Poison Ivy

I remember that morning. It was really warm. And quiet. Well maybe it was Saturday and nobody in their right mind would wake up that early. Except for one teenager, cladded in her two-piece poison ivy red bikini, looking estranged. She would stand for a few minutes before dipping her left foot in the water, and retracted back. And a few minutes later, she did the same. She looked unsure — I deduced from her complete incongruent behavior, but why would you be unsure if you woke up in the wee hour, put on your nice looking swim outfit and had a mental confusion later?

She left. As much mystery as she would offer to bystanders, it was more appalling that she would waste her time from her uncertainty. Tarek would laugh if he were there. Not because that spring teenager’s indecisiveness, but from the way I observe. He would say ‘you observant freak’. He was never wrong.

Barjas was never wrong as well. But the problem was when I sat on that bench on some random places in Bauen, Switzerland, he was still a stranger. He was still someone that I would not talk to if I didn’t have to. He was still a wallflower, a decorative addition to my long list email recepients. He was at that time, just a name, just a random colleague who wouldn’t even say hi when we brushed off our shoulders. 

I reckoned if I knew him earlier, I would be that girl in the red bikini. Indecisive, uncertain, confused, deranged. But that girl’s problem was perhaps from the cold water itself. The coldness made her feel unsure. The difference if I was at her place, I might not question the temperature, but rather questioning whether if it was worthy to end my life for someone that didn’t even worthy my life in the first place.

She’s lucky. But maybe, I’m not.