Solitary Spaces

Everywhere and all around, the museum was a haven of classical decadence, the rich tapestry of archaic memories preserved in all their abundant physicality, polished and gleaming. Luxurious statues, ruddy parchments, imposing tablets, intricately graven marble pillars. In every direction, a wealth of enduring relics were held in stasis behind crystal clear glass, telling stories of long forgotten times.

Jack loved spending hours in the museum, and would come nearly every day, with a thermos of crisp, malty oolong tea, simply to sit and stare, drinking in the sight of the many artifacts on display. He also loved the ambience of the museum; the light patter of echoing footsteps across the tiled floors; the only sound intruding upon the hallowed silence of the halls, other than the occasional stifled cough. It was a haven of peace and solitude, in contrast with the unrelenting, frantic pace of the outside world. He allowed his mind to wander as he took in the sights, sounds and smells of this archive of the past.

This evening, he was sitting on a padded bench, in front of a display of ancient, Assyrian remnants. Carvings of the human headed, winged lions, known as the Lamassu, spoke to him of a long forgotten other-world, their cryptic forms defying him to understand the mysterious inspiration of their creators. He took a sip of tea, as his eyes shifted to rest on the chequered floors, the black and salmon colours making an orderly pattern that soothed him.

He had come here as soon as his working day in the city had finished. Going to work, he’d brought a packed change of clothes, and had poured the hot water into the thermos in the lunch room and changed clothes before he had left. An hour had already passed in the museum – it now being close to 7pm – and he was feeling at peace.

How he hated his boss! The man was always at his back, micro managing him and imposing unrealistic deadlines on his work. Here, at last, he could finally forget about work, although eventually he would have to go home, serving himself some of the stew he made to last the week, before preparing himself for bed. His life just seemed to be defined by escape. Every working day was like slavery, a dark cloud of turmoil with only the smallest ray of sunshine – his trips to the museum – cutting through.

As vapor rose from his cup of tea, turning his head he caught sight of a woman sitting on the bench next to his. Her auburn hair was hanging from her sides, framing a soft featured face, made sharper by a brown pair of thick rimmed glasses. She too, seemed to be giving her attention to the Assyrian display; in front of her was a statue of Nimrod, which she was staring at placidly. He felt as though he had seen her here before, perhaps a few times. Was she here to escape, as he was? Looking at her, he was struck by the loneliness, evoked by her solitary figure on the bench. And it was then that he realized that he must look the same. He realized he wanted to talk to her, as he felt that they were in similar circumstances, perhaps even were similar souls. But he also realized that her silent, solitary space was no doubt as precious as his. He didn’t want to upset her; to intrude upon her reverie.

So, he continued to sip his tea, and went on looking at the carved lion figure in front of him. Yet he found his thoughts constantly returning to the woman to his left. Did they share anything in common? Did she come here to experience the same peacefulness and reflection that he did? Did she hate her job as much as he hated his? What could he say to gently break the barrier of estrangement between them? At first his conclusion was that there was nothing. Seclusion created a sacred space.

Stealing another quick glance in her direction, before taking another sip of tea, he tried to imagine what kind of work she did for a living. The glasses indicated that she probably worked in front of a computer a lot. Her clothes, an eclectic bohemian mix of soft woollen textures and smooth draped fabrics, might be the sort of thing someone in the arts would wear.

Just then, the woman got up to walk closer to the displays, and soon she was standing in front of the display he was looking at. Once again, he found himself calculating the cost of interrupting her privacy; calculating the risks of striking up a conversation. He decided he would say something just once, some small thing. If she wanted to talk, she would talk, if she ignored him then he would accept it and move on. He screwed down the lid, which acted as a cup and was now empty, back on the thermos and walked closer to the display.

Soon they were standing side by side, about a meter and a half apart.

‘It’s just fascinating, isn’t it?’ He started. ‘That something so old, made by human hands can last this long, and be here before us staring us in the face.’

All this was said without even turning his head. He let his eyes rest on the carved figures before him, judging it to be less imposing. They stared back at him through sightless eyes, challenging him to abandon his attempt at reaching out.

She replied. ‘Half of the reason I’m here is just the ambience of this place. It’s so peaceful here. But you’re right, it is fascinating.’

‘Ah yes.’ He said quietly. ‘I also find this to be a good way of putting the working day behind me. Coming here is like coming to another world. I was just sitting here with my tea when I saw you sitting to my left. Are you interested in the ancient near east?’

There was a brief moment’s silence before her reply, perhaps she was considering the last thing he had said. ‘I do find that place and era interesting. That is where we believe writing was invented. And then also from that time, we have the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest known works of literature ever. And of course, this is where the stories from the Bible come from, though they are generally viewed through a sceptical lens. I am a graphic designer, so I particularly find the art from that world of interest. What do you do?’

He sighed. ‘I’m a lowly administration assistant for a medium sized company based in the city. My name is Jack by the way. I’m guessing you have some idea about what my kind of work is like?’ He had now turned his head and was looking at her.

She smiled at him. ‘I do. I was doing that kind of work myself while I was doing my course in graphic design at a media college. It was exhausting. My name is Susan. It’s nice to meet you, Jack.’

He was struck by how accommodating and gracious she was being with him. But his thoughts turned inward and he found himself chiding himself for intruding upon her time here. Still! She seemed to be happy enough to be conversing with him. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Yet he could not keep himself from offering some kind of apology.

‘I’m sorry if I interrupted your time here. This place is very special to me too, and I know how nice it is to just come here and soak in the calm atmosphere. See how quiet it is!’ He said in a whisper. ‘Yes, this place is a haven for me. And I can imagine it is for you too.’

She laughed. ‘You’re a funny guy Jack. There’s no need to be so ashamed of striking up a conversation with someone. I’ve had conversations with other people here before. I saw you drinking out of that thermos a while ago. What kind of tea are you drinking?’

He looked down, feeling a little embarrassed. ‘Oolong tea. A friend from the last place I was working got me into it.’

Nodding, she replied. ‘I’ve tried oolong tea, but I prefer green tea personally. And sometimes I drink jasmine tea.’

Hesitantly, he continued. ‘Well, I know it’s a tired question, but I have to ask, do you come here often? I feel like I’ve seen you here before.’

She waved her hand. ‘It’s okay to ask me that. Yes, I do come here quite often. And I have seen you before. I’ve often wondered what sort of person you are. You’re always here with your thermos, for quite some time. I thought to myself that you must really like it here, because I’ve seen you nearly every time I’ve come here. This looks like the first time you’ve noticed me though. You always seem to be in your own world when you’re here.’

He became downcast. ‘You’re right. I have the vague notion that I’ve seen you around here before, but I usually keep to myself while I’m here.’

’Well don’t feel bad for talking to me.’ She asserted. ‘I’m actually going to be leaving soon, but if you don’t mind my asking, could I get your number? I’d love to talk to you again, even if it’s just text.’

He was about to tell her his number, when he noticed that everything was starting to fade, including the woman before him. He became desperate, he reached into his memory, trying to recall his number but for some reason, he could not recall it. The last thing he saw was her smiling face, waiting expectantly for him to answer.

Eventually his eyes opened and he found himself lying underneath his covers in his bedroom, completely alone.