The Gray Paradise (Short Story)

I stepped out the air conditioned car onto the street that seemed to be paved from the heat of hell. In a matter of seconds, my sunglasses began to fog from within and I took them off. It seemed like the sun was a feet away from my head. I squinted and rubbed my eyes for minutes before my gaze was adjusted to this bright burning weather.  It was a typical mid-summer afternoon in Karachi but coming from a breezy city like Toronto, the air was suffocating.

I walked straight towards the monstrous wooden doors guarded by two security guards and as I had anticipated, they let me in without any questioning. The common Pakistani is always intimidated by a man in a suit just stepping out of a million rupee car. I knew if I walked the walk correctly, they’d be holding doors for me. I guess something’s never change.

I stepped inside the doors which led to an open school ground.  It was time to clean out the skeletons in my closet. Just as I was exposed to the ground, I sunk in my own wistfulness. A massive wave of nostalgia overcame me and I stood struck by the memories for minutes.

There, on the left used to be the sports office, where I’d regularly check my name on the board for if I had made the cricket team or not. On the right used to be the twin canteens that were separated by a fence for the boys and girls. I’d line up every day with my friends and rush to grab the last piece of foiled beef roll. In the middle stood the cemented cricket pitch where I had many times exalted my skills.

The tall white buildings that rose from the ground on either side gave me such joy. Twenty years ago they were the last thing I would want to see. But today, after two decades of a mournful divorce from this place, I could not be happier to witness them. Each floor of these buildings had a different tale to tell.

The building on the far left was my Primary campus. All the pencil picking and address learning had been done there. On the right was my Secondary Building. That’s where I had gone through puberty, and learned what calculus was and wreaked a lot of mischief. If I think hard enough, I might still remember.

The time I had broken the chalk eraser in grade 7? The time I had sneaked out of class and bunked my history period loitering around the water cooler in grade 9? Or the time that I had picked my first and last fight and had broken Mohammad Ali’s nose in grade 10? So many memories of those wondrous years came flooding in. I was in the middle of these memories, the protagonist, the hero. And yet somehow, they felt like folk tales; stories that one tells the other for self-amusement. They have no truth to them, just stories that fade away with time.

But when I was living them, they were real. They were what I had known to be true. I had created my own food for life, and this is where I got the flavouring from.

I saw the cement pitch lay on the rocky yellow sand with great pride. I walked towards it, like I had walked towards it many times before. In rejoice of a wicket that a fellow player had taken, or with my head down with shame as we lost an easy one; my walk towards that pitch had always been remarkable.

But today I walk towards it with a different motive. I walk towards it so it may relieve me of my pain. I walk towards it not a 17 year old boy that believed that the world was his, but a 37 year old man that realized it wasn’t. I walk towards it with shame that I was unable to fulfill all my promises to it. I walk towards it to seek my redemption.

St.Micheal's Convent School
Photo Credits: Faseeh Ul Haq

Every step I took, I went further and further into my own mind, lost in its empty abyss. Finally, I took one step on the rugged grey piece of cement and stepped on to the center with my back to the secondary building. I hoped what I had come here for would pay off. That I would not be disappointed after I turned. I saw my shadow on the ground. It looked ready for the 180 degree spin. And with a twist of my heel, I spun.

For a second nothing happened. I looked straight at the wall of the secondary building that stretched on for metres, turning on the far corner and then continuing again so it made a rather large L shape. For years the wall of that building served as a boundary for our cricket games. Alongside the wide walls were benches lined up under the shade. Those benches served as meeting points for our gang. It was there where we gathered and planned the rest of the school day.

And then it began. My brain finally picked out the memory I had long savoured to replay. At the east end of the secondary building was a gate that opened into the auditorium where we would write our O-level exams. I remember fondly of the day I wrote my final Islamiat exam. I had written a perfect test and walked straight to the pitch to get away from the tall shade that the Secondary building casted upon the ground. The sunlight relaxed my muscles and I felt free under the burning sun.

My friends would soon follow me to the center of the pitch to discuss the exam. One said it was amazing, the other complained about the time. One said he was surely going to flunk it. A lot of conversations were taking place right where I stood now.

And suddenly the voices seemed to diminish as a young girl stepped out from that gate on to the rocky field. Her pencil case was in her mouth as she redid her hair in a bun. Her hair band wrapped around her wrist as she fixed the little strands of hair that touched her nose and forehead. She gave her neck a little jolt and fixed the band on her hair and pulled the pencil case out of her mouth. She asked her friend if her hair looked fine. She then smiled and gave an ecstatic scream about her exam. The gleam in her eye dimmed the scorching sun above me. Her lips stretched out across her face and I could have sworn at that moment nothing could be more perfect.

She took small strides towards the benches and sat down. One of her friend’s seemed to insist that she had quoted some Hadith wrong, but she had no care of the exam anymore. She was free. She seemed to tell her that she was indifferent and made her realize that the summer vacations were finally upon us. Not a moment went by that the smile left her face.

I could still hear my friend talking, but somehow he was muted. Everything had paused. I had a tunnel vision only to her. That’s all I could see. Her, sitting on the white marble bench with her feet crossed, so majestic. Minutes went by and I continued to look at her, never batting an eye. I had seen her before, but not like this. This was something I had never felt before.

Soon enough her gaze met mine and I felt as if my heart had been electrocuted. My heartbeat increased and I could feel the boneless muscle in my chest skip a beat every time it made the effort of pumping blood into my astonished body. My lips curled into a smile, my cheeks went red but I did not break my vision. Her smile turned into amazement. She took up the challenge and continued to stare at me, not knowing what enchantment she was putting me under.

Soon she stuck her tongue out and made the most ridiculous face she could make. It was like watching a flowery meadow in spring. I laughed, not at her face, but at how it made me feel. I broke away from my little group and to walked towards her. I felt each step I took led me to enlightenment. This was my good fortune, I was walking towards the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

When I was in her presence I stopped. She raised an eyebrow, her smile still glued to her face.

“Hi.” I said.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hi.” A little boy standing next to me said. I looked over my shoulder and I realized I was standing on this gray paradise for a long time. The ghosts of my past evaporated like vapour in front of me. “What are we looking at?” he asked. He must have been 15 or 16. I hesitated to answer. I made a living constructing fairy tales but today I was at a loss of words.

“Just thinking,” I finally said.

“About what?”

“About how fast we grow up, but how slow our memories do.” He looked confused. He pondered upon what I had said and shrugged it off. He stared at my face for a long time, like trying to remember me from somewhere.

“Have I seen you somewhere?” he inquired.

“I don’t think so.” I knew he had seen me. I was part of his English curriculum. Soon enough he pulled out a book in his bag and flipped to the back cover only to see my face smiling back at him.

“You’re this guy!” he screamed! He understood he had met a celebrity. His realization faded soon as he heard the final bell of the day and realized school had finished. Almost involuntary, without even asking for an autograph, he shoved the book back in his bag and stood beside me silently, staring at the auditorium gate.

A bunch of students exited from that door and out to their vans and I saw him examine each one. His vision halted on one particular student, a girl that walked past with her books placed against her chest while talking to her friends. She exited the doors and out the school she was. I looked at the boy again and saw a smile develop on his face. He gathered his things, shook my hand and made his way to the exit.

I stood there perplexed at what had happened. For a brief moment, I could see the spark I felt for her in this little boy. Were kids still capable to feel what I had felt two decades ago? If so, were their destinies similar to mine? 

I was struck on that notion when I saw her again. Sitting on her white marble throne like a queen, she was just like I had remembered her. The young girl that had not a care for the world. The young girl which had taught me more about life than life itself. The young girl I had abandoned to chase my dreams, only to realize she was the dream. And now it's too late. 

She saw me and flashed her wicked smile again. She then stood up and walked towards the gate. My brain was playing tricks on me. She was not real. But I had the urge to follow her. To set everything right. To tell her I was sorry. But I couldn't.

So I stood there, sheepishly atop the gray paradise and under the blazing sun. I remembered how the boy's face lit up when he saw the girl walk by. I could fondly remember myself once in his footsteps; believing love was as simple as they showed it in movies. I put my glasses on and walked towards the giant doors. 

I was a prisoner of my regrets and this was my punishment. For twenty years she pecked on my brains, reminding me of the mistake that I had made. Today, after twenty years of suffering, I welcome the pain, it is the sensation which will liberate me. Pain, my impeding friend

The Bench (Short Story)

My crutches sank deep into the muddy grass, the result of a downpour last night. Without tumbling face first into the mud, I yanked them out— it must have rained until morning because the puddles in the garden could still be seen as the day’s sun was about to set. I managed to make my way to the rocky path. The ashen colored trail of pebbles led me to a bench overlooking a mesmerizing pond.

I trotted along the trail down to the bench and sat there with a great sigh. I pulled the magazine out from under my arm and set it down beside me while examining the water in front. I loved sitting on this bench, looking across the pond at life and nature. I saw the water swaying slowly along its way towards the edge of the pond and then back and the flock of ducklings swimming proudly and following their mother. One of the ducks had trouble catching up and quacked at its mother to wait. The beauty of language could be seen flowing through these wordless birds somehow able to convey their message across.

Fall was upon us. The changing colors of the leaves indicated it wasn’t long before the huge oak tree that shadowed my bench would be bare and naked again. I looked up and examined the patterns nature offered me, but not until recently had I began to appreciate it.

My train of thought had taken its toll when I noticed that a woman stepped out from the building I came from and headed my way. I decided to act like I was busy reading the magazine I brought. I could hear the woman inching closer to my area and it wasn’t long before she was in my presence. Her footsteps halted and I broke my gaze from a Mercedes Benz to look into two beautiful crystal blue eyes. A gorgeous face was looking back at me with a warm glow and a soft smile that somehow lit a kindling fire in my heart. I didn’t know what was happening or where this woman came from, but she seemed familiar; like a half recalled memory I just couldn’t remember

It was a moment before we spoke. “Can I grab a seat here?” she asked. She pointed at the pond, “I love the view.” I happily obliged and pulled the crutches towards myself. She sat down and crossed her legs. I sunk my head back into my magazine, pretending to examine the nifty new features of this Mercedes, only to look at this woman from the corner of my eye.

“What happened to your leg?” she inquired pointing at the cast that wrapped my left leg like a cocoon.

“Car accident.” I replied. Usually people find car accidents fascinating tales to revisit so I told her mine. “It happened a month ago actually. I totaled my car and ended up here. It’s not too bad. My cast will be off in a few days and I’ll be out of here.”

“Oh, so is that why you’re going through a catalogue of cars?” I looked down and saw the shiny Mercedes Benz peering back at me.

“Precisely,” I lied. It would take me years before I could buy this car but she didn’t have to know that. I surveyed her face. There was Band-Aid concealing a bruise across her forehead and some scratch marks that were at the healing stages near her cheek. It only felt right to ask her a question because she asked me one.

“Does your cut have a story too?” I asked jokingly while flashing a smile. She felt her Band-Aid on her forehead and chuckled.

“Same story as yours. My accident wasn’t very bad, at least not for me. I was sitting passenger side and my husband on the driving seat. He got the worst blow; I was pretty safe to be honest.” I inspected her left hand and saw the wedding ring sparkling like the water in the pond before us. It felt heart wrenching. I felt further questioning her would build some conversation and we’d have something to talk about other than sitting awkwardly staring at ducks.

“So I guess you’re here because of your husband?”

“Oh yes, he’s in ward C. Whenever I visit, I like to come here and sit down, catch some fresh air and escape the dangerously fast world out there. Y’know?” Her voice cracked in the end, but I knew. The time that I spent in this hospital had really opened up my eyes over what’s important and what’s temporary. This is exactly why I sit here, to regain the composure of my thoughts that the cruel world had damaged.

“Ward C you say? I’m in ward C too. Are you Harry’s wife?” Harry was my neighbor in ward C. His bed was right next to mine, and we used to chat for hours. He would tell me about his wife and kids and how someday he’d introduce me to his family.

“No,” she replied. Her eyes started to water and her voice broke on that one syllable. She pursed her lips while holding back her tears before breaking into a sob and covering her face in her hands. I was confused.

“I’m sorry… um…” I didn’t know her name. This conversation was turning into a disaster.

“Cathy,” she said.

“Cathy, Is there anything I can do?” I didn’t know if I should rest my hand on her back or let her cry like that. I was fighting this dilemma in my head when she gave me a horrifying look. I pulled my hand that was about to rest on her back when I noticed something.

A sparkling stone shined on a finger on my left hand that seemed like a wedding ring. I could have sworn it wasn’t there before. She looked at it and then at me. She saw the perplexing look I wore. She touched my ring with her wedding ring. They looked awfully similar to each other.

“You don’t remember John?” How did she know my name? My head was hurting almost immediately.

“How do you know my name? Who are you?” I startled and my crutches fell.

“The doctor, she said she you’d be better. When will you be better John, when will you remember?” She seemed torn between the ring and me. She had grabbed my hand and her fingers were intertwining with mine. “I’m tired. Tired of coming here every day hoping to bring you back. You’re here, but you’re not. John please, I want you to come back to me.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” I jerked her hand out of mine and was shouting at this point. I don’t remember the last time I had screamed this loud. I don’t remember the last I had been this nervous. I don’t remember the last time my heart beat so fast in a conversation. I don’t remember…

“The accident John. I was there. We were there. It hit you so hard on the head. Oh God your head.” She went into repeated sobs. “Please come back. Please remember who I am. Please come back to me John. Please…” I was gasping for air by this point. I heard people hurrying towards us. Two nurses and a guard. “They’re coming John. Please come back to me. Tell them you’re ok. Tell them you remember, for God’s sake!” I was losing her. I had no idea what she was saying. The aching pain in my head was soaring towards my eyes. I grabbed my head in my hands but instead of hair, I felt cloth. I was stunned. What was going on? My head was bandaged together tightly to cover up something. An injury, a wound?

My vision began to shake. I was losing control over my thoughts and body. I could still hear her though, sobbing, begging. Expecting me to come back to some reality. She told me to remember the ring. I didn’t even know how it got there. She asked me to remember our vows. I don’t even remember of making any. The sounds magnified in my head, and I tried to block them out. Every noise pierced my ear, be it the rustling of the leaves or the quacking of the ducks. I opened my eyes to see but I saw nothing; I had become blind. It was all dark. The noises started to fade; it was becoming silent. It all came to a standstill; it all became peaceful…

The water in the pond glistened gloomily in the twilight. The ducklings quacked, as they followed their mother around the pond. One of them seemed to be a little slow as it quacked to tell its mother to slow down, which she did. The beauty of language could be seen flowing through these wordless birds somehow able to convey their message across. I peered beside me and saw a woman devastated. She was crying and sobbing with her face in her hands.

The chilly autumn wind blew away the hair from her face and she clasped her hands together, revealing her appearance. I saw a gorgeous face looking back at me with a fiery glow but a sad smile. Cheeks wet with tears that had been shed recently. She wiped her tears on her sleeve and looked straight in to my eyes. I stared back into two beautiful crystal blue eyes that seemed to be damp with aching sadness. She looked at me the way the duck looked at her duckling and sat there waiting for something. Something that was slow and not fast enough to catch up perhaps, waiting for her duck to come back to her, just waiting.