The Silent Conversation

If he took the A Train, he couldn’t take the B Train. If he left now he couldn’t leave later … or earlier. If he wore his black trousers he couldn’t wear his camouflage pants. If he stopped to talk to the old lady next door, she might chat too long and he’d miss out on seeing the glamorous girl round the corner … not that he’d ever talked to her but, if she was there, he might get the courage to say something. But he hadn’t had the gumption to say anything the last twenty times he’d passed her by so wondered if it’d be different this time. Then, who knows, maybe today’d be different, braver, easier. Maybe she’d smile at him, he’d smile back, she’d say something, he’d reply in his confident, intelligent way and that would be that. Easy peasy! But then, if he waited a bit he’d have more time to think up some compelling conversation … but he might miss her if he waited though he had no idea if she would be there or not.

A hungry lump swelled up in his chest and tried to force itself up his throat. It was too big and he choked as tears welled up and his face sweated hotly. He sat down, swiped his eyes roughly with his fist and tried really hard not to cry, the ultimate proof that he was as useless as he thought he was. He wiped his hands on his black trousers, leaving wet patches and immediately regretted that action. He wondered whether he should change into his camo pants and what would she prefer and realised he had absolutely no idea about her preferences … or anything else about her.

Despite the frantic thoughts screeching round in his brain, there was a deep, dark corner that remained unperturbed by the frenetic insanity round it. He stilled himself – or tried to – and attempted to step through the screeching turmoil and sneak into that still, small space of peace. He managed it for fleeting moments and sighed deeply each time the tranquillity enveloped him.

As he approached and touched the edge of peace again, he heard a whisper:

“The longer you linger, the larger the lion.”

He sent a question mark into its depths and it whispered again:

“Tackle the lion when it’s a cub and you have a friend for life.”

The vagueness frazzled his brain but stilled his heart. Beyond the logic – or lack of it – was an essence, a grain, that settled into his gut with a smiling constancy, dissolving the hungry lump to impotence.

Then, on the greasy slope of habit, he slipped back to the screeching chatter of fear and the sweats started again. With the Herculean effort of someone at the end of his tether, he brought his mind back home to that tiny, safe and peaceful space. His heart slowed, the sweats dried up and a smile crept into his mouth.

Then another whisper:

“We do not fear connection or people. We fear the disconnection from Self.”

“Disconnection from which self?” he asked, knowing he has so many selves rattling round in his brain, so many parts that fought with each other.

“The Self of Peace.”

“The Self of Peace?”

“The Self that overflows with peace, courage and stillness.”

He suddenly knew that Self, the one he’d forgotten to visit while the others fought. Forgotten? Maybe he’d feared, not forgotten, to visit that quiet, graceful Self. It had, he knew, no quarrel with any other, no need for competition, conflict or contempt. It simply swirled in quiet contemplation of its disturbless connection.

Instead of forcing its presence on him, he gave into it, allowing not avowing. It picked him up and, beyond any action on his part, had him striding out the door, up the street and round the corner to see that she wasn’t there. He was both disappointed and relieved but had little time for either as his quiet self stirred his legs to strike out for the railway station.

A faint hope withered as he saw she wasn’t there either. He wondered if he’d done the wrong thing but was too embarrassed to turn back now – what would the people think of his indecision?

“What do you think of your own indecision?” the voice asked, smiling softly.

He smiled back and realised he’d missed both the A Train and the B Train.

The next train loomed into view, tooting and farting steam while his heart pattered quietly, knowing better than his brain that all was well.

He stepped into the train, heard its departing toot, saw the doors closing and then heard a plaintive “Heeeelp!”

His hand automatically punched out between the closing doors, opening them, and a gasping, florid girl stepped in … the girl of his dreams, he realised. She bore little resemblance to the daunting beauty he’d thought of so often.

“Oh, my God, thanks so much!” she stammered.

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he found himself saying, his gallant arm waving her to a seat. He sat beside her, seeing she was less glamorous and far more likeable than he’d previously thought. His mind began panicking, empty of anything useful to say.

“You know …” she said, looking quickly at him and then away.

“Yes?” he asked, uncertainly.

“Aah, um, well, I’ve seen you go past my place a lot …”

“Mmm,” was the only word he could summon and he fervently prayed she’d continue.

“Yeah, well, I always wanted to say something to you but I was too scared.”

“Right,” he said, his tongue swelling in his throat, stopping further words from getting out.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so embarrassed now,” she said. Looking at the ceiling, her knees, the window … anything but him.

With his mouth out of action, his hand gently landed on hers and she curled her fingers in his while he smiled the smile of a little boy caught stealing cookies. He knew he should say something, real soon, but their combined sighs and smiles were all he needed right now.