With him. She stole a look at him. Then she looked down
at the trees below, as they gained altitude, the lake reflected the sun and
cast shadows of the trees they passed.
She recalled a Marian Keyes novel she read. The girl in
denial of her addictions, and was sent to a clinic up the Swiss mountains.
Could this match what she was seeing before her? The hustle and bustle she
claimed to love back home; how could she be enjoying this? Perhaps it was that
he was right there beside her. Perhaps it was that her usual allergies didn’t
seem to come attacking. Perhaps because of the crisp cool air that flavored the
scene. It didn’t matter. She loved it. Loved the moment. Loved loving it.
As they reached the clinic and he was telling her tales of
working on a mountain, she imagined the Marian Keyes novel again. She dug
through her mind for the story and put the clinic into the story. There was a
real place like that. It was real. Not just a story.
He told her about being stuck in snow, of the cars he had
had. He told her about the outdoors, and shoes he had to borrow. He told her of
his work.
Then, at a little turning, he stopped the car. She looked
out the window. The view was breathtaking. The sun was setting, and the orange
tint across the lake and up the earth that curled into the magnificent mountain
she was on made for a much more incredible view. She was speechless. Long has
it been since she had appreciated raw beauty. Raw, natural, untouched.
She wondered what it would be like to spend a night in these
great outdoors. Away from the technology, away from all the other humans. Just
her, a tent, and the stars above.
But she would be too scared to do that alone, she knew. What
if there were bears? She suddenly looked to her right. There was a steep wall
of trees. What if there were bears? She couldn’t shake off the feeling. Or
Jason. It wasn’t Friday, was it?
She scanned her surroundings. No cars passed by. Why would
there be? There was nothing on the mountain save for the clinic; and it was the
weekend. People were curled up in their homes resting, away from this quiet
mountain. The road was small, and only a barn nearby. It was abandoned. There
were shovels and a wheelbarrow nearby. Sparse trees that would make for great
barriers in trying to run away. The walls of the mountain were steep, and near
impossible to climb up. The drop down was sure to at least sprain an ankle. It
was eerily quiet.
“You’re not planning to murder me here, are you?”
He looked around, not looking her in the eye. He smiled as
he looked into the distance.
“Yes, this would make a
good murder spot.” Was his short reply.
