forget-me-not – (very) short prose

[…] “Venetian” I thought, staring at the huge mirror in front of me. The reflection staring back at me was the same one I was used to see for several years now – that of a disciplined and impeccably looking flight lieutenant. I checked my uniform – spotless, perfectly ironed, not even the smallest crease on it, shoes black and shiny, hair combed backwards, not showing the huge efforts made and the tons of hair spray used in order to convince it to stay still and not look like a broom this early morning.

I took a short breath and then left the dimly lit room. Outside the sun was shining, and on the bench near the walls of the old building were seated two other people, totally strangers to me. I sat right between the two of them and tried to just enjoy the spring day unfolding around me. Suddenly in front of me a man’s silhouette appeared, implying by his moves that he intended to also take a place but I was too busy ignoring everything to pay any attention to him. The person on my left moved further to the side of the bench in order to allow the man to sit, and it was then that I noticed his half grizzled hair and chest full of decorations, and I suddenly realized who he was: general Ishikawa. The letters in his name spelled themselves slowly and almost with a bold font in my mind, one by one: I-S-H-I-K-A-W-A, just like the way I knew he used to articulate each word in the rare times when he was talking. Normally I would have jumped on my feet in his presence, but for some reason this time I froze. I just sat there and looked at him, and he looked back at me, not taking into consideration for even the shortest second the fact that my apparent impertinence would have otherwise been considered as an act of defiance against him. He knew though that he was respected beyond such gestures, so after the first second of paralysis I managed to relax. He fixed me in silence for a while, and then his sight moved towards the wall behind the two of us. I traced the path of his gaze and noticed that what he was looking at was a strange and small blue flower, some sort of a Myosotis, which had begun to grow in the form of a small bouquet out of the grout binding the old bricks together. That was truly a weird phenomenon, and before I realized, the following words came out of my mouth:

blue and small and fresh –
a whole microuniverse
rooting on old bricks

I didn’t turn my head away, neither did he, but I thought I felt on my shoulder his breath interrupted for a fraction of a second by one of those skipped heartbeats that happen in the case of important revelations. We simply continued to contemplate the tiny inflorescence without speaking, ignoring the other two people next to us. In our minds we were both very much aware of each other’s presence, and that was all that mattered. His grey strands and shiny decorations and my clumsy mid-war haiku smelling like inexperience were merely accessories to the real mise en scène of our souls. He knew that. I knew that.

Moments later his hand grabbed gently my elbow, suggesting thus that we should take a walk together. So we both stood up in about the same time and he offered me his arm, not caring about the difference of age, rank or experience. I took it, as if this was the most natural thing in the whole world, and we walked away slowly, heading towards a small field nearby. There were horses in the proximity, I could hear them whinnying, but I didn’t see them. Still no word was spoken by either of us, though the air was heavy with messages, and we continued our walk on the new grass that was growing on the ground. Any stranger seeing us at that time could have sworn that we were just a couple of very good friends, enjoying together the beauty of a spring morning. After several tens of meters he turned left and suddenly we found ourselves in a small street slithering among some buildings that were unknown to me. He decided to enter in one of those, and when we were inside he left me alone for a few minutes and vanished beyond a door. I took that time to gaze at some glass showcases all around the place, admiring the miniatures exposed, and then I heard his voice behind me, calling my name. When I turned around, a man was with him, and he handed me a light blue leather bag. I knew it came from Ishikawa, and I also knew what was inside of it and that I could have not afforded too soon to own such a thing.

– I want you to have this.

Completely taken by surprise my jaw almost dropped, and my reaction managed to draw a short and mellow laughter from the general. I think I had never seen him even smile up to that point, and because of that, and because of all the things implied by his latest actions, I felt my heart melting.

After that I saw him heading towards another room, but I didn’t follow him. The bond was already created, a physical connection wasn’t needed anymore. Then the light in the room where I remained began to slowly fade and I headed towards the exit. Sunlight hit my eyes and I suddenly woke up from my sleep to a different reality, wintry and cold, missing a tiny blue Myosotis that never bloomed on my wall. […]

 

The above text is purely fictional, based on a personal dream of the author. Any similarity with real-life characters is purely coincidental – and believe me when I tell you that there are huge similarities of which I found out after writing the draft of this :). But I guess we all know that there are sides of our earthly lives that are still insufficiently explored and improperly explained :). As for the content of that “light blue leather bag”…well, that is irrelevant to the real point of the above text and it can be left to the reader’s imagination to “fill in the blanks” :).

 

© Liliana Negoi

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