The Ties That BindA Story by Pratik“In your life you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happened to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you. And then there are some that you wish you never have to think about again. But you do.” ~C.S. Lewis
Family isn't always blood... They say all of us are made up of stardust... coalesced, tamed, bits of obfuscation undone for our earthly existence... Then you meet people...rather molded, evolved, neatly bundled sprigs of astral matter, but with the same ancient, galactic roots... you meet and then depart... perhaps never to meet again... but the endearing, ever-expanding rings of cognitive powers are never broken... you may meander away and these channels of circulating energy may stretch and fade, but they never stop flowing... like sinister, gurgling mountain brooks they would betray your sights but still travel over alien lands, unraveled meadows and misty moors....
Imagine yourself somewhere in distant time... somewhere not exactly at the threshold of your life... it's a cold, frosty afternoon... and you are shredding rosemary leaves for that added aroma to permeate in the onion soup gently simmering away in the kitchen.... the wee hours of evening crawl by with that added nip in your Middleborough neighborhood.... the windows shut tight... there's nobody at home... it's getting quieter...
Then your lips curl themselves into a smile... all of a sudden and out of the blue, like a swift blade wafting through those abstruse, fogged bygone years... What was his name?... That lanky, buck-toothed boy in the high school years... He always used to lollygag and prowl around with that callous, stupid smile... fancied himself to be one of the group didn't he?... Yep, sort of hero-worshiped me... swooning over my vocal skills... wanted to be a singer himself... Hah! We used to snigger about the nancy-pancy, wishy-washy stuff he called music! His favorite band- Iron and Wine!! Shush!
"Pipetty-Pan", that's what we called him right? After Peter Pan... quite a bit of cartoon he was! I still remember how my friends howled and I cringed when he gave me that horrible, yellow Moosejaw jacket on the farewell day… just took it and turned away.... didn't even smile at that round, flustered face... Now that I think of it, nice little guy he was.... cheerful, polite... not much into dude-stuff...but hey! He just wanted to be a friend!
Didn't bother to be in touch after school got over. He did join some music school in Europe, didn't he? Or so I heard...Dunno... Ugh!!! That's the soup burning... and you skip off to your kitchen.... with some mulled memories buzzing in the emptiness....
Sometimes people leave a part of them with you... Needn't be LA-quaking, kiss-my-hem-will-you kind rock-stars or demi-gods...Simple, kind, loving people... that old, sandy haired florist selling sunflowers at Ripon Street who offers your little girl one every day with a wink of a battered eyelid, your house-keeper who would bring you home-cooked porridge every Sunday.. Yes just like that! your lonely neighbor- that grey haired, toothless lady living in the duplex, whom the children call the "Witch-of-Blackbird-Pond", who would smile her toothless grin every time she stopped by and then would weep as she told about her son who looked just like you and eloped with that Mexican girl and never returned....
Yes people touch you... in more ways than one...in ways you didn't intend to be touched... but they sprinkle their share of stardust...knowingly or unknowingly... and sometimes in the span of ephemeral years that we spend on this blue-green planet, they raise their tender shoots from long-sown buds to bring back those once-upon-a-time, long-lost forgotten stories...
Yes sometimes people still love you.... no matter what.
© 2013 PratikAuthor's Note
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Added on November 22, 2013Last Updated on November 22, 2013 AuthorPratikRaleigh, NCAboutHello! I am Pratik Mukherjee from Calcutta, India - the city of Mother Teresa and the famous poet Tagore. My pen name is Aaran, a variant of the word 'Aran' and derived from the Aran Islands, a gro.. more..Writing
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