Atgal

Hadji Soumaya


Arlo

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I have done nothing but think about Arlo since I left Corsica.

 

It was by the harbor, the old one in Ajaccio, that I saw him for the very last time. He had his back turned to the busy water, the loud buzz of the coming and goings of boats, and chattering noise of the locals starting up the engine to their busy days could be heard all the way to the other side of the road, where I had been standing.

The sun had barely started rising when I arrived at dawn that day. The morning sunlight began slowly casting this warm glow over the ancient harbor. I recall its rays, gradually shining down on the high masts of the many boats, like honey slowly dripping down the handle of a honey dipper.

 

Arlo had asked me to meet him there. By the upside of the pier, right under this aged lamp post. It seemed to be the very last traditional lamp left on that busy path and I noticed almost immediately that its light kept turning on and off in irregular flickers.

I had been quite drawn to this outdated light, So much so that I hadn’t noticed the fact that I had now crossed the street to where Arlo had been standing underneath it.

He still had yet to look up from what he was intently staring down at, when I finally stood a few meters away from him.

 

When I think about that summer, I can still manage to map out distinct attributes of his face and the way he carried himself. From his mole ridden, rich dark skin, to his slightly sunken and almost permanently squinted brown eyes, (a habit that I too had adapted, after countless days spent admiring the setting sun, both our set of eyes drawn to the light source). Nor can my idle reverie hinder me from reminiscing on the boyish curl of his ruddy lips.

 

I remember my eyes trailing a path from his prominent nose to his short hair, the bigger mole over his left eyebrow all in hopes of committing his features to memory. 


 

He suddenly looked up at me, brown eyes ajar. As if he hadn't been the one to ask me to meet him here before my ferry was to depart from the Corsican coast.   

He had promised,a couple of days prior to my departure when I announced the date I was to leave Ajaccio, that he wouldn't let me leave without a goodbye. He had been insisting on the fact that it would be bad luck for me, as well as for him to let us part ways without one. 

I am still very unsure what this bad luck was that he was referring to. He had mentioned, with the most earnest of voices, that it had something to do with the birds. Something about how he could predict things from the way they were soaring through the sky. All I did was look at him and chuckle.

 

“you’re here” were the first words he uttered to me under the rising morning sun.

“I can't miss the ferry now can I ?“ I remember saying it in this pretend brazen tone, as if the mere thought of my imminent departure hadn't made me want to break down in tears since the moment I awoke. I looked down ashamedly at the realization.

“Well you’re in luck because you only have to start boarding in about ten minutes, so that leaves us enough time to-”

“To what?” I inquired slowly while looking back at him.

He was holding something in his hand, the object I had noticed had all of his attention before I arrived.  He moved his arm up and let the white and blue pearls dangle from between his fingertips.

“this is for you, I got it at the market  and the vendor told me that it was supposed to ward of evil eye and dark spirits” 

he spoke nervously as he swiftly handed me the dainty  bracelet. In the weeks that I had known and befriended him, I had never seen him this unsure of anything before. The rare  sight of it almost felt like a revelation and made a small smile appear on my face at the thought of him aimlessly looking through the markets of the town he had grown up in, in search of this precious memorabilia. 

After I thanked him, a long silence started building up between us, despite the loud sounds of the active harbor.

Just as the sound of the ferries horn rang through the atmosphere of this steadily rising day, he put his warm palm on my shoulder to get me to look his way and uttered.

“I promise to wait for you- I promise to wait right here under this old lamp that won’t cease to flicker”

I look at him with a wobbly smile forming on my face.

“I’m sure it will be fixed by the time I decide to come back”

“Believe me It won’t,- each time I stare at it and it flickers on I wait, just a couple of seconds, sometimes more. I think that maybe it’ll stay on this time; And just when I want to turn away it flickers back off again.”

“Well aren’t you patient” I huffed in a jokingly, not really expecting him to say anything in retaliation

“I am“ he states in a confident tone, the deep brown of his eyes burning into mine

“Well if you promise to wait for me, I promise to come back,” “I’ll have returned before you notice the light flicker back off.”

Those were the very last thing I had said to him, before we parted ways and I boarded the ferry, the blues of the ocean reflecting in my teary eyes.

 

And when I think about Arlo now, I imagine him under this very lamp post.

Sometimes he's not even there, in those dreams of mine. I can only see the lamp, that has receded its flickering. Yet it is as if I can still feel him, and the ghost of his shadow lingering in this empty spot where he used to stand.

 

Where we used to stand.






 




Pateikta: 23:59 Sun, 24 March 2024 by : Hadji Soumaya age : 20