The Gift

On the bus you see her, blazing hair, shimmering eyes, pretty smile. Trying not to stare, knowing you are failing, tasting her discomfort from your gaze, your eyes disobeying the orders to retract. Your head ignores the order to turn. What is it about her that has captivated you? Is this her? Is this the girl you have been searching for? Is this her? How could it be? Not even a word has been shared, this is not what was told, this is not the promise. But, you cannot deny the screaming from your unconscious, “THIS IS HER, THIS IS HER”

Your hand moves to that pocket where the gift has been for what seems like centuries good, it is still there, it would not do to have forgotten it today. Your unattached mouth practises the words in the sacred line, they still feel brittle and lumpy but you have argued that point a thousand times, that is the line, that is what must be said.

The argument is still raging in your head, this cannot be her, you are just being zealous in your attempts to pass on the gift. “THIS IS HER, THIS IS HER”

Trepidation, excitement, fear, joy, every human emotion is now building up inside you, pounding inside your head pouring adrenalin into your heart.

 

Then she alights, what now? Follow? Stay? Utterly self conscious of how very strange this behaviour could look to her, but unable to change that, unable to change what you have planned for. So, do you run to her and make yourself known? Not yet, when she is further into town, where it is busier so not to rouse her flight instincts. Making your way through the crowds attempting to keep a reasonable distance

 

Questioning the arguments building in your head, are they the words of your cowardice? Or are they the real doubt of this woman’s worth? Would you spend your life wondering if this really is she? Of all of the stupid ideas you have had, this has got to be the absolute worst.

 

Still following, still arguing, still doubting. She lingers to study a suit in a window. Your mind re-clothes her, it would not be the most flattering piece, but fitting of the mental image you have had of HER. She smiles, you are sure you see the ghost of a school girl giggle lurking behind those lips but before you have chance to study further she is gone, continuing her stroll.

 

Still unable to devise a game plan, still not entirely sure this is what you should be doing, but trusting that the right thing will occur trusting the promise.

 

Whilst you are distracted by these thoughts she disappears from view, relief and despair battle in your mind. You fight the growing urge to flee.

 

She is there, at the bar of the sandwich shop, you continue walking, and stop at some benches a little further on. You make the decision to offer the gift when she walks past you.

 

An eternity passes and still no sign, arguments continuing all the while. This should not feel so wrong, does it feel wrong? What is there to compare it too? You have never, been in this situation before, nor will you encounter it again. So how can you define wrong? Good question, very good question.

 

Here she comes, straight at you, this is the moment you have waited for, this is it. Is she looking at you? Has she spotted you? The sun is joining the conspiracy in your mind to distort the facts. No, she is not looking at you, you are not that important, perhaps you will never be, perhaps she will discard the gift, misunderstand it’s promise, have no comprehension of the meaning. Then again, perhaps the gift is not for her, perhaps the gift is for you, you will never know her reactions, isn’t that the intention?

 

You do not have time for that discussion right now, she is coming, she is approaching, she turns towards a shopping arcade on your right. She vanishes from sight.

 

Already moving before the thought has formulated, comprehension is dawning, this is the test, you need to be at the other end of that arcade when she comes into view again. If she is, then that is the moment, if she isn’t… well, lets not get bogged down in technicalities at this stage. You take a slow walk around the block, she is nowhere in sight.

 

You spend a while walking, examining the thoughts that have occurred during the last ten minutes,  something happened today, something important, you were just to close at this moment to see it.

 

Walking, enjoying the sun, enjoying the euphoria your morning has now brought you listening to your unconscious mind giving you directions – isn’t this schizophrenia? – walking past a fountain you follow orders to sit, to wait for a time (five? Ten? Twenty minutes? Who knows? Who cares!!) while waiting you realise that this is still part of the promise, you are waiting because she will be back in a moment the angel to the Shepard (shouldn’t that be sheep?) 

 

Heading towards the shopping centre, she is there, that makes sense, you understand that. Under the towering knot sitting at the edge of a flower bed, offering a perfect contrast to the soft green beauty a dark angel awaits. If the ironmongers palette is detracting from her beauty then you have truly never seen her equal, just as you are about to tear you eyes away, the instant before, her smile burns a hole through your chest and sets fire to your heart. You catch her eye, and they are wondrous. You want to stop, you realise that the delay was so that you would have this moment with this woman, this is why you did not know this is the reason for your day. You want to stop, your cowardice does not it keeps your feet walking.

 

The cool air conditioned building offers no protection from the war that is going on in your mind, should you return? Is a smile all it took? This does feel so much better now, understanding calms your mind. The promise is true, when you find her you will know. This feels right. This feels much better than before. This could be. Then why are you still walking away? That is not what you should be doing. You stop, alone amongst the multitudes, in this desolate crowded place. Returning to that place, instructing your cowardice to be quiet, as ever it ignores you. You walk.

 

You return and she has vanished, this is becoming a very strange day, you have carried this thing around for close to six months now, and have never seen a single face that has made you think it should be gone. Today you have seen two. Today that ghost escaped you once more.

 

A cup of tea to consider the events of the day over, to muse over what on earth happened to your mind, what happened to the promise. A familiar face serves your tea, a familiar voice, the familiarity is now recognised as the ghost you have chased today, you wait for your cowardice to argue. You are greeted with silence.