Song on the wall

The wind was tucking at Meryl’s scarf. Pulling it tighter around her neck, she acknowledged the game of the wind, pushing her closer to her destination. She wanted to walk slower, but her legs kept the same pace. From her online searches she would recognize the rusty door anywhere. She sidestepped a cycling toddler, and her eye caught the headline from the newspaper stand. Another woman disappeared. The country was forcing everyone to live a different life. A life of fear, a life of confusion and a life of self-imposed isolation. Even her actions that day would be considered irresponsible, if it was not for the fact that she was meeting someone her best friend knew well. Tightening the coat around her shoulders, she pushed the door open.

The ambiance of that place was indeed delightful. She smilingly ignored the waitress for a few seconds, as her vintage point gave her the full view of the quaint café. The walls were adorned with images of cellos, guitars of all shapes and sizes, violins, saxophones and harps. She recognized the piccolo – her companion throughout middle school. The french horn and tuba gave a welcoming smile. And the grand piano, beautifully breaking into three parts behind a row of bongos and congas.

The gaps between the images were filled with running toddlers and their pets. They were dancing to the music, only children could hear.

At last she gave her attention to the waitress, and chose a table which faced the entrance. Only when she was seated, did she realize that all the tables had that perfect view. As she wriggled out of the heavy coat, she thought about the events leading up to that point. Thirteen months ago, the love of her life walked out of their apartment. At the age of forty-two, she reckoned that it would definitely count as one object to be placed in the FAIL column. It brought to an end a twenty-year routine, with the last two painted dark with fights, reconciliations, counselling and more fights.

What kept them together was the fear of letting go of the familiar. The lazy strolls through antique shops during public holidays, and the drives along the West - or South Coast over long weekends. The comfort which settled among them on rainy days, each engrossed in their own hobby. One reading, the other yet again indulging in the latest cinematic experience. The emotional connection which distinguish friends from lovers, have long disappeared. And the dent in the couch told a story of the shift in the energy. Nights became longer and colder. And when she saw the suitcases on that fateful morning, she decided to go for a very long walk, instead of dealing with the disappointment which was crushing her designed sense of reality.

Clinton, her best friend since kindergarten, nagged her for weeks to go on the date. But she was tired. She needed to rest, and let her soul heal. She wanted to love again. But where should she start? A new path or something more familiar? And what did new mean? And what benefits were there in the familiar?

She only relinquished to Clinton’s appeals when she spotted this lovely establishment two weeks ago on yet another long walk. Peeking through the window before opening time, she decided that it asked to be shared with another human being. She called him, and asked for the number. The call was as expected, awkward. But with both acknowledging the Clinton factor, they agreed to meet there.

While sipping her latte, Meryl saw a lanky figure approaching. She too, had to side-step the cycling toddler. She laughed as she did, and when she faced the café, Meryl’s heart stopped. She wore the pink scarf, and Meryl instinctively touched her purple one. The woman walking towards the door, was tall, with hair in a natural braid, her shiny eyes a beautiful complement to a soft brown complexion. She opened the door and just like Meryl, took a moment to appreciate the artwork. Then she turned and smiled. Meryl found her breath, but the warmth which captured her being, was threatening to deprive her of any ability to speak. The woman reached the table, smiled, and those eyes reminded Meryl of that place where you sometimes go, to allow God to show you the beauty of creation.

Aneesa felt the unease threatening to devour her peace that morning. She was going on a date for the first time in twelve years. Her marriage was torn apart by cancer two years ago. She left Johannesburg to start afresh in Cape Town. The laid-back atmosphere of that city was exactly what she needed. She bought a two-bedroom cottage in the heart of the winelands. Just twenty kilometres from the city, it was close enough to remind you to breathe, but remained a perfect spot for isolation if required. In the morning she was awakened by the blackbirds and the robins. In the evening, her balcony was the perfect spot for playing witness to the loud lessons of the guinea fowls to their young.  The seasonal visits of the cape baboon, brought her great delight, as they introduced their young to the world, much to the consternation of the surrounding farmers.

Clinton was one of the few people she considered a friend. They met at the annual engineering conference, and after a successful joint project a year later, their friendship has grown. His company successfully revived a Romanesque design of the 18^th century for new office projects, and they were celebrating the closure of a successful year. She reluctantly accepted the invitation to that function. He noticed that she arrived and left alone. The next day, he was onto her. And he was onto her for the next two months thereafter. She was forty-three, and spent twelve beautiful years with the love of her life. She was grateful for the life they were able to share. She regretted nothing. The pain and loneliness made way for contentment and a gratitude for having experience love in the way it was meant to be. She had her chance. She felt that she should focus on other aspects of her life.

And then she received the call. It was pleasant enough. Meryl also felt that they should just do the one date and get Clinton off their backs. She was intrigued by the location choice. She was not familiar with the area, but similarly enjoyed antique displays.

She side-stepped the future racing champion with ease. And then she spotted her in the wide window. She was wearing the purple scarf. From this angle, she could only make out the short hairstyle. She walked confidently. There was nothing she wanted from that meeting. There was nothing for her to do outside her comfort zone. She was there to get Clinton off her back.

She opened the door and was immediately enveloped by the beauty of the place. On the wall children were running around musical instruments. In her mind’s eye she could hear their laughter and the barking of the running dogs. She imagined a slight wind rustling the leaves of the trees, peaking shyly from the background.

She turned, and faced Meryl. With a smile, she moved towards the table. Suddenly, she was less certain about herself and the meeting. Her mind willed her body to move, but her legs seemed to have disappeared. Right there, at that table in the farthest corner of the cafe, a most beautiful woman was staring back at her. Her hair was so short, she could see the pale scalp. She had big black eyes, high cheek bones and a long jawline. The speckles on her nose and cheek bones, brought a perfect finish to the chestnut skin tone.

Aneesa realized that she was staring. Feeling herself blush, she still could not bring herself to use words. As she looked into Meryl’s eyes, she caught a glimpse of her soul.

And what she saw was both surprising and pleasing.