The day, when...

   About twenty miles away to the north there was one place that locals called Chateau de ***. We would obviously give this place another name, if we reached this place together. In this part of the country, there were lots of forests, but only to this one place did you promise to take me. I remember how at that time I planned one more photography session. Surely nothing special, just a usual one for my home photo collection, but I knew how much attention you paid to what I was doing. In my heart, I was happy and I thought about this trip with unprecedented enthusiasm. You know, I remember how I cancelled all possible meetings and even my classes, but you already know that these are all so unusual for me. Besides, you know the day before the literature teacher seemed to get nearly mad and didn’t accept my essay. She told me to rewrite it. You see how freely we can express our thoughts here. I gonna have to rewrite it, surely to rewrite, how else could it be. I was preparing for our meeting from early morning. You know I almost didn’t listen to what the radio program broadcast at breakfast. In the voice of the radio announcer, I felt some kind of anxiety, but persistent noise in the background of his voice didn’t let me focus on anyone that morning in the town.         

   It turned out to be a cloudy morning. Actually, the whole day turned out to be cloudy. It always seemed to me that it would rain soon, so I decided to take a raincoat. That morning I for some reason didn’t even think of phoning you. That all seemed so natural, so simple. I remember how quickly I got my backpack ready, but the truth was, that I didn’t remember what exactly I threw into it. Then I threw it easily out of my bedroom window and got down the garden utility ladder that I put there in the late evening in advance. I had a quick glance at my watch and realized that the bus would come in approximately ten minutes and in a wish to hurry up I picked up my pace. I remember how much joy was in my every step, even how much confidence I had. That morning it seemed to me that the bus drove deliberately slowly. Grey clouds crept in the sky as if they unwittingly played along the slowness of the morning city’s urban transport. Passengers didn’t look at each other. They were sleepy with the faraway eyes that seemed to show their complete presence was not necessary. I had a chance to check a battery and a camera several times when the bus finally made a stop.

   When I got out, you weren’t there, although you always liked to come beforehand. I let myself circulate around for a little more wandering along the bus stop, had a look at my watch, then I had to shuffle back and forth a bit. Some nearby bus passengers who were waiting at a bus stop started to keep an eye on me crossly. Deep breath. I stood under the nearest tree. It was already a late autumn and cold enough. To my benefit, I was warmly dressed. When more than half an hour passed, I thought: “Oh, how silly I am. Perhaps I had failed to hear… It must be we agreed to meet right in front of the Chateau. After all, we had talked a lot, how to reach it and where to meet. It could turned to be that I got something wrong in my excitement. After getting a map out of jammed full backpack, I rushed in the desired direction. My friend always made jokes about herself. She laughed that she was useless with maps and she was usually surprised how I was able to use a map by myself.

   When I reached a turn to the hill, I had to go up slower, and then right in front of the Chateau, my enthusiasm about coming here dissipated. A couple of tourists were pacing back and forth, taking photos of the castle rather than the nature around it. After I described you to them, I decided to ask them, whether they saw you here. But no. They said, that they had spent some time there, but nobody was there except them. Disappointment of the fact that you didn’t come, grew slowly, but strongly. I took some photos with no attention as it seemed to me that time. Rolling the map out, it wasn’t difficult to find a tower in the vicinity, but for reaching it, the shortest way was through the forest and then along the track to the north again.

   The day, when you didn’t come, I remembered by its coldness and emptiness. As I walked past the statue, what locals called it, I can’t remember yet, but I remember how I was confused in my thoughts and it seemed to me that you were there several minutes before I came. And yes, I knew how absurdly it was to think like that. Pine needles were lying thickly on the ground. I went the main path, if I could call it that. On both sides of it, clearly could be seen color marks that were made by paint on trees. That should help everyone not to turn off and keep the safe way. Near one high pine, I unexpectedly thought for unknown for me reason that someone behind me was. I quickly looked back but no one was there. I was alone. Only an unusual sound of rustling leaves could be heard, when two completely dried leaves were rolling in the direction of me. I suddenly felt dizzy and my bare hand touched the pine when I leaned against the tree a little. I took a breath and turned round, but I was alone. I didn’t see anyone behind me. No wind, nothing and the sound of rustling leaves disappeared.

   As soon as I reached the tower taking some photos, I realized that from this photo session I got no pleasure. By that time, it seemed to me already that I was trying to find something invisible. Something that I missed unexpectedly. Something what I would never have again. Something what was hastily taken from me. Something what was suddenly just wrested out of my hands. When by that evening time, I went to your house your mother met me. She was crying. You know, thinking about that day when you didn’t come to me, I would like to think as I thought in the beginning of that day. You didn’t come because you just were busy. Or… You didn’t come just because you couldn’t and thinking like this just to know that you are… You exist.

p.s. Do you remember a month before that, when it was raining heavily, how you came under my window? I ran out to you in the rain barefoot. We were standing there in half a meter from each other without an umbrella, looking into each other’s eyes without uttering a word. The rain was streaming down our faces, while the heavens told us about fullness of the moment.            


My blog: www.stacyshystovska.blogspot.com