A Nameless Friend
We noticed you. And were peeved. Day after
day, in the same spot, in the same way, with the same companions- none. Weeks
passed and we began to rationalise- maybe you were not left there out of indifference,
but from some unavoidable need we could not fathom. We stopped and said hello
anyway.
It has been two years, and many hellos
since. Through the bars of the gate, we see your eyes. Not hollow as your age
and prone position might suggest; mildly curious, sometimes we detect a
sliver of...amusement? Maybe even bewilderment, at the strange couple who say
hello and ba-bye to you from outside your walls. Bewildered, but accepting-
their greetings, if nothing, don’t hurt.
You feel the heat, and pant. Sleep a lot- sometimes,
it seems, with one eye half open. You stare, almost unblinkingly. Sometime you
hold your neck up so straight and proud, that despite the lack of animation and
despite you lying down, we believe we can glimpse more statuesque days. Yes,
with little movement we still think you handsome and proud.
Sometimes, though not often, you bark. It
always makes us smile, because it is a sign of life, of awareness. Sometimes we
have fancied the bark to be a “‘Hello!”. Then one day you are standing, and then
you come up to the gate and bark, again and again. Bark, doubtless, at the two
strangers who stop by so often. You look us in the eye, with no malice- just a
solid, regular (dare I say happy?) bark, and that is more than good enough for
us. We looked then in your eyes as you did in ours. There was little
understanding, but somehow enough for this barred greeting.
Sometimes, we don’t see you for a day, or three.
Before we can acknowledge what we must consider, you reappear. Rain kept you in,
perhaps, or maybe you lounged in the front garden instead, which we can’t see.
You seemed animated for a time. Once, I saw
you play with a ball. My heart gladdened unexpectedly and wholesomely. Another
time, you rose from your prone pose and trotted to the gate as I appeared. I probably
smiled all the way to work those days, at your animation and (perceived)
recognition. Recognition that is, at best, based on appearance and smell and
shouted Good Mornings. We don’t know
your name, because we never understand your helper. Taashin? Tayshun? Dayshin? Dashing?
We can’t tell, and none seem appropriate.
Today, after not seeing you for days, and
not talking about it much (for that would ask more of us), I pass by again. You
are not there, the porch is still empty. But then I spy your helper, she is drying
clothes. I say hello, and take a step toward the gate.
“Hello”, she says, “he no more already.”
I strip my headphones off, not sure if I have
heard right. But of course, I have. I ask for her to repeat, but I know it already.
It was old age, and I knew it would come, though I never acknowledged it even
to myself. She says you were so handsome. I meekly agree. I ask your name
again, and again fail to understand it. I nod, unsure, then step away with a
platitude (as much to myself as to her). The tears come before I have fully
turned away.
I miss your other stranger, whose greetings
were often the more cheery. I would have liked for us to find out together. I
make a call but I can’t say anything for a few moments. Then I do. It seems a
bit hollow. I turn and walk to my bus stop, trying to form your image clearly
in my mind. The music plays. I wait to write.
Hello once more, and goodbye one last time.
