As Jorge departed for another night of hopping C-Trains, I wandered to the playground near his apartment. It reminded me of the playgrounds of my youth - complete with rickety see-saws, old rusty slides, a fireman's pole, and a trio of swings dangling in wait of youthful ebullient bums. On this particular night, it was I - an old melancholic bum - who sat in the swing and gazed enviously at the night sky. Accursed stars. Damnable moonlight. All celestial voyeurs stealing glimpses of my beloved, while I'm left with mere thoughts and dreams and empty recollections.
I swung back and forth. With every rusted creak and squeak, the entire contraption sounded like it was on the verge of collapse. This cacophony depressed me; even the sounds of veritable collapse reminded me of her.
First image: a creaky bed.
Second image: squeaky clean kitchen floor.
Third image: muddy, dirty spot behind secluded bushes.
Random empty images was the only tie I had with her. And that deflating revelation filled me with melancholy. Staring above, I closed my eyes, and howled at the starless sky. My eyes opened to see the stars, the moon, and the wispy residue of clouds still hovering above. A sound then piqued my ears. It was a barely perceptible laughter, growing louder with every heartbeat. I looked around to search for a source, none to be found. So I craned my neck skywards once again and saw the moon cackle uncontrollably.
"Are you cracking up?" a voice asked.
"Maybe," I replied without seeing who asked. As the word left my lips, I tried to pull it back. Maybe was a reflex. Maybe was an instinctive reply. Maybe was indefinite. Maybe opened up interesting possibilities. Maybe was an honest answer, maybe.
From my periphery, I saw the girl walk to the swings. She twirled a few strands of her golden locks on her right index finger while contemplating which swing she wanted. She of course plopped into the one immediately adjacent to mine and leaned closer to whisper something into my ear.
"Maybe...maybe a kiss will patch you up." She kissed my earlobe with languorous affection and nestled closer. I was still fixed on the mocking moon and had yet to get a good look at her. The moon grew bored with me - as I was with it - and I turned to see her.
"You remember me, hun?" Her cadence was hopeful, yet self-assured, confident that a lost moment could recaptured. But I could not recall it and my blank glare caused her face to pale. Hope gave way to resignation and she got up to walk out of my life. She was no more than a few paces away when I remembered.
"Elizabeth?" She halted her retreat and turned around. Her face light back up - ebullient, radiant, and inconsolably ecstatic as I noticed, for the first time, how stunningly beautiful this creature was.
