“Brilliant!” I muttered.
I sat down on a rock and smiled. Scanning the horizon, I noted the dichotomy between the cool sandstone beneath me and the sun’s warmth on my forehead.
At ten and two o’clock, sitting at mid-altitude, were intimate groupings of altocumuli, spotting the sky like henna on the arms of an angel. At 12 o’clock, a gorgeous billow of cirrus hovered above their altocumuli brethren, guarding them from the terrors of the stratosphere. I couldn’t help but shake my head, revelling in my good fortune. The last few days of sunsets had been disappointing, and I had set my expectations low for this evening. I whispered a silent thanks to the clouds above me, whose symmetry would leave the Last Supper desiring.
As I cast my memory back in time, I looked up into space, thinking about the numerous sunsets I had watched in my life. Thousands of clouds and colours flickered before me, each providing a unique sensation. Some made my stomach tingle, my spine stiffen, and some could even resurrect the goosebumps they first gave me. My brow furrowed as I narrowed my mental search down to a handful of precious evenings: the greatest sunsets I had ever seen. I sifted through each of these visions, weighing them as a jeweller would a diamond, recalling the moments of anticipation that preceded the apex. I gasped – I could not remember a time with such perfect cloud formation.
Reclining partially, I let my hands fall onto the dirt behind me. As usual, I was seated at the zenith of the cliff face, though the cliffs to my right protruded further forward, exposing their yellow, sedimentary bellies. The flat ocean lay watching – nonchalant, sublime, impersonal. The sea breeze tickled my neck, chilling my whole body and warning of a drop in temperature ahead. I peeked into my satchel bag, finding that I had forgotten to bring a jacket. Cursing myself, I sat back and resolved to ignore the cold. Naturally, I started worrying about the cold. Wrestling with my thoughts, my shoulders hunched inwards.
On the train this morning, I sat near a woman who was about my age. It just happened to be the obvious choice of seat in the carriage. She was looking out the window at the city passing by. I could make out a single, rosy cheek through her hair. She maintained a regal posture, as though aware of each vertebra in her spine. Hands relaxed in her lap, fingers intertwined. Her head tilted slightly to the side as the train passed some greenery.
I looked through the window next to her, trying to imagine what she was fixating on. Did she prefer people watching or architecture? A post office came into view as the train slowed to a halt. It was a humble, red-brick building, still closed at this time of day. Commuters milled out of the train while others waited to board. She could be looking at that post office, thinking that she needs to send a letter to her grandparents soon. Or, perhaps she was watching a passenger leave the train with the same curiosity that I attended to her.
A thousand introductions lingered before my hesitant tongue. My mouth dried. I could smell the dust plumes wafting through the air. Would it be strange to just say hello, how are you? Yes, it would be strange, because then she would just say good, thanks, and then I would have nothing else to say. Then, I would have to sit next to her for the rest of our commute, which for me was at least twenty minutes, and it would be exceedingly awkward. What about if I asked her how has your week been? No, that wouldn’t work, as it was a Tuesday today and she might think that the week had only started yesterday, in which case she might not have much to say. I cursed it being a Tuesday, as it also meant it was too late to ask what she had done on her weekend, which would have been an excellent question.
The woman turned her head away from the window and her hands moved to below her seat, where a backpack nestled against her legs. I snapped my head forwards, fixating on the passenger in front of me. I hope she hadn’t seen me looking at her. The scapegoat in front of me had cropped, black hair and wore a navy blazer with fine, white stripes running vertically. The space between their blazer’s collar and the end of their hair revealed a patch of milky skin that hinted at a lack of sun exposure. Maybe I hadn’t turned away in time and the lady would know I was staring at her.
I could tell she was fishing in her bag for something, her torso twisting to extend the length of her reach. I held my gaze rigidly on the skin of the commuter in front of me. The woman’s body straightened; a book was in her hand. I was filled with both a thrill and disappointment, for finding out she read books meant we were likely to be a better match for one another, but now I had fewer grounds to open a conversation with her.
The rest of the commute dragged on. At least I had not frightened the gentle woman next to me. She probably wouldn’t have wanted me to talk to her. Two stops before my own, she stood and waited for me to let her out. Our eyes met for a moment and hers crinkled with gratitude. They were hazel. Warmth flooded my cheeks. I swallowed, preparing a simple salutation, but she had already turned away. Gone, forever.
Her hazel eyes could be seen in the browny-red, sprawling light that the sunset boasted before me. Wispy cirri mimicked the waves of her silky, auburn hair. If only I had a chance to bring her here. We could have shared this moment. My head lolled back on my neck, bringing the spectacular array of yellows and reds to the bottom of my vision.
From behind me, a male voice sliced through the windless evening, scattering the dandelion of silence.
“Bloody hell, not sure if that was worth the walk”, a voice rasped between chesty coughs.
I sat up straight, dirt clinging to my hands, hair standing on end. I shot a pleading glance at the raging oranges splayed across the sky. The sound of clumsy footsteps on pebbles grew. A female voice added to the disturbance.
“Wow, it’s beautiful”, this second voice said, clear and opulent.
I chose to keep my gaze focused ahead, feeling much like I was staring at the passenger in front of me on the train. Maybe the intruders would decide to watch the rest of the sunset further to the left. Or maybe to the right. Just not in front of me. Fate laughed as the two figures emerged just meters away, on course to obstruct my view.
There was a man, dressed in colourful sporting attire and wearing a baseball cap. His posture was hunched, and his neck hung forward like a vulture. His gait was long and ungainly. A sneer lingered on his face, as though he detested being outside.
His company was a woman in a red sundress with an oversized varsity jacket draped over her shoulders, though her arms were not in the sleeves. She stepped carefully on the rocky ground, smiling at the scene before her.
“Oh, someone’s here”, the male grunted, looking straight at me, unsmiling.
“Good evening”, his female accompaniment added with a smile.
I nodded briefly in their direction, pursing my lips. I could hear the man mutter something under his breath, to which the female punched his arm in response. Out of stupidity, thrill-seeking or in the vain effort to be closer to the sunset, the two of them edged closer to the precipice, blocking my view of the left-hand altocumuli, which had just begun to turn rose-pink.
The man turned to the girl, nostrils flaring, “Where’s dinner after?”
“The Thai place on main street.”
“Cool.” His shoulders hunched further as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
If I stood up to move, the couple might think I’m moving because of them. They would be correct, but I cringed at the thought of them knowing I had taken action as a result of their intrusion. On the other hand, if I stayed here, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the rest of the sunset. Closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead with my thumb and forefinger, I stood up to move. It became apparent that, because of the shrubbery, I had to walk closely behind the couple in order to evade them. Nodding and setting my jaw, I started forward.
The female glanced back at me, understanding my intentions, and shot me an apologetic smile, her eyes flicking between her partner and me. I gave her my best attempt at a friendly shrug.
I took a few steps forward and began to step sideways to the right in order to allow the maximum amount of room between myself and the couple. After all, they were practically standing on the edge of the cliff, and they might think I had ill intentions. First, I passed behind the female, and I noticed a strand of fabric that had strayed off her jacket. It was red and danced gently behind her. A few side steps later, and I was behind the male, who decided that very moment to scrunch up his face and announce to the heavens.
“It’d be a lot nicer if it weren’t for all these stupid clouds.”
My next step wavered. Inside my ribs, my heart was thumping. My jaw tightened, teeth pressing into each other. I could no longer hear the ocean. The sky twisted into the dark, familiar confines of memory.
I was in my sixth grade classroom. Sweat conspired in my armpits as I hunched over a varnished desk. The blinds were down and all was dark aside from the projector, which shone brightly onto the far wall. In between the projector and the wall, the light illuminated the drifting dust, which migrated through the air in a thick herd. Thirty, watery eyes blinked through the mocking heat at the images on the wall. The drone of the old man that was supposed to be teaching the class was unwavering, constant, and insidious. I swallowed, mouth dry, and reached for my water bottle, knowing through its lack of resistance when I picked it up that it was empty. I dared not raise my arm to ask to fill it up. Instead, I imagined a world where my water bottle would fill itself up at my wish.
There was a knock at the door of the classroom. Thirty, sweating, dull-lidded children sat up in hope – who would be the one to be rescued? The teacher, smirking, finished his sentence, which seemed to be the longest sentence in the world, before meandering to the door. The door cracked open. Light rushed in, blinding us as we scrambled to identify the interruptor.
The teacher spun and scanned the classroom like a lighthouse. His eyes met mine, and he stopped, raised his arm and beckoned me forward. I sprung out of my seat as the posture of my peers declined back into resignation. Skipping to the front of the classroom, I did not look back as I emerged into the fresh, afternoon air, uncaring of the reason for my sudden extraction. The door clicked shut behind me and I followed a new teacher all the way to the school’s office where, to my surprise, I found my parents waiting.
I don’t remember much of the conversation, but somebody related to me was dead. A face came to mind from birthday parties and dinners at relatives houses, but I wasn’t sure it was the right face.
My mother opened the back door of the car for me to step into, before letting herself into the driver’s seat. My father sat in the passenger seat, silent like grass. The car started moving, and I looked out the window. I watched the lamp posts passing by, imagining that I was running on top of them, taking huge leaps from one to the other. My mother looked back at me. She started to speak but stopped, turning back to the road. Something inside me told me that I shouldn’t be excited to be leaving school early, because it wasn’t for a good reason. But I couldn’t help but feel relieved to have escaped.
Time passed by in the company of the familiar scent of each other. The world through the window started to change: the lampposts stopped appearing, and I started to see trees instead. I didn’t know what type of trees they were, but I knew where they lead to. I bounced up and down in my seat. My mother heard my response and let out a racking sob, turning around again to look at me, love in her eyes. The car came to a halt to the sound of crunching stones under its wheels. My door was opened for me and I burst out towards our destination, oblivious to whether my guardians followed me.
I reached the peak of the cliffs, heaving with exhaustion, exhilarated. I bounded into the sandstone that was always so comfortable for my buttocks – it encircled them with a smooth curve. Mother Nature had made this stone for me to sit in. I looked out before me. The sky was waging war on the clouds. Patches of blue emerged victorious in some areas, lacking in others. The sun commanded the two forces for its own amusement, lingering in some gaps, hiding in others.
The footsteps of my parents grew in volume. Soon, I was flanked by them: my mother sat to my left, my father to my right. They criss-crossed their arms behind my back, leaving a hand on each other. We stayed like that for hours, squeezing every granule of appreciation that we could from the light show, until the sky was dotted with stars.
The stars of that night sky eluded memory, morphing back into the present, where the sky was red as murder. My parents had been replaced by two, incomprehensible strangers, who stood a mere breath away, taunting my clouds.
I kept shuffling to the right until I had squeezed out of range of the couple. Shrubbery scratched the skin of my right forearm, leaving three pink, stinging lines behind. Finally, I could turn to face the direction I was walking again. I hastened my walking pace into a scamper. The red sky called to me. My scamper turned into a flounder, which turned into a run. Shame burned my eyes, which were aflame with tears. I stumbled on the uneven surface, gasping through staggered breaths, abandoning my sunset to the care of uninvolved attendants.