A Pocket Square and some time

A short Story

‘And it seems perfect.’

He said as he adjusted the shining black bow, his chin up and eyes beaming into his own. He grinned at the mirror and stood static for a while, then lifted his hand to feel the creamy linen. At one moment, he didn’t feel like stopping, the grin getting stronger but then there was a pause, ‘I missed it again’, he murmured as his hand rested on his left chest and waited for the pocket square….again.

He now stood expressionless, then turned and walked straight to the shelf, picked up the marker, and crossed Friday, the 7th of December.

“I don’t deserve this, any of this. Who am I?” then knocked his forehead five times, unbuttoned the tuxedo, and dived straight into bed. He stared at the snow that had settled at the windowpane and heaved a sigh. ‘Already behind the times. I’d rather sleep.’

He wasn’t alone in this moment of a dilemma but there was someone else too, staring straight through the gap between the doors, at everything that was happening…….all over again. It was no one but Mr. Oliver trying hard to fathom what he was now used to seeing every single day. Seeing his son getting ready in his linen tuxedo, looking all happy in front of the mirror, then suddenly being doubtful as if he had made a sudden realization, marking the calendar that now looked more red than black and white. It had been nearly a month now.

He let the gap be and walked back to his room without disturbing the silence and the settling snow. “Maybe it’s a girl or something”, he thought as he positioned himself in bed. Why a man whose hair had started graying should be concerned about his son’s love life? He smirked at the thought. Rupert was never like this as a child. He was the happiest kid who’d run all round the house, playing with the little snowball in his hands and eagerly looking out for his target which most of the times were his mother and father but then. just his father. As soon as he reached his twenties, things started changing. From being that excited kid with the snowball to being as still as still as snow, he had grown into something and not someone. He looked dull, anxious and far from who he was.

He wanted to question him but feared losing whatever bit was left of his son.

One morning, Oliver woke up to the sound of his room door creaking. He saw, with his half-open eyes, Rupert leaving. The tuxedo lay flat at the corner of his bed with the hanger sprouting out of the creased linen. What caught his attention was the bulge in the pocket. Inside it, he saw a crumpled piece of paper. It was a letter. He read in a woolly morning voice….

Dear Rupert,

a pocket square and some time…

I’ll be waiting at the Crescent.

With love, Jessica.

“A pocket square and some time?”, He murmured. But one thing became clear to him that it was a girl until his attention was caught by the blurry writing at the back of the paper which became limpid due to the beam of sunlight that peeped through it. This was a different handwriting, it read…

I can’t be your hero, love

I’m the hero of the story woven into me

I can dare the mirror in the game of hide and seek

When all we have to do is stand

And yet I win.

All you know is me

What you don’t is

The million parts I can be

The million parts I am

And the million more I was……..

Oliver stood frozen as tears rolled down his freckled cheeks, his heart thumping. His son was suffering and somewhere he knew this was coming. He rushed to the closet, collected a bundle of papers that still smelled like medicine, wrapped them in a thread, took his scarf and overcoat, and stormed out the main door. He was heading for the Crescent.

The Crescent was a little area where the land met the river that was now frozen due to the cold. It was a place where one could sit down with a coffee, chatting for hours. Oliver reached the Crescent and not to his surprise, he saw a lady clad in a maroon furry overcoat sitting, looking all anxious as if waiting for someone. He went upto her and asked,

‘Are you Jessica? I’m Rupert’s father.’

She hesitated at first, then asked in distress, ‘Is everything right?’

“We need to talk”, he said unwinding the thread that held the bundle, handed it with the letter and waited for her to read.

“He’s ill, very ill”, she said with a lump in her throat.

‘’Jessica, my son may not be the right person for you. You have the chance to leave and live your life. He needs therapy, you go, don’t wait anymore.’’

‘Take me to him’, she said as she braved through the cold tears and the next moment she started heading towards his home, Oliver followed.

It seemed as if there were no questions that needed answers.

They reached and in no time she forced through his room door. Rupert was standing near the calendar. She ran to him and hugged him tight from the back.

“I waited everyday.”, she said.

There was nothing left to say. The tears had said enough. Rupert was still, numb, until his eyes met his father who smiled waiting with the tuxedo in his hands.

‘Wear it son, your date’s waiting.’ He said. Jessica smiled.

Rupert came out wrapped in the linen. ‘’I missed it again’’, he said to her with the cold sweat trickling down his forehead.

‘You shouldn’t be in my story.’

She smiled as she untied the knot of her scarf, folded it into a square, and stuffed it into his pocket.

‘’We are the story’’, she said.

Rupert will heal.

(A story by a fellow club member)