Sandcastles

Today, after so many years, I'll get to see him again.

I try to walk quietly, but my arthritis affected knees make it an inconceivable task for me. My lucid, floppy arms grab on to the walls for support as I stumble on air.

"What is it, Mama?" I hear my daughter Lara's frantic footsteps approaching, and within a few moments her soft hands steady me. I feel like I've been caught when her eyes wander around, finally settling on the pair of my walking shoes, which lay at my feet, good as new since they've never been used.

"Do you need me to drop you somewhere, Mama?" she asks, choosing her words carefully.

"No, it's fine, dear. I just thought I'll go for a walk."

I try to escape the look of surprise and disbelief on her face. I can't really blame her. I'd moved in with her after Will, my husband passed away, which was eight years ago, and she'd never been able to coax me even to walk past the lawn.

I grit my teeth together to suppress my yelp of pain that surges through my body as I bend down to tie my shoelaces— another activity that I haven't done in years. I continue to fumble with the laces as Lara bends down and ties them for me. I reminisce about the times when I did that for her.

"Be careful, Mama!" Lara calls out. I give her a smile and a wave, and walk out of the house.

I should probably take a cab or something, but in memory of the days left behind, I decide to walk to the station. The summer breeze feels soft on my skin.

I board a train and notice that my only other company is a young man, possibly in his late twenties.

Did we have a chance to meet when we were at that age? No, we must have been at least five years older than that by the time we did. Both of us were well grown up by then, married, and with children of our own.

We'd met by pure chance that one time. Will and I had been to the baker's to pick up a cake for Lara's fifth birthday. We walked out of the car, to notice that the only other car at the driveway was a blue sedan, the driver tapping on the wheels; quite redolent to someone I'd known so dearly.

Yes, my memories had not been deceptive, it was him, indeed. He walked out and towards us, with a smile on his face. He waved at a lovely blonde, who we later discovered was his wife, and we caught up with each other. After chatting for a few minutes, we'd gone our own ways.

I never said goodbye, since my intuitions told me that we'd meet again. And we did.

It was at the graduation ceremony of my son, Larry, and this time, it was my husband who walked up to him. We talked and smiled and thanked God for how brilliant our children had turned out to be. We even took some pictures together.

"Au revoir," I whispered to myself as we parted.

I snapped back to reality as the train screeched to stop. The young man smiled and nodded at me as he stood up to leave. I returned his smile.

As my feet touched the sun kissed pavements, I could feel the same sort of sparks flying as they did years ago. Nothing had really changed between us, after all.

"I've been here before," I think to myself as more memories come flooding in.

Years ago, I'd walked into the "Café 22", the destination where I was walking to now, in a yellow sundress. And he stood outside the café, clad in a powder blue button down shirt. He smiled at me and I felt completely out of breath, but I braced myself and smiled back at him.

We spoke for hours. He congratulated me on the solitaire that adorned my ring finger. When we left, I did not feel sad. I felt like it was only going to be not-so-long interval.

I turn the corner to face the same spot, and I could see him, standing patiently, a hand on his cane. He notices me and smiles.

Though missing a lot of teeth now, his smile still gave me this warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Sincerity radiated from all around him. And like the gentleman he has always been, he smiles and escorts me inside, to a table at the corner.

He seems a bit surprised when I place our orders, but he does not know that I remember every detail of him. We chat till the twilight breaks, and the sky is a brilliant vermillion as we step outside.

I walk slower than I did before, still panting as I board the train that'll take me home.

Inside, I see the same young man from earlier this morning, fiddling nervously with a bouquet of blood red roses.

It takes me a moment to register that I've been crying, and I don't even realize till the man calls out to me, "Are you okay, ma'am?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I say calmly.

The boy next door, whom I've held on to without his consent for all my life, my playmate had truly never let go of me either. I reminisce for the last time, closing my eyes, and I could see the two of us, running on the beach with our buckets and shovels, crafting sandcastles— a game which nearly became a ritual for the two of us. We'd build sandcastles and adorn them with shells and weeds.

And for all these years, we've been building sandcastles. Who cared if the waves of time washed them away? The memories were ours to keep forever.

As I dig deep into my pocket, my bony, old hand scavenges through a few unnecessary items before finally getting hold of the most precious thing I possess — a broken piece of a sea shell.

I wrap my knuckles around it, and a smile spreads across my face, as I remember the similar piece of seashell he held on to earlier today.

The writer is a Class XI student at Joypurhat Girls' Cadet College.