A micro-narrative inspired by the short story 'NO ME DEJES' by Mark Oshiro

The thoughts of you have become stronger over the years. So at times, I have pushed them back, seeking to extinguish them. Yet here I am, staring at my reflection in the foggy glass doors of the supermarket. I try to muster up every description of you I can remember.

 

I try my best to not think of you, especially on days like these when I'm surrounded by strange people

and even stranger objects. Countless objects stand anonymously, lined in perfect symmetry, on the shelf in front of me. A plethora of fresh produce is crammed onto each shelf, eager to be chosen by the next person. Simultaneously, chaotic noises resonate with the walls of the store; the quick-paced footsteps of the shoppers impatiently searching for their choice of product. I can hear the commotion, ranging from people hurrying to get to the checkout counter to the wails of babies as their mothers try and fail to quiet them, all while the wheels of their carts cry in protest as they get dragged from aisle to aisle.

All while I stand here trying to figure out the foreign objects in front of me and the foreign words written on them while I stand on this foreign land in this body that feels foreign to me. The characters resemble a child's drawing, flashing every colour of the rainbow. If you were here, you would make fun of the variety of colours they use here, and everything would be alright again. I wouldn't be here staring aimlessly at the cartons, trying to hold back a stream of tears that resemble the beads of water sliding down the cartons. 

The thoughts of you come in a soft, low lullaby that speaks of the time of healing to come, of a road that must be travelled one step at a time.

The rain has been ongoing for a while now. Varying harshness of raindrops are heard - some sharply hitting roofs of cars and buildings, others gently trickling down walls and windows. Puddles of rainwater glisten, gleaming reflections of assorted traffic light hues, bright off-white headlamps, along with damp streetlights. With the sun already set, they were the only sources of illumination, irradiating the street of this tranquil evening. I wish it were like this all the time.

The downpour isn’t particularly torrential. Still, the needle-like water could sting you as you reach your arms out to get a feel of it. The splatters of the pouring rainfall practically overpower the honking and screeching of the vehicles, but they don’t go unnoticed. Pedestrians crossing this street envelope themselves under vivid raincoats and umbrellas, powering through the gusts of wind that blow from the opposing direction. Nostalgia gushes within me each time I encounter a pair of iconic, yellow-coloured rain boots as I reminisce of my own pair that I had received during my childhood years. 

A cold, gloomy atmosphere almost dissipates instantaneously as the store’s doorbell chimes and jingles, colliding with each other; the mellow lighted shop greeting me with warmth. “Time’s Antique”, is the store’s name. An overwhelming number of clocks and watches are displayed here, yet the hour seems to trail behind. I wish it were like this all the time. 

This place is somewhat consolidating - I’m uncertain what makes it so. Perhaps it is the old, vintage style of the items sold here, the oddly pleasant stuffiness and warmth in contrast to the chilly environment outside, or the young man’s tender yet welcoming demeanour. I think maybe, it’s everything combined. Every minor aspect of this antique store - adds up to this safe place where people can come by to seek comfort. I wish it were like this all the time.