As she pulled in her travel bags and shut the door behind her, she took a look around her room and burst into silent mulled sobs. It hurt, all of it. Though the pain may not have been as acute as it once was, but it still had a way of punching her right in the gut where it hurt the most.
She sat kneeled on the floor for a good few minutes and then squatted, her sobs gently dying down.
What was it about this room? What was it about this whole country that drew her closer to him? She had lived here so long without even knowing him, but the four years that she did, changed her forever. First love, they call it.
They had finally ended their heart wrenching relation earlier during the year and now she was having her second thoughts about it. This was HIM, Gavin, how could she come to this place and not have Gavin’s name all over it?
Sure this was her home, her room, but all she could remember doing here was thinking of Gavin, talking to Gavin, trying to talk to Gavin, quarrelling incessantly with Gavin and crying, wailing, shattering, over Gavin. This was her room, but it was Gavin’s shrine.
She picked herself up and placed her luggage in a corner, she scanned the more real aspects of the room and let her heart seek solace a little in the fact that nothing of his was there in material possession, not that she could see anyway. She had taken most of it away with her to college and the remainder was lost somewhere between her heaps of material possessions and hoarded memory tid-bits, that it was sure to remain buried unless she went excavating.
She glanced at her quaint walls, her shelf of little mementoes of the life and people gone by her, with a few photographs, one of her high school class and a couple with her sister and her younger cousins. They used to be a close knit family, she thought. She also thought how she would soon need to add a few extra photographs to the shelf, of the people who truly make her life what it is today.
Then she took a final look, at her old welcoming bed, and decided it was time she collapsed into impenetrable slumber. And so she did, for a long, long while.
Tamara stared into the mirror for ten long minutes.
She looked, mostly into the reflection of her own eyes and she wondered. What was it about the eyes? Why were they the windows to one’s soul? Why can we tell so much from looking into just the eyes? So porous, so transparent, like magic gems inserted into our faces when we are created.
She wondered what her eyes said about her temperament, about her life, about her soul. She picked up her sunglasses and adorned them on her face so they shut out any further scope for observation. She didn’t wish to show the world her soul today, for it might not read as eloquently as she always expected of it.
She shut the front door of her house behind her and strolled out into the crisp autumn air. She could be a part of this air, she thought. So many of her best memories were, she felt an instant sense of gratitude and nostalgia overwhelm her.
She always believed that nature healed, and today, more than ever before, she knew it placated her sore heart. As she walked down her driveway onto the street, she felt a sense of power grip at her and begin to wildly embed itself into her stride. This air told her who she was, and that emboldened her. She removed her sunglasses, it wasn’t quite as sunny as to require their shade.
The wind began to whip at her face, and she could feel her ponytail sway in unison to its force. She smiled, because she knew that there was a greater power moving her hair, that of the universe. She felt that it had found her and this was its way of letting her know that it was listening to her. So she began to let the universe know just what she felt as her walk touched entrance at the gates of the park.
The Autumn Park, true to its name, was a real marvel during the time of the year. It was a large stretch of palm trees along a neatly paved pathway for brisk walkers, cyclists, joggers, and those few like herself, dreamers.
She plugged her earphones in and allowed the music to pick up her pace before she launched into her dialogue with the universe.
“So, he is happy now”, she said “I have no reason to be upset over his happiness and yet I don’t always feel quite as pleased about it as my best self would wish of me. When I see them together, only their pictures of course, or see them in my mind’s eye, I feel next to nothing but there is a voice in my head probing at me, do you not feel sad?
Then as I begin to let the tone of that voice alter what I am looking at there is another voice from deeper within asking me, Is this not what you always wanted for him? Love? Didn’t you tell both him and yourself a million times that just once you wished he could experience the depths of the love you bore for him in which you drowned everyday? Doesn’t that smile on his face say love? Doesn’t that look in his eyes gleam love?”
The eyes. There it was again. She remembered his eyes more than anything else about him, more than his smile, more than his touch, more than his scent, and his eyes were ones she never ever saw in anyone else.
Maybe it wasn’t his eyes, she thought, maybe it was what she saw in them, his soul.
Just as she slowed her pace down in twenty minutes, a little boy whizzed past her, followed by two others. Children always made her heart sing, and she enjoyed the song thoroughly. Childhood, such a happy time it was. Unlike most people, Tamara never considered childhood a simpler time. She remembered accurately the problems her mind underwent even as a child and they were no small or simple matters. Childhood was every bit as complex and problematic as adulthood, but it was a happy place to be, a good time to be.
There was so much family that was a huge part of any equation, and so much everlasting love.
Adulthood, she said, is the time we realize we can no longer trust love to last forever, everything becomes so fleeting and we are so acutely aware of how ephemeral things are around us, feelings are, people are, which makes us question every little thing we feel, which in turn leads us to more thinking than we are ever going to be allowed to feel.
Just feel, they say. Open your heart, they say.
She was and would never be closed to love, but with each experience anew it added so much more to think about, so much more to question, to analyse. She had lost her childlike ability to simply feel and live in the pristine depth of the moment, and that was why every time she remembered being a child her heart would pang just a little.
She knew that the child in her wouldn’t be having any conversations with the universe, the child in her would simply believe in the feeling that she felt. As a young adult, she wasn’t even sure what to feel.
She shook her head in dismay and continued her little stroll with all the vigour of proving that youth has just as much passion and zest as did childhood.
She continued telling the universe how she felt, believing that she was truly being heeded to, she spoke about how confusing it was to have loved so immensely a while ago and to simply feel a void where all the love had been now drained out, she said it felt like a huge part of her was missing.
She didn’t know what fit the void and often she thought only Gavin could, often she thought maybe just love like she had for Gavin. She was worried if she would ever find love so immaculate again.
She knew, she always did, that she was blessed to have found it once, but was there really a concept like ‘the’ one? Was Gavin hers? The more time the universe was taking to give her definite answers the more time was given to her to find a tremendous amount of questions, all of which left her a little nauseated and very confused.
As her little stroll ended she headed home and sat on her front porch and stared into the pale blue sky for assurance, I just want to know what to believe, she said.
I just want the rest of the letters that make up the alphabet to be taught to me because right now all I have is A, believe things will fall into place and Z, faith that my happy ending came to pass.
I feel there is F for fall, or maybe fail, S for success or maybe structure, T for twists and turns, G for growth, L for lessons, P for price, H for hardships, K for kindness and so many more alphabets I don’t know yet. All I have are an ever piling stack of questionnaires and not a single blank filled.
Love may not always be there, but the sky would, and so much she knew for sure. She looked up at the blue pulchritude and felt her heart beat fall into a regular pace once again. The sky would be there, like the rest of the universe, to take in her questions and someday show her answers. The universe was the best cabinet for her questionnaires and she knew that. It was very satisfactory to tuck away so much of herself into the fading shades of blue and purple because she believed that someday, when the exact same hues merged in the same manner, she would be holding answers to the questions she had locked away.
To My Dead Eagle Dying. Dead.