Who Here Writes?

[ClockWorkAngel]

Leisure or professionally, perhaps we can share?

I write for leisure, mostly short stories.

Spoiler for Leaving Station E:

The small stream and the bridge that arched over it were reminders of the peacefulness which will soon be left behind. The thin cracking concrete sidewalk was a preview of what would happen to me in the future. And the patch of gravel which connected these together was the time left between. I often wondered that if it could be called the present. But when I really think about it, all the things that are said, the words that substitute the truth, the excessive and unnecessary things we do, just like this very introduction; what do they accomplish? Does it hide the truth, or is it an excuse we use so that we can hide behind our self-imposed ignorance? I spend too much time thinking, and wondering about these trivial things, that I lose track of the things I’ve learned to cherish. In because of that I became so much more hesitant. One may call it caution gained from wisdom, but isn’t that just flattery? I don’t think it is proper at all to mistake them for one another.

In the past, I had happily commuted to school. The bus came everyday at the bus stop at the street corner at 7 am. While school started at 8. The reason I always gone so early wasn’t because of a long trip, in actuality it would only take 20 minutes to arrive at school. The bus only came in one hour increments, and 7 am happened to be the earliest. It was one of the few buses that would reach my neighbourhood, so the routes were long and winding. The bus I always took, 44E (44 was the district I lived in and E stood for express) had an especially long route (why they called it express I would never know) so I could never afford to miss the bus if I were to go anywhere. Then again, the same could be said for any of the other buses (there were two more, but they were never even remotely near where I lived).

I woke up around 6 am, which has became a routine for me now (though the backlash of occasionally sleeping late and waking early would haunt me on the weekends) as I slowly attended to my personal hygiene and breakfast. My mother was already awake by then, while my father was taking a shower. They were usually not awake at this time, which only added to the awkwardness of this day. The unnecessary expressions of good luck and meeting expectations were told to me. After all, the exams were already over, and only today would we be told. But more importantly acceptance to the school you opted for was the most important. For the more ambitious anyways. Though you could always be ambitious, but just have different priorities. But of course, that’s just being polite on my part.

They wave me out as I left through the door, the thin wind breaker I wear doesn’t help much in terms of keeping me warm, and if you consider that it was pretty much not keeping the chills out either. The cold Autumn breeze rattled the colourful leaves, still clinging desperately to their branches, as the ones scattered on the ground shifted strongly. Checking my watch it was nearly 6:50, during the time I waited, I could not help but feel alittle bit anxious. One often wonders about how well or badly they have done while waiting for results. For a long time I could not help but feel that only dread would be coming to greet me. But not caring could be worst, if you could not really worry about such things how could you comprehend the pain of others or the importance of the situation? You could count today, but wouldn’t that just inflate it more than it needs to be?

The loud honk from the bus woke me up as I open my eyes to the open doors. The bus was nearly empty, apart from the few people onboard I did not know. A few were from my school, but I could never bother to ask their names. I took my seat, a far distance from both front and back. I could never move directly to the back, the though was discouraging (In reality it was often a bother to wait for the other people rushing through the narrow lanes usually adding 5 minutes to my trip somehow). On the swaying bus, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep, and I could always get some extra sleep. But who ever would wake me up would find it awkward and so would I.

But would that awkwardness really apply today? After all, all the faces you meet today will disappear into their own businesses so any good will now will disappear with them. So is that why people try to act so friendly to me now? I feel that it’s a poor reason for being polite, after all it would only add to the feeling of nostalgia in your heart. And amongst that; remembering someone who doesn’t remember you, is possibly the saddest result, and coincidentally the most common.

So why do we even bother? Perhaps so that we can say we tried. But I don’t really care about those things anymore, I’m sure that the end result wouldn’t change if I though about it more, after all my thoughts only seem to accomplish tormenting me more (Though I’m sure that’s just me being picky)! How’s that for irony?

The bus stopped abruptly, the few people who were standing shook violently back and forth. I wondered if they were standing so that they could look cool (If you asked me they looked awkward, it would have been a more amiable action if they got off their seat and offered it to say, a senior)? Most of them looked like underclassmen from the uniforms they were wearing, maybe they’re hoping to set a good impression for people now. Unfortunately those first impressions would probably be forgotten over the incoming holidays. More people came in from each stop, most were unfamiliar, while others, faces which had names on them that I could barely call out on my own. You could call it eating my own words if you want to, I don’t mind.

I live a life of general mediocrity, which is actually much worse than a terrible life, because such a life would warrant pity and a life of mediocrity however would at best get a slight sigh of sympathy, which is more of a sigh of irritation, for the listener anyways.

So I would never bother telling people about the tiny irritations and faint traumas which have filled my life. You could call it a normal life, but it seemed everything but.

People have a hard time admitting things, though they’re often bad things, I don’t believe that there's modest people, to me they almost seem apologetic to me. I often find myself unable to really talk about my life. I have a lot to say, but it seems that when it came to me, I found myself speechless and often lost. It wasn’t a frantic feeling, but more of a gentle disappointment, one which was easily shooed off with a change of subject.

Another stop, by now several of the underclassmen have given up and have taken their seats. The door open and shut, a few people had came in this time.

“Yo.” I said to one of them who were passing by.

“So how goes?” he took a seat beside me.

“It’s just another day.”

“Really? I’m surprised to hear that from you. Your parents are so strict! Mine were already yelling out stuff like, you better get into that school! And other garbage like that.”

“No, they’re always quite noisy, so really it’s just another day.”

“That’s depressing.”

“You’ve heard me say it all the time though, how can it still be depressing?”

“I like to forget you know? Makes life happier.”

“It wouldn’t make it any easier.”

“I never said it would.”

He gave a small curt laugh. He had a bubbly smile and always seemed to be in high spirits, but I found that beneath that happy exterior was a person who only wanted to cry. He often had feelings of depression and fell into deep thought a lot, but always seemed to bounce back when I shown even a hint of impatience, even though I never did show signs of it, his rants always seemed well meaning and had a serene feeling to it. In a way he was a squishy water balloon, when the outside popped, the insides would simply slip through your fingers.

So I found it entirely inappropriate for him to be a scientist of any sort. It didn’t seem to match up with what he was to me for these long years. I myself was unsure of what to do so I took literature for my course. Literature was a broad group of courses though and could range from the ridiculous to the unnecessary. It was because of these different choices that of course it was natural for us to say good bye. One may say that they aren’t actually apart, people can still keep in touch. But wouldn’t doing so only be trying to keep already broken ties fruitlessly together? I want my last memories of him to be of a cheerful smile and a heartfelt departure for the best, not the end of a line of short letters or e-mails. That would only make it seem like betrayal, and for that though it may seem unnecessary, we must say goodbye. Besides he has always said;

“We’re not people who can live their lives dramatically.”

There is no amazing end, no reconcilement through the revealing of some convenient plot device. It is just simply life, and of course even the breaking of long ties are broken, one way or another. I don’t want to think that he’d always be in my heart, it would be a burden for both of us, I don’t want to worry about his future while I’m no longer part of it and neither does he want me to fret over the unnecessary.

So we’ll say our goodbyes.

Not now, though it already seemed prevalent, the bus ride was quite silent between us, always I took to appreciating to the moving view and as he was shaking his head in beat with his music. But for now we enjoyed each other’s silent company even though we were often more comfort talking to one another. The long winded silences we shared when the time called for it would often conclude the end of a conversation. It wasn’t always a lapse of time reserved for thinking, rather often it was that of amazement and shock of the reality that was promptly revealed before us. As we made our small forced laughs to lighten the mood fruitlessly. It was something that may stay with me forever.

I never could understand why he chose to tag along with me for these years, we had very few similarities, and the few similarities were quite trivial. But from those trivial similarities lied what perhaps was the very thing keeping us together. But it wasn’t something that was casually brought up, regardless the very thing that had brought us together had melted away by one another’s presences; we were both extremely lonely people.

Yes, I never realized when we became so close, it had seem all but obvious to either of us.

The bus ride, like always was long and noisy, the unfamiliar voices I heard, the faces smiling, pouting or simply looking bored or nervous. I can’t see why I could admire them, but I could. Though they had their anxieties, obvious or not, they were people who have lived their lives with a form of fulfillment, and to me that was quite admirable.

The rocking motion of the bus, and probably whatever he was listening to had put him to sleep. I am envious of him. Unlike me, he could almost go to sleep at will, and always seems to be at peace with himself. Though really, I doubt I could connect those two things together, because though he could easily fall asleep, I’m not quite sure that it was because of any peace of mind.

The automated voice of the bus had rang out, “Arriving at Station E” my eyes darted to my right again as he jabbed at my side. He didn’t look at all like a person who had just awaken.

“I though you were asleep.”

“Nah, I just closed my eyes.”

“Oh really? I’ll take your word for–.”

“After all, who could sleep at such a time.” he interrupted me.

He sounded slow and moody.

“Second thoughts?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference, these are just the results after all. Might as well just go for it.”

Everyday, after taking the long bus ride, we would do our daily trekking of the path to school. It was a quiet path, that followed the more empty streets of the suburbs, I always wondered why there weren’t any bus stops near the school, or ones that I could at least use. Our walk wasn’t that exciting either, it was an uncomfortable silence now, and it seemed that he was thinking of something else.

When we had arrived near the school, we were already squeezed into a large crowd of other students. The bulk of the large crowd moved slowly and for the most part seemed like a herd of sorts. Though I could never under stand it, it was something I had learnt to go along with. It was a dull way of living I’m sure, it wasn’t something that you could call amiable. But it wasn’t a shame on any regard, being part of a greater idiocy, it was a completely natural thing. I realized that by the time that I could argue that for my individualism, I was already part of the mass. So in a way it was unavoidable.

The pace that was forced onto us was slow, and what accompanied it was a terrible feeling of anxiety. Though I could never understand it, it was something that seemed to follow people at these situations. For me it was something that became a routine over the years, the tragic sighs and the slow breaths taken around me didn’t add much to the atmosphere other than only reconfirming my feelings.

The main gates of the school were creaked as they swayed with the cold wind. Like a tireless or rather tired mass, the pace of the group never faltered. He had brought out a sheet with him, telling him where he was supposed to go.

“So I’ll see you later?” I ask him.

“Of course, at the station like always.”

“I’ll see you later then.”

He gave me a wave as he departed and walked through the masses of people. With him, he joined the twenty or so people that were in his class and disappeared into their unfamiliar faces. Finding myself alone again, I could not help but feel the coldness of the wind as it blew into the school.

It took me five minutes to realize I was unaware of where I was supposed to go. During that time I could see the large boards set up on the grounds as several teachers were wandering around the grounds. Some, congratulating students whom succeed in some way or wishing their co-workers good luck for another year. It was then that she bumped into me.

An old friend, and not much either, she had almost faltered into a face I could not recognise confidently.
I remembered that she had used to ride the bus with me when we were younger, but it became impossible now to see one another, though we both shared the same bus, she lived nearer and therefore had more options to choose from, fortunately for her there were a few more busses that went to her house and to the school.

Why I remember this, I have yet to understand.

“Oh, hi!” she had apparently remembered me.

“Oh, hello again.” in reality I was hesitant to talk to her.

“So have you seen your results yet? You were wandering about I figured that you must have been done!”

“Oh, actually I haven’t.”

“Oh? Then we can go together then!” her personality was different from the one I could vaguely remember. But then again we had barely talked for these recent years, and people often find themselves changing. Even though we were in the same class, I could never find myself the time to worry myself about her.

She had led me through the crowd into an area, with a few people staring at the boards.

Apparently her results were further down, I scanned the large boards, searching for my own number. The other classmates, some, like her, simply faint impressions left on my mind, none of them could be compared to him however; it seemed that they weren’t the type of people I could ever appreciate in a similar manner.

The laughing, cries of joy and simply crying was everywhere. Today, I have seen many dreams prosper and in the same time mercilessly crushed. It is not right for me to mourn for them however, seeing as I don’t know any of them, and wouldn’t this sadness simply be seen as convenient pity? It is a sad thing, the ways of man, we are not beings who can truly accept the kindness of others for their face value. Is it because we’ve constantly shown a side of sadistic pleasure from time to time? In reality it is quite a horrific feeling, but perhaps there was more to it.

My number was down half way on the line of boards. The long number stared down at me from its high place on the board.

“That code meant that you were accepted. Lucky you eh?” her voice seemed sad and forced, the thing on her face seemed like a disfigured frown forcing into a smile. She really had changed, before me now was a person who still tried denying her emotions. Oddly enough that had disgusted me more than her make shift smile.

“Aren’t you going to ask about me? I’m sure you’re interested.” I wasn’t going to answer such a stupid question.

“No I don’t think I am.” I tell her.

“Liar!” it seemed my answer had only made her angrier.

“What do you expect from me?!” She had screamed at my face, it was only natural to scream back at her.

“Whatever then.”

She stared at me with somewhat of an uneasy smirk, though it was painfully obvious that it was forced.

“That’s right, you don’t even notice it yourself I’m sure.” She forced another smile, wiping away beads of either sweat or tears from her face.

“Notice what?!”

“It doesn’t matter; this will be the last time it matters anyways!” She shoved me into the group, somehow her words had already pushed me half way there.

“What the hell?!” If anything I was surprised, it wasn’t until about I got back into even footing that I managed to yell.

“Fine! Don’t tell me!” needless to say the crowd’s eyes glance towards me for a second before ignoring me again.

I am a terrible person, but how terrible must one be to avoid the terrors that lurk under us?

I pushed my way through the crowd, like a confused trout swimming up stream. Their forces had faded into a swirl of noise that I could only ignore from this point.

The metal gates of the school greeted me again, waving in the wind like a final good bye.

There isn’t was a difference between walking with him and simply walking alone, through the path again except from an even more weary feeling of fatigue. The dull sky above me from this morning had only grown darker and more depressing. The weatherman reported a sunny day, but then again expectations are not always met. If it rained I was sure to come home wet.

The path had become empty again; the many people who had gathered into the school had mostly dissipated in their own paces. It was something that sharply contrasted those tight schedules of the morning.

I wondered how long I stayed at the school gate, perhaps for an hour, or only a few minutes. I had no particular reason and it would have been wiser to leave earlier to get a seat at the station. Checking my watch the bus was due to arrive in twenty minutes, it would take me fifteen to arrive there.

I wondered if he was there, sitting on one of the benches like always. A though came to me telling me to not keep him waiting, but then again it wouldn’t matter much.

It was odd, though I had every reason to celebrate, I found no emotion for it, there was no sudden feeling of success nor of completion in my life, it seemed that everything was just going along, for better or for worse, I assumed that life would only go on.

The station itself is a normally busy place, though the bus did not come in quick intervals, it was used by a variety of people. Today however it was almost empty. Checking my watch again to see if I was late, he came from behind me and slapped my shoulder.

“What took you so long?”

“I got lost for a while.”

“That explains it.”

“Really?”

“Of course not, but why waste time badgering you right?”

It was answer for the sake of saving time and perhaps leaving off at a better note.

The siren of the station rang out, the automatic voice saying

“44E due to arrival.”

“Weird, it’s a bit earlier today.” He observed.

“Really?”

“It’s like the world’s trying to rush us or something.”

It was something that was said in an optimistic tone, but somehow the truth seemed so cruel, the world seemed to be rushing us forward, and our next steps would no doubt be unsure.

“It would be awkward if we would have to part half way through the trip.” he had suddenly said.

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“Perhaps, this isn’t the best way to end things off.”

“You mean say goodbye?”

“Of course not, such an ugly word isn’t meant for people who have known each other for so many years. Rather it’s until we meet again.”

A bright smile, a person whom always lived without regrets, those will be the things I’ll remember when I remember him, the bus had rushed in, the station’s bell rang out, filling the silence of the empty station.

“So is this really goodbye?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

The bus’ door opened with a slight creak as he entered. At first the bus didn’t drive away, perhaps he thought that I was going to get on too? It wasn’t until I waved the bus good bye and stared at his face as he peeked from the back of the bus did the bus began to start-up, disappearing into the corner of a turn, disappearing from my sight, leaving me to watch as people walked past me.

She came rushing from the door. Her steps were hard and heavy, she gripped her bag tightly, trying to keep it on her shoulder. Needless to say, she had struggled with each step.

She had avoided me, and from the corner of my eye I could see her reach for the bench only to grab her own hand away.

Perhaps, if I left she would be able to calm her own nerves.

But I am not a charitable person. I am a person who has only ever thought about himself.

And because of that I am not a person who could ever love.

The silence wasn’t any more awkward than that had recently departed.

I suppose that I had nothing to say.

I wonder what had caused it, but she had taken a seat beside me.

“You still haven’t asked me.”

“No, I’m not going to ask you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell you.”

“Please don’t… I’m never good with sad stories.”

“Shut up and listen to me for a while.”

My silence seemed to have been warranted as an okay to her.

“You already probably have known but I fell short.”

It was obvious, but what was the margin present?

“So what now then?” I asked her.

“Who knows.” she chuckled weakly, “I never really prepared for this situation.”'

“Of all things, why did it have to be this?”

“Who knows… really.” I answered her purely rhetorical question.

“I’m sorry it’s a habit.” I added in.

I pretended to chuckle but she did so for me.

“I never did forget that habit of yours.”

“It’s funny, how long has it been? Since I’ve actually talked to you like this, what, years?”

“I suppose so.” It was a hard answer to give, it was something I could never accept on myself, even if for my sake, even if for her sake. It was something I could never state to anyone, but today and to her.

Why was that so? Was it simply because this would be the last time we would see of another, or was it because it was the last time we would ever see of one another?

If it was so, then it was a terribly cruel thing.

What did we say? Amongst these minutes that passed by so slowly, there wasn’t much.

It was a childish conversation. Full of miniscule arguments deprived from bad phrasing, a play or words or other insignificant things or short uncomfortable laughs from the same things.

Somehow the whole painful affair had seemed familiar and reminded me of the past, the things that I’ve used to hold dear, all but left me with the years.

Was it right for me to look at it with such a nostalgic feeling? Such a longing for the past wasn’t something I deserved.

How long did it last? It seemed to have had last forever compared to the time I spent with him in silence. Her bus blared in, with 44E attached to the bus staring down at me again. She grabbed a small ticket from her bag and ran up to the slow opening doors.

“I was surprised.” she said suddenly, it was really out of the blue as she took a step into the bus. “I never expected you to remember me.”

“That’s quite cheesy.” I pointed out.

“It’s only that because it’s lost its value over the repetition”

“It wasn’t as special as you hoped it would be was it?”

Was my voice that hesitant? She answered so clearly and strongly.

“No, not really.”

“I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Really?”

“I’m quite sure it is.”

She stared down as in disappointment but suddenly regain her composure and smiled brightly.

“Then that’s just how it is.”

“Then, that’s just how it is.”

For one reason or another I could smile back at her.

She had went in silently and stopped halfway through the doors staring back at me wondering if I would get on.

This answer was a cruel and silent one.

After all, these last few words will be the final memories we would have of one another, memories that with time will die, placed beneath the endless days of the past. I don’t think that memory should be replaced with that of a forced conversation, the awkward silences and the prolonged bus ride home, and waving goodbye as if we would see one another tomorrow. Her smile right now reminded me of him, but underneath that was a sad face and for awhile I could not recognize hers from the one staring back at me from the window.

Losing these things in your life, the faces, the names, the people… they are not things that a person should be crying about. But isn’t it true, that everyone cries when they’re alone? The few hands that I have confidently grasped for these short years have all left me, and to think that I could have grasp them longer if I had chosen to. But in the end we all must let go. The bus station’s speakers yelled again, “44E leaving Station E” and I wondered how long it would take me to finally leave this place myself. I knew that the transit information beside this lonely wooden bench could never give me an answer.