Once Again, I Begin

“It’s been a while!”

“Yeah… it has hasn’t it?”

I guess that’s how it usually goes when you happen to bump into someone you haven’t seen in a while. In a futile attempt to not appear arrogant, we are compelled by some unknown will to extend our acknowledgement to someone who is, likewise, expected to return the gesture. Compelled to recite those overused lines--mere pleasantries before the inevitable divergence of your paths once again.

Sometimes, when I catch the sight of someone I am acquainted with, well or otherwise, the thought of not uttering those words and just pretentiously sliding by (praying I don’t get noticed) crosses my mind. Maybe to avoid needless conversation; if I had to give a reason.

The awkward silence that comes after those clichéd lines has been something I’ve always dreaded. “What should I say next”—is the usual thought that follows after the initiation. Sometimes, the answer just never comes. 

I’ve never been good at keeping conversations alive. It even came to a point where I’d started to question whether holding conversations was a skill that someone had to learn. How else do you explain how some people are better at it than others, right? Yeah… maybe that’s why I would much prefer not starting a conversation in the first place. Because if nothing starts, then nothing can go wrong. That’s the motto I’ve lived by for a while now.

I can’t say it’s been disadvantageous for me to live this way. Limiting my relationships with others down to a pragmatic level has had its perks. First of all, it’s kept me from having to allot time for frivolous gatherings that I could spend productively elsewhere. Second, I don’t have to worry about trivial things like checking up on how friends are doing or worrying whose birthday is coming up. Yes, complete detachment equals complete peace. I even went as far as to make sure my job was one of the least socially demanding jobs possible—Writing.

The only people I’ve had to ever interact with were my editor and a few people from the publishing house. And even those encounters didn’t amount to much. I can still vaguely remember the first time I met my editor. He was almost just as awkward as I was. Constantly sipping on his tall iced tea whenever there was a pause in our conversation and uncontrollably shaking his legs under the table occasionally bumping into one of the table legs. He seemed like a decent person. Although he could use a little more straightforwardness since I really find it tedious when people don’t get on out with what they want to say. He seems too timid to be an editor to be frank. It may be hypocritical of me to say that but I guess it’s true what they say that we tend to dislike other people’s flaws because we know deep inside that we share those same flaws. Maybe. We were able to finish discussing all our terms, one of which was that our contact would be as minimal as possible. He was obviously against it at first, but I gave him the reason of me not being able to work properly when I’m under pressure and that somehow made him decide to think it over. I knew it was a pretty weird thing to ask considering the role he was supposed to play but I that’s just how I wanted our arrangement to be.

I called him the other day. I had to let them know I was going to be a little late with my next submission. There’s really been nothing inspiring me for the past month so I couldn’t make any decent progress even if I wanted to. Out of seemingly genuine concern, he suggested the idea for me go on a vacation. Since I wasn’t really an outdoorsy type of person I didn’t really know where I’d go for one though. I ended up asking him if he had any suggestions and he was quick to recommend his old hometown by the countryside.

Which is, coincidentally, also my old hometown.

The thought of that place hadn’t even crossed my mind for the longest time. But for some reason, I was quick to accept the idea of having a short vacation there. I guess I was probably thinking the fresh and peaceful scenery of days past would spark some ideas in me or something clichéd like that. I might even be able to meet some people I used to know there. If they haven’t all left for the city like we had. But that doesn’t really matter that much. What’s important is I get my gears turning again.

It’s a few hours drive to get to that side of the country. I was worried about getting lost and had researched a whole lot about the roads I had to take to get there. I’d never driven to anywhere outside the city for years so this in itself is a pretty new experience for me.

By the time I arrived, dusk was fast approaching.

How long has it been since I’ve been here?

This is the place where I spent the better part of my shining days of youth.

This desolate town at the edge of nowhere, with nothing but the generic necessities for a generic town to function. A town hall, a sheriff’s office, a small grocery store, a clinic, and a school that taught up until senior high. Oh, and there’s also a small park that I remember frequenting when I was little. I wonder if that’s still intact.

Maybe I’ll go there first and rekindle some of my long lost childhood memories.

I can vaguely remember the way to that park. If I take I first right after arriving at the school from the road connecting it to my house, then it’ll just be a short stretch away.

The weather has been a bit chilly recently. Well, I guess that’s pretty understandable since winter is just around the corner. It used to snow on some winters when I was a kid. I loved the feeling of being surrounded with nothing but the white landscape drawn overnight by a passing blizzard. That feeling of cozy warmth as I stay beside our fireplace protected from the outside the world was being gripped by an embrace that was utterly and mercilessly cold. A dear memory. I wonder if it’ll be snowing this year.

Maybe I should’ve brought my coat along with me before leaving the house.

The roads here are narrow and wherever you go, you are surrounded by tall trees, most of whom have their brown, dried-up leaves scattered by the ground. Were they always this tall?

Somehow the smell of the cold breeze is so familiar. Though still not enough to trigger any noteworthy memories. It’s a calming air, yet at the same time, something about it feels so foreign.

I reach the corner where the road branches. Straight ahead was my old high school, and towards the left I can make out the image of the park. I sneak a quick glance at the school. There aren’t that many people left. They must have all gone home, considering how late it is already. This place was more familiar to me than most of the town was. Well I guess I did spend a good twelve years here. Nostalgic isn’t the word to describe what I’m feeling though. If I had to say, it’s more of relief maybe? Relief that it stayed at twelve years.

I proceed towards the park. Everything around me has now turned into a mix of red and black which came with an orchestra of chirping crickets. A few lampposts flicker to life just as I arrive near the old park.

It looks practically the same as how I remember it. By one side there was the sandbox, the other a seesaw, and by the other end there is supposed to be a slide and a swing set. Now that I'm taking a good look at it, the park seems much smaller than the one I had in my mind.

I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. But, sure enough, there by the swings is a mother with her child. Well, the rusty old swings now by the looks of it. That looks really dangerous actually. Maybe I should tell something to the mother.

Wait... I know this woman.

She notices me. Her eyes look like she'd just seen a ghost.

"Is that...? " she utters. "It is!" she shouts as she confirms who I am.

"It's been a while!"

"Yeah... It has hasn't it?"

I can feel myself cringing as I say these words. What else could I have said?

"I haven't seen you since what, high school?" she says while urging the child to play by the sandbox. Most likely because it's the only place left in the park that's lit.

"Yeah, I guess." I say as I let out an uncontrollably awkward laugh.

"What brings you back here?" She speaks without a trace of nervousness in her voice and with a beaming smile. Why is she so calm?

I can feel my palms getting sweaty all of a sudden. Why?

What did she ask again? Oh, why I came back. "For some fresh air I guess?" I said I guess twice already didn't I? What in the world am I even saying. This is just ridiculous.

"Is the city life really that suffocating?" She jokes. But from those words alone I can already gather the fact that she's never been to the city. Has she been stuck here all this time? All these years? If so, that sounds way more suffocating.

"A bit." I squeal out as I try to think of what to say next. I can't think of anything else so I'll just go with something generic, "How about you? You have a family now?" The second question is not generic at all.

She is silent. It's the kind of silence I dread. "Did I say something wrong?" is the immediate question in my head.

She is looking at the child. Her eyes following him as he rolls around inside the sandbox.

"Did you wait?" I ask, breaking the silence. I can feel my head going numb. And it's not because of the cold.

"Long enough." She replies with a smile yet again. Only this time, I can see the break in her smile. I know why, and for that reason, it's painful to look at.

Again, I am stuck not knowing what to say next. Should I even say anything? I got my answer, we can just leave it at this.

I can't tell whether she expects me to say anything more. I've been avoiding looking at her eyes. I can't.

She calls the child to come to her and instructs him to say hello to me. The child looks at me with honest eyes and does as he was told. Those eyes look so familiar. I say hello back.

It was completely dark now. The air has become heavier, colder. It felt hard to breathe through the cold. A thought crosses my mind--I should have brought my coat.

"Do you still write?" She asks, changing the course of the conversation.

"I do." I reply plainly. That's right, I remember we used to write together back in the day. She'd critique my work and I'd critique hers. I wonder if she still writes.

"Me too." she replies after a brief pause, answering my unasked question.

"I'd love to read some of your work again sometime." I respond, almost automatically.

She laughs. "If the opportunity comes up." I can tell she found it weird that I said that.

From behind me, a man's voice calls out to her. And as she hears this, she looks as though she is jolted back to life.

This voice sounds familiar.

As I turn to look at who this man is. Everything falls into place.

Why I loathed the qualities this man possessed from the moment I met him.

Why I suddenly couldn't write anymore.

Why I am here. Right now. Talking to the woman I once treasured, and not knowing what to say.

Because I remember now. How it felt to not be alone. The warmth of being with other people, while the world around me was deathly cold.

The pleasure in being able to hear, "It's been a while." and answering, "Yeah, it has been!".

I bid them goodbye. And return to the old house.

There are still some firewood stacked beside the fireplace. I won't be freezing tonight at least.

"It was well worth it going here." I say this as I feel something cold roll over my cheeks.

I haven't felt like this in a while.

Maybe I can start all over again. From this place where my shining memories of childhood began. And where my glorious days of youth ended.

With the faint light coming from the fireplace, pen and paper at hand, I start to write.