Continuation of Part One: Liminal Space

 

The continuation of Part One: A Gallery from my ongoing writing project: Liminal Space.

Her

‘’I believe it’s not working,’’ he told her. 

Thank Goodness, he isn’t mute, she thought, ’’yeah…’’

She looked up back at him, his eyes weren’t studying her as she suspected, as she had hoped perhaps. His phone in his hand, he typed so fast he could easily break into its screen. Then when she didn’t return a satisfactory reply, beside half smiling half muttering to himself, he met her eyes finally and shrugged, nervously. ‘’You’d expect everything to work so perfectly in areas like these…’’ he continued. 

‘’There’s a coffee just around the corner, next to the toilets—‘’

‘’Oh, really? That’s cool—‘’ 

She could sense a thread of conversation was brimming with possibilities, but neither of them dared to touch base with it. He lowered his head to his phone again, his black scarf hiding half of his face. She allowed herself to linger at his wide shoulders for a while, his gaunt cheeks, thick eyebrows and well curved lashes left her with an unease, a bitterness. 

Why wasn’t she too born with such impeccable features, her fake lashes now felt heavier and unnecessary. Although he was double her height, he looked to her as tiny as a small boy who needed shelter from the cold…her arms, she was certain erupted the wrong type of heat. They barely helped warming herself. 

There was a moment or two between them which she hadn’t quite well registered, many things were said or maybe not, but the next thing she did was sit on a wooden chair opposite this man, who was now looking so relieved that this incredible challenge had been overcome. 

The challenge, was of course, where to go next after she had made the first step and talked to him, and by authorship of the well known, worldly predecessors who had been where they were, where they stood, whoever crossed paths with another human being and was looking forward to, ‘taking it from there and see where it all leads’, she allowed herself to be carried away, distancing herself from the woman she knew she would go back to when her business trip ended. 

Across the tiny table, the man was smiling wide at her expectantly, oblivious to what he was thinking about at the moment, yet to her he seemed as though a toddler anticipating Christmas presents. 

Him

That went well, he said to himself. It’s good to keep eye contact, right? He reassured himself as neither of them wanted to look away for a second.  

He promised that this would be the last time he’d check his phone, since he listened to his wife’s audios, he almost absentmindedly texted a heart. It didn’t go through, the signal after all was no better. 

The failure of the heart getting through kept sending him notifications, disguised as new messages. The phone had been buzzing in his hand with the fake new messages of the unsent heart message since they met by the fridge. Now it had buzzed again. She seemed bothered by how his attention was entirely devoted back to the phone, this needed explaining.

‘’Yeah mine too…I gave up making calls or texting anybody, not until I go back to the hotel…’’ he said when she mentioned something about the terrible network. 

A few words were exchanged, he came to realize that she occupied a different hotel than his in the other side of the city, and that she too, was here for business, adding a flair of subdued excitement that these two strangers shared a lot in common when she realized that he too was married. 

He was simultaneously listening to her, conscious of whether he should put his arms on the table or slouch casually as she was. He was also thinking of ways to cut in through conveniently, naturally, asking her what she would have in mind to drink, allowing himself the extra adrenaline relief of finally using his voice, which he feared might disappear due to lack of use, appreciating that only two minutes ago he resorted to wish an elderly local woman gave him so much as a handshake, and on top of it all, he made it a great deal for himself not to mind the strenuous look they had been gaining from the surrounding tables the minute they sat together. 

Apparently, they had been the lively, bright table amidst all the pale-looking grim occupants around.

‘’—I flew all the way to meet a client who never turned up—‘’

‘’What would you like to drink?’’ He cut through her, in his mind, in the most awkward of fashion. Oh no, this isn’t good, he told himself. ‘’Sorry, you were saying—‘’

‘’no—it’s alright,’’ she laughed, ‘’I’d like…’’ she turned to glance at the counter, ‘’a coffee? Black, strong one, thank you. Maybe I should—‘’ she hastened to get up instead of him.

‘’No no, I’ll take care of it,’’ he stood up so suddenly, his chair wheeling off the ground attracting even more unpleasant looks, the quiet cafeteria in the gallery must have never encountered such barbaric sounds since it was erected, he thought, and the lady in front of him must have never encountered such a clumsy man. 

But her smile, in some odd way, was reassuring. She didn’t give him the impression he was doing anything wrong. Was this the look he vehemently tried to find among his wife’s many features? Was it this simple? 

He knew it wasn’t fair to compare a relationship edging on 6 years with one hanging over 6 minutes, but what was time, but an illusion? A man-made notion, and at this very moment, an undeniably pure irrelevance?    

‘’Careful—‘’ she told him, but the impact had already happened, an elderly woman, a different one to be sure, almost misbalanced herself on his foot as he heaved towards the counter. Fortunately, she had pressed her hand on an occupied wooden table nearby which prevented her from falling, he had retrieved her bag and gave it to her. She gave the seated figures on the table a smile and crawled out of the cafeteria, he stood in disbelief, checking with her if she had also noticed the ghosting that had just happened. 

Her hands were clapped on her red face, her square front teeth leaping with a genuine urge to giggle, which was given only mere seconds before submerging back in silence. Her eyes still watery with quieted laughter.

‘’The old hag didn't even look at me,’’ he said, absolutely disturbed by the sheer lack of recognition from these people around them…

She was chuckling still when she told him, ‘’forgive her. Old eyes. You're standing in the middle of nowhere too and suddenly turned, what you'd expect? You must have startled her.’’

The occupants of the table in front of them turned to stare at their area then zoomed with their heads in continued whispers.

He had been meeting a lot of elderly women today, he had told her, and almost regretting it immediately, lest she thought she was also one of the elderly women he meant.

‘’Aren't we all?’’ She answered him on the topic of the loneliness he noticed of the elderly women by appearance were unaccompanied in this freezing Saturday afternoon. ‘’We are al floating off from somewhere to somewhere,’’ she added.

He was going to get that coffee ordered all right, but he needed to tell her this next bit before it strained away.

‘’You look like someone I really should get to know.’’

‘’Is that so?’’ She said pointedly, she was still seated, her two knuckles on her chin, while he stood by the table, cornered by his own chair, the small square table they shared, and the outflow of thoughts in his mind which evidently hindered his next move, his next bit of reply seemed lost somewhere too. She doesn’t blink this woman, he told himself, still fixating his eyes on her. What else was she capable of that he, being a man, was none the wiser.

‘’Aren’t you going to get that coffee?’’

 

Her

‘’You didn’t tell me, what’s your name?’’ He told her when he came back after placing the order. 

‘’Oh please let's not start like that,’’ she heard herself say losing any control whatsoever over her own mouth. He laughed, then after a silent pause, ‘’you’re right,’’ he said. 

‘’I have a better idea,’’ she said, ‘’you don't know me, I don't know you, we could tell one another whatever we like.’’

He raised his eyebrows, ‘’you mean, we can lie to each other?’

He’s bright this one, isn’t he? She told herself, a mile away from my brooding, slow husband who still mistook me of his own mother whenever he had seen me with my washed hair, straightened. 

‘’Meaning, getting creative…creativity and truth, what do you think?’’ She added.

The silence that followed hallowed in her stomach, was he type of men who looked at what was painted in the frames? Or worse? Understand it? I am as colorless as this wooden chair, she thought of herself, and as uninteresting and as humorless. 

And she’d rather be this way, as unhinged, as awkward and as unmemorable as possible, gone were the days she would change who she was in order to appeal to anyone, not even to her husband or to this attractive piece of brain and meat in front of her, even if hinted on a deranged mindset, even if it meant that this attractive man might leave her presence right at this second, there was no glory in the pretense, she thought.

‘’Redefine who we are?’’ He asked, visibly indulging her suggestions.

‘’Yeah. For a while...why not?’’

The passing waiter smiled at all tables, passed them, ignored them, then gave the other table behind them the menu. He was shaking his head at them, staring at how the occupants began perusing the menu, clearly pissed off by the sheer luck that they got to order first before them. 

The fuzzy black hair showed how bright and oily his forehead skin was. She’d fantasized giving her husband facial cleaning, the likes she used to do with her ex-boyfriend back in college, but her husband never let her. He liked himself big and hairy, she admitted that her first attraction to her husband was how heavy and bullish he looked, how he carried her, almost with only two fingers and with such ease when she fell after their first dance. 

She wondered whether the nameless man in front of her had ever received a great skincare, or was it simply due to his atrociously lucky genes? 

The waiter had passed them, again, ignoring their attempt to steer any attention.

‘’These people don't think we belong here? Something wrong with our clothes?’’ 

‘'You've seen some cosplay around here? Haven’t you? What the hell was that all about?’’ 

 

And almost as if summoned, a large man with long bright blonde hair, long jeans and oversized black jacket walked into the cafeteria, scanned over the quiet, whispery heads and left. Looking like a character carved out from a children cartoon and  thrown into the mix. They sneered, spending the next minute or two abusing how standoffish they felt about the inhabitants of this strange city, and agreed that if they were given the choice, they would never seek traveling back here for pleasure. 

‘’Maybe because we don't understand their language, that's enough to exclude anyone really...well, I don't. Do you?’’

‘'No. I am here just for the weekend,’’ he cleared his throat, his back comfortably resting on the back of his chair, flipping the hem of his scarf on the table, and occasionally stealing a look both at her and her attire and flashing her a smile through squinted eyes. 

A subtle man you are, she told herself, listening on. 

’’—Went to meet a client that never showed up, done some research. The trip was all a waste then, but, not so bad come to think of it. Gives me a room to pause and think about, matters and affairs back home. Anyways... What about you?’’

‘’This is my fifth day here, I think,’’ she began counting wordlessly, hoping they’d rather speak about something else. ‘’I am leaving tomorrow evening, finally.’’ 

‘’No you're not,’’ his doe eyes engulfed her once more. 

‘’You too?’'

‘’7 pm.’’

‘'Apparently not the same flight, 5 pm. I am heading back to London.’’

‘’Tokyo,’’ his voice low indicated only one thing, disappointment. ‘’But I can ask the pilot for a layover in London,’’ he continued. 

‘’Yeah I think you can,’’

‘’He won't say no, will he?’’

‘’We'll have to ask the other 255 something other passengers to convince him.’’

There it came again, another silence to endure. It was a pleasant exercise to ponder, almost as if the words themselves were too proud to be discarded. The words might be necessary when the occasion called for small talk, in moments like breaking the ice and deducing key basic information, but then, just like any other thing discarded by humans, there come a time when the words themselves, they very words that helped build bridges and forge connections, were nothing but a mere nuisance. 

She must have felt a spark of enjoyment with the way he pushed the boundaries of silence with her too. He too, apparently, wasn’t afraid to sit in it, dwell in it if need be. What was more, they were looking at each other, it was one thing to keep eye contact during conversation, but it was another thing entirely to keep eye contact sustained through silence. 

She had blinked less than him, she didn’t want it gone, the connection. But their soft laughter, sustained so long that it became too painful not to let it out, had welcomed language back into the scene. The betrayal of any visibility of sound meant that they could talk to each other again. The inkling of which welcomed the second stage, which she thought worth analyzing. Will they adopt that fluffy conveniently good-sounding voice to appease to one another, almost a plea to be liked, to be thought of as pleasant, or will they dare to use that unfiltered side of self, which came with no icing and no perused indicators. 

‘’Have you actually ordered the coffee?’’ 

He kept laughing, his head shaking could mean many things, she spared herself the trouble to interpret it. Her eyes fell on her earplugs case, and realizing her earbuds were still on her ears after all this time. She mumbled an apology due to her lack of attentiveness, ’’was listening to a podcast…’’

‘’Spotify your favorite app?’’ He asked. 

‘’No. I deleted it a while ago…’’

‘'Tired of people speaking, ideas, and point of views?’’

‘’No, just not enough storage space.’’

He nodded, so slowly, and she too, admitting to herself that she had needed some upgrade, not in her phone, but on herself. If roles were turned, this would sting her, but he was as egoless as her ghost child. Nothing could harm an egoless man, she thought.

’’I meant by podcast, someone’s sent me a long, long audio that I haven’t even finished listening to…’’ he didn’t respond to this. His smile now appeared somehow unsettling, almost dark. It certainly made her self-aware. She broke eye contact, but then she remembered that this was all a fun exercise, a fun experiment. She wasn’t to be taken seriously, not by herself after all.

‘’Dating apps? Storage space’s okay with that?’’

He makes me laugh, this one, she thought, but she would have to get things straight, apparently she was giving away a very different image, a starkly different one indeed. Not that she didn’t enjoy it.

‘’What's the point of having dating apps? They stop talking after the third day.’’ 

‘’Yeah,’’ he said, ‘’especially when they find out you’re out of town.’’

She agreed, continuing, ’’I can't stand the niceties over the touchscreen anymore. And they expect you to send hearts or flowers or creepy smily faces with each exchange, or ‘lol’ at the end of each sentence. If you don’t, means there’s something wrong with you. 

‘’—Gosh, I am guilty of that, not anymore—‘’

‘’And I always,’’ she cut through him, ‘’—now, I always text with a dot at the end of a phrase. You know? Like a final statement. Nobody used to reply to what I say, ‘back when I used to use dating apps’. 

‘’Well, If not names, how about, just initials?’’ 

She heaved a sigh, quite surprised of that abrupt change of subject, she had to give in. She closed her eyes and uttered, M. And almost immediately, he said L. They shook hands.  

‘’Nice to meet you, M,’’ he grinned at her.

‘’You too, L,’’ she returned it with an equally delicate beam, wishing the warm hand and the thick yet slender long fingers which now pressed gently twice at a time, could disengage, as quietly and as unceremoniously, instead he brought his second hand and placed it on top of hers. 

‘’Your hand is so tiny,’’ this was clearly a compliment, thankful that the wise choice of adjectives described her hand size rather than temperature. She allowed her hand to rest in his, sandwiched in warmth which gave a false sense of security, but just as this began messing up with her pulse, suddenly increasing with her little heart throbbing painfully against her chest, she pulled her hand back and gestured to the counter, this time taking the matter in her hand, so to speak, and determined not to go back to the table unless she was carrying two large hot cups of coffee.

from Liminal Space, by Imad Afdam