Farewell

Farewell

Motionless, the man stood in front of the station building. Mostly the travellers jostled past him, hardly noticing him in their hectic schedule.

He sat down on the big white waiting bench and enjoyed a moment of his own, the silence spread slowly. Then he lit a cigarette and stood up, slowly strolling along the main road. While walking he tried to ignite the next cigarette. Sighing, he realised his actions and threw the cigarette to the ground. Thoughtfully, he stopped. His project, which was so important to him hours ago, seemed senseless now.

Fatigue hit him and he sat down on the footpath. Dreamy he looked to the stars and smiled a little. Suddenly old memories were awake. He wanted to be an astronaut, as Armstrong. He sighed softly. Nothing has remained.

The fatigue was getting stronger and the screech of sirens swelled to threatening decibels then slowly fell silent again. Startled, he jumped up. Probably, he had dozed off for a moment. Or these cries were already following him beyond his dreams.

Reluctantly, he went on along the main road. He did not know where he wanted to go. But he was determined to keep going. He turned into the street where he grew up and was surprised to see that little had changed. Probably it was because of the darkness.

He wanted to continue moving, but still did not know where. So he leaned against an old neem tree, looked down the street and tried to remember his old home. But he realised that this visit to his home town would not end his dreadful dreams. He was hoping that the answer to his dreams lies in a memory. A memory of something that happened here and he had forgotten over the years.

He suddenly had the feeling that something was behind him. Startled, he stood and turned around, but there was nothing except the small, narrow path. His thoughts wandered along that path. He walked further and further to the cemetery at the end of the city.

There it was, the memory that he sought so desperately. The memory he had lost, because it hurt so much. Still, he stood in front of the little white grave stone.

"Pia," he whispered. The inscription could not be seen in the darkness, but he knew  what was written on it. He had read it so many times: Pia 1961-1989.

He knelt down beside the stone and stroked it gently.

Embarrassed, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and heard the loud sirens. The fire brigade, hurrying through the streets to the home of his girlfriend. Fascinated, he watched the nightly fire from his window. Not realizing that it was "Her" house that burned there. Pia's house.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, "I should have seen it, that it was your house. I could have helped you." His sobs grew louder, "I'm so sorry. Surely you might have called for me in the fire and in fear were not able to move." He wept uncontrollably and his words could barely be understood, "Forgive me that I was not there. I, the only one who knew that only a hand was needed for you, to not be afraid. Every night I hear you scream, Pia. Every night again."

Leaning his head against the stone, he let the tears flow. Slowly, his sobs grew quieter, he had finally found his peace. 

Silently, he kissed the grave stone, stood up and walked away without looking back.

Motionless, the man stood in front of the station building. Mostly the travellers jostled past him, hardly noticing him in their hectic schedule.

He sat down on the big white waiting bench, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Until the next train came, he had enough time to say goodbye to the city, in which he would never return.