that silent afternoon
2004-02-17

anno Domini 2000, in the last days of innocence...

You grab her hand. You expect her to pull back, but she doesn�t, and you are glad. You�re surprised that her fingers are as cold as yours, but you don�t say anything, afraid a wrong word would break this frail bond.

The empty dorm looks forlorn and abandoned. There is nothing remotely interesting inside, but you feel her grasp tighten on your hand as you turn the handle of the rusty doorknob.

"See," you say, "�it�s not locked."
She nods, and you can�t help but love her.

The walls have been stripped of the colorful decorations made so lovingly by the adolescent girls who were its occupants. Empty beds, once a haven of cuddly toys, now look sinister, sterile. The familiar have now become the strange.

The thrill of trespassing is short-lived, and you are acutely aware of her small hand in yours.

You both stand at the balcony, looking at the throng of girls leaving, saying goodbye to friends, ready to leave the school and forget for a while the heartbreaks of boarding life.

You realize with a jolt that the next time you leave, you will never be back, not like this.
Not with her.

You glance at her dancing feet, as giddy as she is unmoving.

You turn your back on the happy scene. The large room is dark, unbelievably musty after being empty for only a few hours. The rows of beds mock you, and all you can think of is her, and of losing what has never been yours.

You lie flat on a dusty mattress, trying so hard to be natural, accommodating, unthreatening. She sits at the edge of the bed, silent.
The evening sun shines through the dirty windowpanes. Minuscule particles, illuminated, dance all around her, and you can see the curve of her small waist through the flimsy material of her school uniform.

Your courage leaves you as you stare at the slim silhouette of her back.

Why now, at the very end, where nothing, not even the most beautiful affair could survive?

The air is palpable with regret.
The lost opportunities, the lost time,
the lost love
haunt you as you watch her wipe what she thought were secret tears.

"Do you think we�ll stay friends after this?"
Her sweet voice makes your heart ache.

You don�t remember the first time you saw her, but you remember the first time you heard of her.
You caught her glances with stares; you felt her jealousy burn when a younger friend made you smile.

You remember, by the lilt of her voice, a moonlight chat, a shy dance, an awkward attempt at flirtation.

You remember your scorching jealousy when she mentioned her faraway boyfriend; you remember your anger as she cried on your lap because he hurt her.

You remember the fluttering silk of her dark hair as she ran down the corridor in childlike fervor.
You remember the red lips against her sweet chocolate skin, the easy laugh, the charming smiles, the playful words.

You remember her stuttering confession, as you remember your own incoherent answers.

All this, and still you stay silent on that last day, in that silent room on that silent afternoon.