The Way

If you left me, would I remember?, I wondered. Would the memories we shared remain with me, or would I bury them in a dark corner of my mind? Would I let the gate that you had opened stay ajar, or would I close it out of fear?

I didn’t know, and I hoped I would never have to find out. I didn’t want to be alone again, didn’t want to spend my nights watching the ceiling, hearing the buzz of the city happening without me.

That first time when we met, and you asked me if I could help, I didn’t trust you. In the end, why would anyone want to have anything to do with me? I had learned at a young age that I made the world a favour by staying away. But you had smiled and beckoned for me to follow you, and out of fear to disappoint a stranger, I had come. It was a simple task, it turned out. Simply reaching a carton of milk standing too deep on the shelf in the store we both happened to be in. Together, we’d found a stool and reached it.

I thought that was it. You would leave, maybe thank me as politeness required, and be on your way. But you’d smiled, and told me there was a gathering that night, and maybe I wanted to come? I didn’t know what to answer. It was years since anyone had asked me of anything, let alone invited me anywhere. I guess it was the habit of thinking that I would upset someone if I disagreed that made me say yes, rather than a true willingness to go.

It had been an open meet-up, with neighbors and friends coming together. I glanced around awkwardly as I arrived, and you greeted me with a smile. Maybe you didn’t know what others told about me, because you didn’t act as if the world didn’t want my company. You showed me around, introduced me to people, and handed me snacks. When the night ended, you told me you’d had a great time, and maybe I wanted to meet up for a coffee tomorrow? You must have taken my silence as a yes because you told me a time and a place and hugged me, just as I had seen you do with the others.

I walked away that evening, not knowing what had happened. But I couldn’t not come tomorrow, not now when you expected me, so at the right time I stood outside the café, waiting for you. It was only you this time, no one else from the party, and you waved and smiled when you saw me. I think I hesitantly waved back.

You chatted away the whole time, asking me about my life and telling me about yours, and at the end, you asked me for my phone number. You’d had fun, you said, and wouldn’t it be nice to meet again? Somehow, I was too stunned to say no, and meeting you soon became a regular occurrence. I don’t know if you ever suspected anything about my past, or if you were simply friendly, just as I’d seen you with so many others.

In any case, despite myself, I began to look forward to when we would meet. Waiting for my phone to ping and replying with fumbling fingers. Soon we met almost every day.

And that’s why I wondered now, what would happen if you left? Would I go back to what I used to be, or would I dare to approach another stranger, asking if they wanted to have a coffee? Somewhere, I knew the answer. That gate you had opened wasn’t possible to close again, not now when you’d shown me the way.