Chance encounter

There’s something exciting, romantic, intense even about chance encounters that take place late at night or in the wee hours of the morning.
The darkness seems to cover every trite corner with possibility, to transform normally uninteresting characters, including ourselves, into shiny heroes and fairies.
An intimacy that may have taken months to unwrap often reveals itself in a few hours in conversations that probably wouldn’t have taken place in the constraints of day.
Every haphazard brushing up against another soul that happened late at night left a kind of imprint. This is the first of those encounters.

Garden1The Garden

The country’s first 24-hour music festival in 1990,
a gathering of indie and rock bands, cool kids and artists, at the Garden
an arts space watched over by a sprawling Banyan tree
adorned with fairy lights in the middle of a large concrete compound
surrounded by short graffiti-covered walls.

My big sister (the cool kid) let me tag along that night,
a shy, skinny, long-haired, sheltered preadolescent
in jeans and a yellow cotton shirt.

Before he appeared, the night was all very loud music
boom-booming in my insides, even louder laughter, heat and smoke,
hot sweaty bodies pressed together in camaraderie.

At close to midnight, he arrived – someone’s younger brother.
There was a massive two-year gap between us, me a little girl
to his full-blown teenage worldliness. I was afraid
of his good looks and self-assurance, of my own scarcity.

The first thing he said to me was “Where did you get your bracelet?”
and before long we were chatting about favourite songs, school
and faraway countries we couldn’t event point out on a map.

He built a bridge with gentle gestures and silly jokes to reach me,
coaxed me out of my rabbit hole of insecurity
to stand bravely in the spotlight of his attention.

Time stopped, the music stopped, me being me stopped.

I remember details like smells, textures, sounds.
I remember him carrying me above the grown-up crowd so I could watch the band, covering my head with his large palms when it started to drizzle suddenly as it often does in the tropics. I remember exchanging bracelets, holding hands when we navigated through the crowd because
“I don’t want to lose you” he said.

I remember how he drew a rocket that carried his name
toward a cratered moon that carried mine
on the graffiti littered wall.

We parted ways when it got light.
For many months after that chance encounter,
I would go to the Garden often after class
to leave messages beside our rocket moon on the wall and
sit under that protective Banyan tree,
waiting for him to show up maybe, or myself.

I never saw him again but I remember him,
the first boy who made me feel lovely.

©Lipstickandmiracles 2016

IMG_6721
What chance encounters in the dark could look like
My shadow at a light installation by Olafur Eliasson who said “My exhibition… is about the horizon that divides, for each of us, the known from the unknown.”
Like the night before and after that haphazard brushing up against another soul?

Post inspired by: Discover Challenges – Chance Encounter

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Author: lipstick&miracles

A poet-writer-dreamer who wants to share her collection of bright and quiet miracles strung together through travel, reading, writing, doodling and the rest of it. Shapes and words that make her heart skip a beat... and maybe yours too?

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