A Tempestuous Journey Home (Part 3 - sort of Final)

I walked along the narrow pavement, trying to stay close to the wall of the minimarket and the waffle shop, the only shelter I had. My umbrella was too flimsy that it had to flip every five seconds. I watched the makeshift hawker tents fluttering in the gale, thinking that it would be best for me to stay by the concrete buildings, and I stopped. I was thinking about Arthur, more than everything else.

He was obviously too preoccupied with his essay to even notice, let alone be bothered by the storm outside. If, if only the confirmation had been there in his pigeon hole…I could pick it up. Then, at least I would have one valid reason to go and see him… If, if only his apartment was conveniently along the way, I could drop by and ask if I could wait till the storm subsides…then, at least I would be able to see him, even for a second.

“Excuses! Excuses! Just tell me what it is!”

Heads turned. A woman in her thirties, dressed in T-shirt and Capri blasted at a tall, tanned man in a business suit, who appeared to put on an aloof front. I had no idea who they were but they had certainly seized the attention of the crowed under the shelter. What could they be quarrelling over? Excuses? What kind of excuses?

Excuses…Damn! Do I even need excuses just to see Arthur? I ran back to the bus stop, holding on to my umbrella, just in time for bus number seven to stop. I hopped in. What if Arthur was annoyed by my sudden appearance? What if I had no good reason to interrupt his work? What if…I didn’t know what to think. The thought of seeing him gives me a thrill and a fright at the same time. Unlike the usual, I felt that I came so unprepared… I wish I could hide somewhere…but I was determined to live without excuses.

Seventh floor, unit 135. I knocked on the door. Arthur opened the door.

“Hey, come in! What brings you here?” He blurted out in surprise. Further behind, Isabelle was sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee.

“Hi… Isabelle…what a surprise…what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I was on my way to your house when the rain started to pour, so he kindly let me take a shelter until it stops,” She replied calmly with a smile, “And you…why are you here so suddenly?”

“I…I don’t need excuses.”

There was a moment of silence, where I felt that everyone was looking at everyone else's eyes. No more excuses.

A Tempestuous Journey Home (Part 2)

It was just past lunch hour, so the traffic was rather heavy. The honking car horns faded into less than a background noise. They were muted. I was sitting at the bus stop opposite the university students' centre where we had our lunch. I deliberately skipped the passing thought about an introductory lecture at two-thirty.


"No, I did not remember it!" I forced myself to remember that I had supposedly forgotten about the lecture completely, not that I intended to skip it, neither that I had no intent to go for it.


Cars passed by - not so smoothly - before my eyes. They honked relentlessly but I did not hear a sound. They were like some old mute motion picture, where you would know what was going on and what sound was supposed to come out even when you didn't hear anything. Bus number 19 passed by and I ignored it. Never before in my life had a girl made me feel this way. Lost. Disoriented.


Who had ever tread this thin layer of ice? So thin and cracking. The only image I could see beyond the crack was a dark sky, spiralling water, towering cumulonimbus cloud. Torrential rain. Trees bending. I lifted my head and I knew that I wasn't daydreaming. Water bullets were fired straight to my face despite the supposed shelter the bus stop gave. The gushing water wasn't under the ice sheet. It was under the concrete drain covers. Yet, I could feel myself drowning in it. I thought I had been there forever - at the bus stop - but I looked around and I saw the same people I saw way before the storm. Did time stop? No. It had only been fifteen minutes. No bus had come ever since the last number nineteen. The scorching sun had gone under the thick, dark grey, wings of fate just within a brief fifteen minutes. Those wings were flapping. Flapping. Flapping, but not flying. Who are you waiting for, dark-grey-winged creature?


One-nine. I flagged the bus. Finally. I felt a vibration right after I was seated.


“Hi, Art!”
I called him ‘Art’ because he used to (he still did, sometimes) argue that everything – from Science to politics to Medicine – is art. I would believe what he said, but that didn't usually last very long.


"Yes, I checked your pigeon hole. There was nothing."
"You're welcome."


I paused for a moment.


"Thanks a lot, Grace. You know, I'm still stuck at the last bit of my essay. OK, back to work. See ya," I heard Arthur's distant voice.


"All the best, Art!" I replied - in an inaudible sort of scream. Just in time for me to get out of the comfort of the bus, out into the raging storm.


I was thinking...why...why did I have to face the storm again? And Arthur too. Why? Was the confirmation letter the only thing he needed to know? Was it the most important thing in this stormy weather?


[to be continued]