A Parked Rapport
We were seated in a sort of angled circle, an oval perhaps, at a concrete garage below the building. The usual spot, just enough place for us to be physically comfortable. I remember it being late evening, a sort of dusty violet light filtering in through the windows of parked cars. City lights didn’t allow for much of the sky’s starry pictures to be visible despite the clouds’ decision to be absent tonight.
Only a sliver of the moon peeked shyly behind an electric tower in the distance.
Photo by C. Cagnin from Pexels.
Four of us, sort of huddled away, reeking of Lays packets and cheap bubblegum. Shaun unconsciously got up and paced about the tiles, humming softly under his breath. The quiet got uncomfortable quickly, one of the many indications of the many layers we wore on our skin.
The space was mostly empty other than the dusty cars that we had never seen start. One yellow tube light garnished the ceiling, making everyone an inconspicuous blur, the kind of lighting we loved.
Shaun was usually loud, an animated personality, with a lot of political opinions that made him sound savvy. It was evident that he knew what to say to impress. Jumping to be politically correct, swooping in to describe his deep concern for the tribal community down in Varanasi. Of course, we all agreed with him when he spoke. How could we not? Nobody wants to sound inconsiderate. It was a time when sounding correct trumped honesty. Something I wish I had realised then.
“She’s got that lost expression on her face again”, Joel teased from directly across me. He had large doe eyes and chiseled cuts in his frame, the features that gave him exactly the kind of attention he loved. The attention I didn’t believe he could do without.
Plastering a grin on my lips, I looked at him for a brief second and thought of a reply. Something witty that would be appropriate? But my attention lingered on it for only a fleeting moment and I was back to square one; watching details around me to remain occupied. The silence did the job though. A direct retort was exactly what he wanted, and not giving it to him likely bothered him.
Tasha’s attention was stolen by a loud “ping” in the blue light of her screen. She glared down at it, and placed it heavily to the side. I had known her for roughly seven years, since her family had moved into the area as the flyover was being built. But I didn’t know her. My conscience burned from this truth, but I hid it well, and it seems, so did she. Ignoring it had sort of become a game. The effort required to build on our relationship needed care and time; the two things we were too egoistic to share. To Joel and Shaun we were close, “best friends”, inseparable. In their presence, we often talked about that one lunch we had together, adding in extra details to our fancy. Like I said, it was a game. They only knew us in this environment. The four of us only knew each other in this environment.
We often spent evenings just giving each other the kind of company we were not sure we wanted. I imagine it was a result of the occasional infatuations and angst of missing out that drove us to be there. We hoped that at least we were interesting to each other, a sort of validation we sucked dry from the occasional compliments we looked for in between conversation.
Leaning my head on Tasha’s shoulder, I looked down at my toes. This was an attempt to be more present; physical touch often alleviated the worry of my tendency to come across as bored. Instead, “I was tired. It had been a long day. I was listening and loved them all either way. Also, I was here!”
Rolling a basketball from off the ledge, Tasha began to dribble it on the tiles, a slight metallic thump ensuing with each bounce. She looked tired tonight, and the dark bags under her eyes and a weak posture didn’t help hide it. I reckon we all were; it was that kind of day. Pulling her thick locks into a loose knot over her head, she shrugged gently; an unspoken request for me to haul my weight elsewhere.
A thread like silence was strung lazily as a black Nissan whizzed past.
