The Wassi River

Fred locked his office door. It was the first Friday in a very long time, that he was leaving the building alongside his colleagues. It was a long month, with tax deadlines and endless compliance reports. On top of that, he lost two senior administrators. The previous day was their official final day, but as with all resignations, the notice month was just a mere formality. Their presence did not guarantee one last month of productivity.

He reversed out of the parking bay, and noticed the new guard at the exit. That’s what happen when you become a work hermit. Everyday activities would just pass you by. He joined the traffic and surprisingly enjoyed the anonymity the congestion on the road provided. Pulling into the secure estate, he noticed the signage. All townhouses in Row 9 would be painted, starting that Monday. His plan to befriend his liquor cabinet and watch old classics was possibly ruined. He wondered how he was going to enjoy his bourbon and Goodfellas, surrounded by paint fumes and contractors, eight hours a day. Maintenance in the estate was always done during that time of the year. It used to suit him very well. The coming holiday week was one he spent with his family in their cabin in the Yessi mountains. It was the year he decided to give it a miss. He wanted to be alone.

It was three months before his fortieth birthday, and he reckoned himself to be relatively handsome. The bachelor lifestyle was his own design. He thought of a pet some time ago, but with his working hours as a researcher at the Institute for Public Policy Design, he reconsidered. He thought it a cruel life for any living being, to be left alone for such lengthy periods. His work and studies have always given him a great amount of satisfaction. And he never felt the need for anything or anyone else.

The time with his parents and siblings twice a year, was special. During December, they would all congregate at their parental home. It would be a time of celebration, joy and much appreciation. As the youngest sibling, he was spared the many questions about his lifestyle. He did enjoy interacting with nieces and nephews, who seemed to grow and develop ever so fast. He would kick a ball around with an enthusiastic nephew, only to be found uncool within a space of six months. The nieces were worse. They wouldn’t stop talking or competing for his attention. And yet, after only six months, they would be too grown-up to give him a hug.

December was a time of beauty and fond memories. New careers and business ventures were planned. Moving house, new schools and annoying neighbors, were discussed at length. Schedules were designed to fit in a new course of study or exercise regime. New additions, such as a new baby or a pet, were mulled over. Debates about new political candidates and outdated legislation were comfortably chewed on.

And for the next six months, it was that camaraderie and spirit which kept them all going, while they faced the reality of life outside the family.

Then the first week of July would make its turn. During that month, the gathering was more serene. The tensions and heaviness of life, would be felt as each family member made their way to the cabin in the woods. That time there was no celebratory mood. Life happened, and was draining every single drop of blood, out of their veins. Life has shown them a different side. Children became teenagers: moody, un-communicative, and only visible at mealtimes. Lovers disappeared into over-worked bodies.

The time in the woods saw parents taking long walks by themselves. And their return marked an even deeper silence. Bedrooms had single occupants. And no one was ready to expose that which was dehydrating their souls.

And then on the fourth day, his parents would ring a bell in the kitchen, at exactly 9.30 am. It would signal the end of their solitude, and the beginning of the healing process, led by the love of family. There was still an impenetrable silence, but all gathered around the kitchen table. It would be decorated with fruit, eggs, toast, breakfast sausage, baked beans and freshly squeezed juice. The coffee would be the perfect strength and temperature. Double-cream yogurt and roasted oats, would be mixed with thick dripping honey. Cheese would have an extra yellow shine that morning. And as they fill their bellies, they not only gained strength for the long walk they knew was coming, but they also sensed the lightness and transparency of the air surrounding them.

After breakfast, they would follow the aging couple into the woods. Hand-in-hand they would lead their flock to the highest point of the Yessi mountains. There they would have a view of the Wassi River. It was the only river which flowed through the entire country. All the way from Wikki County, right through the belly of Maisy State and Duneville. And then it would finally reach Yessi County. By the time it reached there, it was swollen and impatient to reach its final destination.

There, on the highest peak of the Yessi mountains, overlooking the last curve of the Wassi River, Grandpa would again relate the story of the river’s journey. He would remind them how it picked up and carried with it, all which was discarded by people. Sometimes it was stuff they wanted gone. Other times it would be stuff they needed, but would still let go of them. It was a steady and patient transportation of the undesirables. People would deposit that which caused pain and discomfort. They would relinquish the unused, and that which has lost their value. And so, the river would continue its journey through the country.

By the time it reached Yessi County, it would be so overwhelmed, that the journey through this last county would almost be hurried. And then, right there at the bottom of the Yessi mountains, it would pass its last point, before delivering the great sufferings of the nation into a violent and excessive salty embrace.

Thereafter, the river would silently sneak away to the left. Starting as a calm spring, it would worm its way back to the top of Wikki County, to restart its journey of revitalizing the human spirit.

The family’s return to the cabin would be quiet and reflective. Then, a little one would fall over a new root of a pine shrub. Another would laugh, and the chase which would follow, would have two little ones falling on the ground. And before long, everyone would be laughing and falling.

Balance was restored, and the games and movies on the itinerary would hurriedly be sought out.

Fred felt that that year it would take more than a peak at a monstrous river to calm the raging storm inside his head. He needed to be alone. He needed to make sense of the life he created. He was always content, but there was an emotion that kept growing. When he finally identified it as loneliness, it abated for a while. But once he gave it recognition, it kept biting at him for attention. He joined the new Tennis club on Second Avenue; and even went on a few dates. Then he engrossed himself in his work, and even enrolled in a Post-doctoral program. But the emotion became more demanding.

And then three months ago, while studying the ingredients of the WonderNut Spread in isle seven, an unattended trolley bumped him from behind. The ‘driver’ came running and apologized profusely. His heartbeat slowed, and he believed at that moment, that all his prayers were answered.

They were inseparable, spending every possible moment together. They would visit museums, secluded beaches, and all the natural parks in the area. They watched endless classics on Netflix, and taught each other how to prepare the most wonderful and exotic dishes. He felt content.

Then she was gone.

She wanted more from life, and was not prepared to settle into a routine just yet. She wanted to explore more, be more and have more. He was not yet in the more column.

He understood then the reason his parents insisted on the mid-year gathering. It was to show that once you are part of a family, you never have to be alone ever again in your life.

But he did not feel for the trip. He knew what lay ahead. He just was not willing to do any of that.

He got into his car, and drove the short distance to the supermarket. Changing his mind about the trip, meant that he had to stock up on the necessities. Reaching for a trolley, he felt a sharp pain on his left hand. Someone bumped into him, and their trolley was crushing his hand. He closed his eyes, and put his hand to his mouth.

‘I’m so sorry! Oh hello…….Fred! Fred Martin? I’m Jessica…….the new lecturer in Statistics.’

Fred recognized the new addition to the faculty.

‘I’m so sorry. I changed my mind about the small trolley, and wanted to grab the other one. I should’ve parked it properly ……’

Fred touched her shoulder, ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.’

He then turned around, got into his car, and took the exit towards Route 39.

He had a few things to dump into the Wassi River.