THE BEST THING

It was, wasn’t it?

She gripped her glass ever tighter as she braced herself for John’s response.

Of course it was. He sighed. Mechanically, he sipped his wine.

Silence, though much was being said.  Silence for longer than either of them wanted.

What time is it?

Almost eight.

Oh.

Silence, the loudest sound two people can create. It was deafening them, drowning out the waiters, the patrons, the cars passing by.

She looked at her watch. Again. Then she looked around, seeing nothing. She didn’t notice the dark clouds in the distance, although it wouldn’t have mattered much to her anyway. She only noticed John. John and the silence.

John uncrossed and then crossed his legs. He brushed some crumbs off his pant leg indifferently. Staring at the table, he imagined being swallowed up by it, falling out of this place into nothing. Nothing...

What time is it?

Eight.

Oh.

The minutes crept by. Angela realized she had been staring at the waiter for a minute or two. She signaled for the bill. After a time it arrived.

Shall we go?

Sure.

They paid their bill and stood up slowly. They paused a moment, feeling their tense muscles, then started walking down the sidewalk. John put his hand into Angela’s. She held it limply. Neither of them noticed.  

The street was crowded with people. People taking their afternoon stroll. To see and be seen. To stand in front of the boutique windows and stare at the newest things to buy. To chat with seeming interest over nothing at all. It was their habit, their routine. They loved it, as much as you could love something without ever thinking about it. In that way they were closer to John and Angela then either of them realized.  

They stopped a minute, neither knowing where they were nor where they were going. Looking up, as if waking from a dream, they noticed for a second all the grinding whirl of activity. Blinding, like staring into the sun. Angela gripped John’s hand a little tighter.  He noticed, and gripped back.

A young street performer was just up ahead. Covered in gold paint, she was frozen in place, dressed up like an Egyptian queen. John stared hard at her, blinking two or three times to better focus. Angela did the same. This woman was frozen out of time, a relic from the past set here on display. They stared silently and did not move. Neither did she.

Eventually, Angela broke their silence.

She’s beautiful.

Angela approached the queen and threw some change into the box in front of her pedestal. She clicked into life, bowing ever so slowly, gracefully, then changing her position. Now she was staring up into the fading afternoon sky, her arms spread wide. Angela felt suddenly embarrassed, aware of the crowd around her, and backed up into anonymity again. John was there, standing still as a statue himself.

After a while they continued walking, leaving the Egyptian queen behind, arms to the sky in an empty embrace. They turned a corner or two. They recognised a bar they had been in some time before. Angela tried to think of when, but couldn’t recall. This bothered her, and she frowned. As she was looking towards the bar, a couple suddenly came out, looking either happy or sad. Angela couldn’t tell which. The woman had her arm around the man, and they were walking slowly towards Angela and John. As they passed, a pang of recognition hit Angela instantly, then faded just as fast. She turned to John, about to say something, then didn’t. His eyes were trained on the couple as well, and his lips were slightly parted, but he made no sound. 

The sky had started to darken, whether from the incoming clouds or the setting sun.  

They kept on walking, nearing the river. The water was low this time of year, and still. It looked like a mirror, or a blank slate. They approached the river, enveloped in their deafening silence.

It was, wasn’t it? said John.

Yes, it was. Angela sighed.

They stared at the river, still, calm. Time passed creakingly. Darkness spread like a stain. Neither of them moved. People walked by, glancing at them, and hurried on their way. Some tourists were standing by the river, taking pictures of the scenery. There were very few cars around, and the birds were all back in their nests.

Somewhere something was going on, things were running their course. John and Angela were not there. They were nowhere, emptied of time and its trappings.

And when the rain finally came down, it came down heavily. The river sprung to life; the tourists ran for shelter. John and Angela were suddenly alone, alone by the rushing river under the pouring rain. Angela turned and rested her head in John’s neck, a weak embrace. John held her lightly. Time passed, and kept passing.