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| Kullein Ankunda |
It’s a cold July morning. There is mist in
the air, and the silence in the steadily moving bus is only interrupted by soft
sleepy moans and the steady hum of the engine. I’m awake; wide awake. I was
never able to sleep on journeys like this and this twelve hour ride is no
different. My neighbor is asleep now. He wasn’t supposed to be my neighbor but
because I only managed to jump onto this bus a second before it started to
move, I was forced to find the nearest vacant seat which was this one. So far,
I have not regretted it.
My
neighbor, with his small face and curious eyes had already told me his life
story one hour into the ride, pausing briefly to pour some more of the
forbidden Jack Daniels from his small silver flask into its cup cover, slowly
extending the cup towards me each time
in a ‘Want some?’ gesture, me politely shaking my head with my hand raised to
say ‘No no, I’ve had enough’, him shrugging as if to say ‘Well, your loss’,
taking a large sip and swallowing with a rather painful expression only to
resume the life story seconds later. So far I know that he is a lawyer, who has
never been married, no children, travels every week on business and loves his
Jack Daniels. I know in which hotel he will be staying this week, where he
stays back home, where he works and his favorite hangout. I also know he is
kind and helpful, helping me clear at customs, giving me his phone to call
because my credit is long gone and its past one am in the morning, even
offering to bring me some dinner when we stop for a brief break. He did all
this without asking a single question about me. This could be because of one or
more of these three reasons; One: he is a really trusting person, two: he
really doesn’t want to know and three: the ‘Ask me no questions’ look I keep giving
everyone is actually working. Either way I’m grateful to have him as a
neighbor, even if he snores a little.
Little did I know that this light-skinned
thin neighbor of mine will forever be a part of my history. That not only will
he play a part in my story, but he would play a rather significant one. He will
be a part of the print permanently etched into my mind from this day. He will
be part of the story of that moment when everything changed in my life; the
point at which before met after. Little did I know that I would not be able to
tell this story three years later without somehow including him. Isn’t it funny
how you cruise through these moments of your life without realizing that this,
right here and right now in this very moment, the rest of your life is being
determined?
It’s two hours and one police check stop
later and we are here. The stuffy air in the bus is getting warm with
excitement and relief as one by one, the passengers start to wake up. I am
here. It’s been almost a year of waiting but I am finally here. ‘What will it
be like?’ I think to myself, as I fold the woolen pink and blue blanket I had
wrapped around myself all night into neat squares on my lap, each smaller than
the last. My neighbor is fully awake right now, bubbling on a little too loudly
about all the sites I must see, plaguing me with alcoholic breath. The
childlike excitement in his eyes as he talks makes it impossible to be mad at
him. ‘You would think it was him that is here for the first time’, I think once
again to myself as I turn to give him a grateful smile and stuff the now folded blanket into my
unnecessarily large traveling bag. The neighbor is still talking as we both
lift our luggage and descend the three stairs leading out of the bus. It’s even
colder outside than it was inside, and I can see my breath each time I exhale.
I want to wrap my arms around myself for warmth but I can not because each hand
carries a deceitfully light-looking piece of luggage. I scan the crowds for
you, looking left and right and left again. The neighbor talks on, something
about going to pay him a visit before I leave… There’s a gentle tap on my
shoulder. I turn around, luggage bumping into others walking by, and there you
are.
‘You’re here’, you say to me, with a slight
smile, your eyes never once leaving mine. The neighbor goes quiet for the first
time in a long time, looking at each one of us in turns as he tries to
understand, no, to absorb what is happening. Everything stands still. This
right here, this is one of those moments.
‘Yes, I’m here.’
Kullein is a Publicist by profession with a love for the arts. She
likes to write about her different experiences in life and what lessons
she has derived from them. She also likes philosophy, Technology,
Charity and trying new things. soulsistarz.blogspot.ug @kullein
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