Strangers

Have you even wondered what was going on in someone else’s life before? Would you care about that someone if they were a person that you never met before? I found myself in wrapped up in an interesting story on the Kalk Bay Stretch. This is dedicated to the unnamed woman who could not tell you her story.

A young woman stands facing the wall. Her body in convulsions, her face streaked in tears, as she bangs her fists at the wall. A young man stands beside her. He tries to comfort her but does not have the power to rest his hand on her shoulder. He cannot find the words to say how sorry he is, or how everything was going to be ok. He just stands there, sombre, hurting on the side.

Her feet wobble. The strength is draining itself from her body, and she clings onto the wall, to scared to fall to the ground. Her mind is reeling. How did things get to be like this, when did life become so hard, and pain too much to bear? She feels so alone. Oblivious to the outside, she shuts out the onlookers, the stares, the questions, even the man standing at her side without a word of comfort. She wonders how he can be so emotionless. Doesn’t he realise that this affects him too? Shouldn’t he be tearing out his insides, or screaming at the world? Why doesn’t he feel anything? Why doesn’t he say anything?

Would it even matter if he did? Would she even hear him? His mouth felt dry. His hands trembled. He tried to focus on the ground, on anything, but the reality unfolding in front of him.

The rest of the world complains about the traffic, or that the sun was to hot, or not hot enough. Like they cared. They had their own issues, their own problems, and they were doing just fine. They weren’t unravelling. They kept themselves hidden. So why should they care about this woman and this man. I’m pretty sure most people chose to look the other way or crank up the radio. A couple slowed the traffic even more, rubbing their clammy hands at the sensational scene unfolding. Almost happy, even excited, to see the misfortune of others. Like car accidents. Why do some people insist of slowing to a crawl just to see mangled car parts and maybe even a body?

Her life as she felt was over in that moment (however long that moment was). Her eyes searched the empty space trying to focus on something. She fell to the ground.

She did not care that she was dressed in her Sunday best, or what people thought. The ground had simply given way. Silence took over. A trace engulfed her. I think she even said a prayer. Her once convulsing body now still. The shadow of a man falls on the ground next to her. He never left. He stayed there. It felt like that was enough.

Nodding her head, she wipes the tears with the back of her hand, and reaches for her handbag. Taking out a stick of red lipstick, she reapplies her face, and gets up.

Dusting off her red dress, she turns to him with a faint smile. She takes his hand. He looks at his hand in hers and into her eyes. It’s like he does not understand. Or maybe he does. It takes him a little while.

Not before long, he unravels. His head sinks down to her shoulder and his body starts to tremble. She puts her arm around him, and whispers sweet things back to his ear. They start the journey, walking off into the unknown.

I have no idea where they came from or where they were going. I have no idea what might have happened but I’m sure we all have our guesses. I just found it fascinating and wish them all the love and luck possible. Have you even wondered what was going on in someone else’s life before? Would you care about that someone if they were a person that you never met before?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s