Her Silhouette - By Devarshi K. Borah

As the brazen blare of the bell signaling the end of the school day hums with its clangor, I raise my weary eyes from the textbook, and set them unto what I’m surrounded by: the quirky banter of the class clown and his friends, the tenacious tingling arising amongst the taciturn students, stalling their departure up until everyone else has bid theirs avoid any human interaction, the tall, stocky jocks with their pumped-up kicks and sports tees, mint gum accentuating their loud balderdash of mindless hokum, the timid, timorous nerds with their freckled cheeks and rounded glasses, heading en masse for the School Chess Club, the haughty cheerleaders with their sly mouths and slender waists. As I took in the kaleidoscope of kids scuttling about their flanks as they depart for their homes, the brisk yet refreshingly cool autumn breeze fondles with my cheeks, dissipating into the otherwise stuffy classroom through the opened windows. The songbirds sing and tweet their sonorous visage through dry throats and frail leaves, as I make my way across from my own seat towards the door to the busy hallway; the serendipitous cacophony of incessant blabbering and bullying which greets me, blends in with the rustling of mine own conscience, urging me to make my way through the congregation, yet in the grand scheme of things, it makes no matter. I am but another sheep in the herd, another pawn in the middle of the chessboard, moved and pushed forward by the way of the world. Nevertheless, I lose myself amongst the seemingly endless stream of people and thoughts that follow. Soon enough, the herd parts its separate ways, leaving me all by myself on the long and winding asphalt that leads to the School Gates, laved by the showers of the sky. I reach into my jacket-pocket, prompted by an intuitive urge to do so, and pull out a pair of shabby earphones, planning to once again fritter away the length of walking all the way to the gates in the horizon of the lazy sunset. Putting my playlist on yet another shuffle, I tread down the brusque and coarse asphalt towards the Gates, breathing in the pungent scents of the Hill Hardies and flaxen-gold locusts bearing the fruits of the placid, tranquil autumn that beholds my eyes. Dry leaves crunching and squealing against the weight of my hardy boots, fall in with the nimble, serene guitar strumming emanating from the husks of my earphones, all give way to the alacrity of the autumn wind that greets my warm cheeks, flapping at the excess of my well-worn jacket, the seams, and creases of my face and scarf. I gawk at the austerity of this walk down a familiar lane rendering such contentedness and fulfillment unto myself, and wonder if I truly am familiar with the places this one path leads to…. As I reflect upon my own thoughts, the setting Sun reflects its own visage with its lazy rays of scintillation against the murky pools of rainwater on the sidewalks. Lost in a world not too different from our own, I find myself treading with nimble footsteps behind a familiar apparition… Her silhouette swoons over my dull eyes; As I attempt in vain to mouth words over a dried tongue, the singer begins strumming an arpeggio reminiscent of such an endeavor.

“To find a Queen without a King, They say she plays guitar and cries And sings, la-la-la… Ride a white mare in the footsteps of Dawn, Tryin’ to find a woman who’s never Never, been born.” My green feet continue on this seemingly perpetual trail of her silhouette, yearning for even a few feet of recompense, even an inch closer would suffice, yet the winds have a way of their own, I wager, as her silhouette sails past a fork in the dusky asphalt. Soon enough, this godsend sojourn of mine turns out to be all but a momentary affair, as her silhouette nears the Gates, gliding past them like another one of these autumn breezes. As I near the Gates myself, I look down the other side, a desperate bid to catch one last glimpse of her enigmatic countenance, still brooding subconsciously about what had befallen me. That was when I discerned her silhouette for one last time, circled by the purity of the darkening dusk. Yet as I prepared to head mine own way and leave the trial for another day, her silhouette turns her gracile curves towards me, unraveling her Delphic face, as if she had known mine intrigue all along…. With squinted eyes over the widening oblivion of the skies, I reach out for the minuscule flecks of light that remain to sculpt a face for her silhouette; yet as I began upon this endeavor, the first wispy flakes of unruffled, pure snowfall upon my reaching eyes, obscuring my vision of her silhouette, and in that ephemeral instant, her silhouette evanesces into the darkness of oblivion, as if an enigma in the ether, with no trace of her getaway insight. I’m left all alone, in front of the forlorn Gates, with the luminescence of the gentle snowflakes, unbidden of the way ahead, with an unquenched heart and a heavy head.

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Cover page by Gabriella Paulino