maybe, maybe not

maybe i was eight when i first saw him, maybe not.

it was a humid summer evening – the type where air is trying to suffocate you instead of trying to help you breathe; where time flows into a blurry jumble of laughter, dirt and fresh cuts from falling wrong; where you can’t remember exactly what happened, only what came with it – red cheeks, bright eyes, childhood joy.

i remember cycling home – maybe i was alone, maybe i wasn’t. i remember stopping on the road, balancing my little feet on either side of my candy red bike, staring into the forest. i don’t know why i stopped. instinct, maybe?

i could have been there for seconds or even minutes when the man appeared. he walked out from between the trees and stood there like an apparition, wearing a yellow coat and holding a metal box at his side. we watched each other for a few seconds. only a train’s passage made me come to my senses and i rode away as fast as i could, trembling lightly even through the overwhelming heat of summer. 

i didn’t stop until i got home.

by the time i saw him again, i had almost forgotten about him. sweet july had turned into bittersweet september, school opening the gates to its brick walls with new lessons and old friends. leaves turned brown and orange, dying away and soon being replaced by rosy cheeks and numbing fingers from snowball fights and excitement for christmas. 

we were stood outside to watch the new year’s eve fireworks. they were wonderful. the sky was illuminated with splashes of every color my young mind could possibly imagine. maybe it lasted an eternity, maybe not.

i looked down once during the show and saw him, standing and watching me from across the street. determined to not let myself be intimidated, i mustered all my youthful courage and raised a small hand to wave. 

maybe he reacted, maybe not.

a loud explosion shook my bones. i yanked my head up.

when i looked back, he was gone.

my birthday came and went in time with spring – flowers blossomed, filling the air with the scents that i knew my mother loved. i would often stop on my way home from school, hopping off my bike to gather some flowers for her – whatever i could find on the side of the road. little dandelions, daises, and tulips would fear agony in my hand as i rode home as fast as possible to make my mother happy. i would give them to her and though she’d smile softly, her eyes would gleam in a melancholy shade. i never understood why, so i would always bring more flowers for them to suffer, withering away on the mantelpiece.

during these months was the only time i ventured into the woods alone. maybe i was looking for new flowers, maybe not. but i got lost quickly. my throat closed up at the thought of being stuck in there for the night, but for some reason, i wasn’t surprised when i saw him. he stood not far away from me looking no different to the day i had first seen him almost a year ago. he stayed silent, his face an ally to his mind – blank.

then, out of nowhere, he turned around and walked away.

maybe it was instinct that propelled me to follow him, maybe not, but i did, soon finding my way out of the forest through his tracks. i ran forward to pick up my bike, but turned around to thank him even though i knew he was gone. 

i was stunned into stillness by him still standing there. unable to speak, i simply nodded. 

maybe he understood, maybe not.

then he was gone.

for years, i was convinced i wouldn’t see him again. i grew up; i made new friends, struggled in school and took care of my newborn brother. i let myself become normal, but i always stopped and looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery that had been plaguing my mind for so long.

when i did see him five years later, however, it was not how i expected to. 

i had snuck away during lunch and was hiding in the library. maybe i was avoiding my friends, maybe not. the only noise was the rustle of leaves outside accompanied by joyful but distant yells. they felt like they were miles away – like i was on a different planet altogether, alone with the smell of sandalwood leaving a bittersweet taste on my tongue. 

i had found an old newspaper and was flicking through it. maybe it was older than me, maybe not. it had become dirty with age, the edges ripped and fold marks becoming clearer than ever. i was always fascinated with the small town’s history and this was a perfect place to learn more.

i had almost read through the entire thing when i saw it. i had to flick back a few pages, not quite believing my eyes, even when the page was in front of me.

i had found the man.

it was a cool february afternoon when i walked out to the cabin. common sense and curiosity had me spending hours deciding what to do, but i think i had made my choice back in that musty, magical library months ago.

the sky and the pavement were the same shade of sorrow, darkened by large raindrops landing with a force that silenced even the birds. the streets were silent, as if they, too, expected either death to blossom or life to wither tonight. 

long before i arrived, i could already see him clearly. once beside him, i looked at him. he looked back. neither of us said a word. i sat down beside him under the protection of the roof. after watching the rain for a while, i pulled out the worn newspaper, turning to the page. i lifted it, rereading it for the thousandth time.

local fisherman killed in freak accident, the title read.

beside it, him.

i didn’t give it to him – maybe he knew what it was, maybe he didn’t. 

„did it hurt?” i spoke in a whisper, not daring to alert the world to our presence in fear of ending the calm. i didn’t need to look to feel him nod beside me; he knew what i was referring to.

i put the paper back into my bag as the rain got heavier. we sat in peaceful silence with nature.  

„why me?” i asked cautiously, looking at him. he almost looked human in the way he sat beside me, icy eyes softening to an ocean blue as he smiled caringly. our eyes might have spoken a different language, maybe they didn’t. but they spoke of things which we would never discuss out loud.

„because you need to stay.” his voice was gravelly as he spoke, his words making me feel an odd, indescribable emotion. i felt tranquil and secure, a powerful warmth making its way into my heart – one strong enough to melt even the frozen lake.

he nodded and, for some reason, that was the moment i understood; i felt my mind clear, the way the sky does before a storm. this man never intended to harm me – he was protecting me.

i felt the world darken around me, but i didn’t fight it. i trusted him. 

„now, go.” he whispered. it almost felt like he touched my arm before the world faded away.  

i floated in an eternal blinding darkness; one what has so much power over you that you do not wish to leave.

when i awoke, i wasn’t sure: maybe i was dead, maybe i wasn’t. instead, i found myself standing on the edge of the lake, raindrops dotting lightly across my skin. i was drenched; i must have been there for quite a while. 

for a few more minutes i stood, thinking about the man and our conversations before turning around to look at the weather-worn log cabin one more time.

but, when i turned around, it was gone.

maybe i saw the man again,

maybe i didn’t.