The Ballad Of Invisible Uniqueness
It was right at the end of the holidays that the sun came out.
Unexpectedly, if I am being honest, as the grey and overcast weather had seemed set for the season. But blue skies appeared and so did the people. It was that kind of day.
She appeared as suddenly as the sun.
I sensed her before I saw her, glancing over my right shoulder towards the sea just as she walked past me. Oblivious, of course, to those around her, the headphones and no doubt a busy mind dutifully occupying her thoughts.
And dressed to fit in, or so I believed, to provide that level of invisible uniqueness desired by so many like her, wanting to hide and yet be seen at the same time.
And I saw her.
I saw her shadow, as she walked, elongated by the sun hanging low in the winter sky, almost touching the sea that it was surely destined to slip behind in only an hour or two’s time. And it drew me further in, to the rhythm of her walk and her step by step progress along the firm, damp sand.
I watched as she strode out, opening a gap as she easily outpaced my more leisurely progress. Gradually moving away from the sea and over the shingle bank, towards the yellow and blue beach huts, it was almost as if she had a purpose.
Which I suppose was true.
Because somewhere up there, just out of sight and hidden behind the prominent shingle bank, is almost certainly where she met him.
Although, when I say him, I am, if I am being honest, guessing.
And when I say almost certainly met, it is possible that I may also be using a little creative licence.
But what is clear, is that only a short while after she disappeared from my view, I saw her walking back towards me, a different expression on her face and with her body language screaming that something had happened, a connection had occurred.
I continue, of course, to fill in the gaps.
And it may well have been an enigmatic smile that I glimpsed as she walked past me again, for the second time in less that a handful of minutes, heading back to where she had come, from behind my right shoulder. It may also be that she stood a little taller than before, with shoulders thrown back and, yes, perhaps something of a swagger in her stride.
However, I acknowledge that memory plays terrible games when we try to recall the smallest of details.
But I wondered to myself, as I continued my walk along the damp, firm sand, towards the shingle bank and whatever lay beyond, and gave thought to what, perhaps, I may have just witnessed. About the importance of the thousands of things we experience as we go about our lives. The things that happen and then are lost, because we simply can’t remember or process their existence. Even though everything, no matter what it’s value in hindsight or significance at the time, deserves evaluation and consideration of some kind.
And I believe I smiled as I contemplated those brief moments, right at the end of the holidays, under glorious blue skies. Because whoever she was, and I have no clue, no genuine, plausible idea, she meant something to me then, for those few minutes on a beach in early January. And for that reason alone the memory should be treasured.
