Short Story
Misread . . .
"See this"
It was a photograph; a figure facing a twilight of brilliant orange spread across the horizon of a silent, still shoreline. I gasped at its sheer elegance. "Who is the person?" He chuckled; "That's a test for you, tell me." "It's definitely not you, because you took the shot", I naively replied. This time he laughed out loud and said it was indeed him and that he had taken the picture with a remote control… It was such short conversations, and then one thing led to another then another and another and another. But it just went on and on and it never came to an end. We were both hesitant to come to an end. Because the more we conversed the more our differences were highlighted. However, we could not resist the need to overcome them although they seemed too hard to overcome… they were too hard to overcome. There was this time I had sent him someone else's text; 'I'm going home. See you tomorrow'. He replied; 'Ok, see you tomorrow, dear'. It was funny because we both knew we couldn't meet despite living in the same city, our differences got in the way. It's not like we never tried, because the day after he did call, I was on my way to attend a seminar, he said, "Call me when you are done". And I did, but he didn't pick up. I later got a text, 'I have a meeting now, sorry dear…missing you a lot'. So the conversations continued in erratic phases and topics, sometimes with long pauses. I would get agitated, but somehow he never got restless and that itself would anger me and unreasonably so. Then one time, I totally cut all communication with him. It continued for a while and then he called. "Hi." "Hello." "Oh my! You seem to be burning with anger." "No, why should I be angry?" "You aren't! Why I'd be angry, if you hadn't kept in touch, I'd be so angry I'd have come blow up your house!" I was fuming now, mumbling an excuse that I had to go. I hung up. He did however convince me to call him back as soon as I was free. And I did finally make the call. He usually cuts the call and calls me back, but this time he only cut it. Assuming he was busy I waited a few hours and finally giving up, texted him that I wasn't angry at him but at myself for caring when he did not. To which he replied; 'Are you free?' I answered a 'yes'. I expected a call after that but it never came and I was up all night waiting for it. He called the next day. I had already given up on him. We conversed as if nothing had come to pass the day before. He talked of a trip that he had planned. We had been to such trips together before not alone but with a huge group. In fact, that is how we had met. He would organize trips; he called them 'safaris', he and a whole bunch of photographers would go with their huge lenses and SLRs. I'm no photographer. I just liked to get lost in nature and for someone living in a suffocating city of limited scope. These trips were heavenly retreats to me. He would lament, "I just couldn't convince you into taking up photography." It was strange how things were on those trips. He would go off with his gear and I would be wandering in my own bliss of sightseeing. We hardly spoke except for a few exchange of greetings and his usual "Need anything?" There wasn't much to be spoken even though we didn't really know much about each other. It didn't seem necessary or convenient. "The place is just awesome; I wasn't even in the mood to take pictures! But I just had to stop and in a drunken daze I took shots, as if my hands did not belong to me! I won't go there again without you; you just have to come, won't you?" "You were supposed to call yesterday." "I know, but I fell asleep." "You know what? I'll have to talk to you later". I hung up. It was over, lost in transition like the fleeting song outside on the street on a labourer's stereo that blared, This is the end, beautiful friend
It hurts to set you free,
But you'll never follow me,
The end of nights we tried to die,
This is the end… I had misread him all along. I went and sat before the computer, the wallpaper appeared, an evening shoreline, and my eyes became misty, as I looked into the screen and it seemed like the figure moved. He slowly walked away into the twilight…
It was a photograph; a figure facing a twilight of brilliant orange spread across the horizon of a silent, still shoreline. I gasped at its sheer elegance. "Who is the person?" He chuckled; "That's a test for you, tell me." "It's definitely not you, because you took the shot", I naively replied. This time he laughed out loud and said it was indeed him and that he had taken the picture with a remote control… It was such short conversations, and then one thing led to another then another and another and another. But it just went on and on and it never came to an end. We were both hesitant to come to an end. Because the more we conversed the more our differences were highlighted. However, we could not resist the need to overcome them although they seemed too hard to overcome… they were too hard to overcome. There was this time I had sent him someone else's text; 'I'm going home. See you tomorrow'. He replied; 'Ok, see you tomorrow, dear'. It was funny because we both knew we couldn't meet despite living in the same city, our differences got in the way. It's not like we never tried, because the day after he did call, I was on my way to attend a seminar, he said, "Call me when you are done". And I did, but he didn't pick up. I later got a text, 'I have a meeting now, sorry dear…missing you a lot'. So the conversations continued in erratic phases and topics, sometimes with long pauses. I would get agitated, but somehow he never got restless and that itself would anger me and unreasonably so. Then one time, I totally cut all communication with him. It continued for a while and then he called. "Hi." "Hello." "Oh my! You seem to be burning with anger." "No, why should I be angry?" "You aren't! Why I'd be angry, if you hadn't kept in touch, I'd be so angry I'd have come blow up your house!" I was fuming now, mumbling an excuse that I had to go. I hung up. He did however convince me to call him back as soon as I was free. And I did finally make the call. He usually cuts the call and calls me back, but this time he only cut it. Assuming he was busy I waited a few hours and finally giving up, texted him that I wasn't angry at him but at myself for caring when he did not. To which he replied; 'Are you free?' I answered a 'yes'. I expected a call after that but it never came and I was up all night waiting for it. He called the next day. I had already given up on him. We conversed as if nothing had come to pass the day before. He talked of a trip that he had planned. We had been to such trips together before not alone but with a huge group. In fact, that is how we had met. He would organize trips; he called them 'safaris', he and a whole bunch of photographers would go with their huge lenses and SLRs. I'm no photographer. I just liked to get lost in nature and for someone living in a suffocating city of limited scope. These trips were heavenly retreats to me. He would lament, "I just couldn't convince you into taking up photography." It was strange how things were on those trips. He would go off with his gear and I would be wandering in my own bliss of sightseeing. We hardly spoke except for a few exchange of greetings and his usual "Need anything?" There wasn't much to be spoken even though we didn't really know much about each other. It didn't seem necessary or convenient. "The place is just awesome; I wasn't even in the mood to take pictures! But I just had to stop and in a drunken daze I took shots, as if my hands did not belong to me! I won't go there again without you; you just have to come, won't you?" "You were supposed to call yesterday." "I know, but I fell asleep." "You know what? I'll have to talk to you later". I hung up. It was over, lost in transition like the fleeting song outside on the street on a labourer's stereo that blared, This is the end, beautiful friend
It hurts to set you free,
But you'll never follow me,
The end of nights we tried to die,
This is the end… I had misread him all along. I went and sat before the computer, the wallpaper appeared, an evening shoreline, and my eyes became misty, as I looked into the screen and it seemed like the figure moved. He slowly walked away into the twilight…
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