The Long Lasting Season!

Regents Park, London For some time now, I have been unable to feel happiness. It seems to me, in an almost broken-hearted way, that this thing inside me has given up on me. Or, that a large part of what I perceive as happiness has gone because, I guess in one way or another I have or might've committed sin. Some kind of sin. Yes. I believe so. How do you test a man in tough times! You do what no other species can do to this man - you expunge the anticipation of happiness away from him and he becomes something else. I am not sure what he becomes as I haven't been able to swim deeper into that murky water yet, and to be honest I don't plan to do so. I think, I will be finding out very soon. However, I should say that I do occasionally receive little happy receptors that play with my mind all day. You know them little fuzzy and the shaking in your head, the one that never leaves you. It tries and keeps you on its bubble, pretending to make you deceive the world and yourself in one go, whilst at the same time the persistent deception continues until you realize that you are not getting anything out of it. No happiness, no good omen, no elixir of life, not yet. Or am I just being too optimistic! You may wonder what I am doing here in the park all by myself and whether I have any purpose at all. Or have I gone completely out of my mind and not able to distinguish between the inferring of 'having a purpose' and 'without any purpose'? I guess I have become a regular occurrence in this park as many people would vouch for me. As a matter of fact, I can actually tell you about nearly everybody in this park. I know their habits and their faces let out much more than you would ever think. I am just, I mean I could say that I do a lot of guesswork with them. Sometimes I feel bad because when I am in the best of moods than I am unable to help them when they're in the hour of need. I am utterly powerless to inject them with any sense of hope, any delirium on their part is partly transferable to me and I can't just suck up so much. I am a sucker for it. Funny thing is that I actually understand them. I think deeply about them, and I concur any subjective distancing that one might infer when near them. I mean let's be simple about all of this. If they are in a good state of mind, they wouldn't have made it here, in the park. What for? why would you if you had all the means to live a super life? We cross pathways a lot. I mean I look at their demeanours. Talking about sadness. Let's orient the sour attention away from me and let's look at the others who roam pathways of the park. I mean look at her for instance. Wearing tights or something similar to that. Black with white trainers. Ponytail, pale face, excruciating physique, you can tell that she lives in a mansion, but is totally subjugated to a life of structure. I bet, you ask her if she knows the price of a newspaper and she isn't able to answer or give you an accurate economic value of such newspaper. Or if you are brave enough and ask her what dating website she uses - then the reaction would be quite different. Subdued and the look of an angry woman would ensue right in front of your face where you wouldn't be far off a slap round your face. I mean I look at him, shorts, very short shorts, you can almost see the splits in between his legs and too much information for dangling bits hanging apparel, clearly not tight enough to keep a good grip and control of his genitals. No hair, earphones on with a short-sleeved shirt emblazoned 'COME ON THEN'. Sloppy legs but you can see a lot of strength on them. Persistent guy this one seems to be, as he goes past me the air is hot and heavy! I noticed from the distance approaching me, that he is a pro. Huh, a pro. There are loads of them in this park. They don't tell you any stories. Their physique, I mean it does something to you or them or hideously poison the environment somehow. You can see it clearly from the over-bearing curiosity of the crowds. They ran the running lanes purposely because that activity in itself has a purpose. We, normal people, mere mortals do not understand the concept of having procrastinating thoughts immersing your precious existence if found without purpose. They have a purpose. You must admire them. Although they might find themselves in between doing the right thing, stuff like "Running" or resisting what's right "Procrastinate" in the miserable life of a job or a profession. I think that's even. * Some might question my approach to all these things that modern living appreciates. Things such as: enjoying the potential that nature has to offer like drinking green tea, or helping sustainability of climate by recycling, or one could adhere to the idea that a sane mind is a fit mind, depending on what it contains within it, means that one's life is captured. Explained. Decided. Shaped. You may disagree but I only instil a particular way of retelling the perceived reality. You ought to decide what would that mean for you. I sit at the bench, unaware that life around me is ongoing. I fail to observe a very basic computation, that although my desperation to seek shelter by seeing the others differently, some kind of misconstrued figure, makes me probably sadder and less inclined to understand the wider world. And that world is about to throw me even further deeper into my own black hole. I feel, so that sometimes I do want to completely annihilate every cigarette that I smoke. it’s not hard to do. I repel cautiousness. I think it is a harbinger of the untruth. I continue to think straighter, weirder thoughts occupy my mind. I feel I can't stop. Just like an unstoppable car sloping down a large forest like, hilly road. I need to do something to try and stop this train of thought. And that just becomes harder and less appealing now to try and stop this. I found myself sitting in a bench, next to a young woman. She was browsing on her mobile device. I didn't understand initially what she was doing! You could tell that she was tense, almost so close to bursting out loud with rage. But she did not. She hesitated after she stared at me for a second. She gathered more force and breathed in a relieved way. I could feel the sheer force of her 'gathering storm' mount up. But I had to be extremely careful. I had to squirrel away my thoughts. I had to try and keep away from the possibility of her, just by the slightest chance, turning towards me and giving me the usual 'what's your problem?' or 'what are you looking at me for?' I did not want to be at the epicentre of that woeful magnitude of rage. I had my own problems to deal with. Last thing I needed for to tell me off or in one way or another for her to vent her own rage and anger on me. Her phone rang within seconds. She answered but wasn't sure who it was on the phone. 'I hate it when people call me with an ID WITHHELD!' She said almost imminently, and I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or to somebody else on the phone. I did not turn my head. I resisted. But my resistance didn't pay-off that well because her insistence and interest on me was not easy to resist, or deal with. 'Not in a mood to talk then!?' She said almost in a hurry. I said nothing. I heard! She picked-up her handbag, her phone and the whiff of air with her. I gave her a little bit more time so she can move away from a safe distance, just in case. 'What mood? what are you talking about?' I spoke. She stopped instantly. She turned towards me. 'I did not say anything controversial. I believe!' She immediately took her seating space. Just next to me. Not far from where I was sitting. 'You know, I come here every day and I have never seen you before!' She pulls a packet of fags from her handbag. 'Do you smoke?' She asks. 'No. Thanks.' I respond abruptly. 'It's a shame because...' 'Because...?' I interrupt her, without any style at all. 'Wow you are jumpy.' She adds while puffing away the white and long Marlborough cigarette. 'Huh, I do take a lot of weight on me. You know!' I responded to her, much more interested but in a fed-up way. All of a sudden, she stops. She inhales one more time. She inhales the second time, and you can just about tell that she is listening but also that she is about to tell something more. She wants to ask or probably she wants to make a statement. I think to myself 'Oh no please. Don't do that because I am liking the flow that we started,' and then as if my eyes betrayed me, she adds. 'Well, you see the problem is that you would want me to agree with you. And what about that? what do we achieve with that?' She has opened her eyes so wide that they will just fall off her socket. I am surprised. I wasn't sure whether I should flinch or pinch myself! 'I just said that I have a lot of weight on me. I don't have much time left on this earth to load off some of that burden. I believe we all do! We all have that weight on us.' She keeps staring at me and not saying much. That was the moment I started to think that actually I might as well just look at her. Stare back at her. She is very beautiful. Her big blue eyes are immensely sparkly, and you can see through them, the full innocence that you will only get it if your brain is entirely in a comma. 'You are a bit different from others, aren't you?' I said to her. I guess I took advantage of the perceived age gap. 'What do you mean?' She said determined and very strong headed. There was something in my brain which was telling me stuff, which is accurate, less perceptive and truer. It was very distancing initially, but then thinking again, it crossed my mind that actually it is that almost sixth sense that you get when your mind is telling you if you are going to be in trouble or if it is this moment that you should celebrate life. 'How different?' She asked more inquisitively but partially loosening interest while she is typing on her smart phone uninterruptedly. 'Will give you my answer only if you are prepared to do one thing for me!? one big thing, one big armoury which you need to lay it down for me - that of giving me a chance to spend some quality time with you?' I paused and I couldn't believe I said that. She didn't hear me. I thought I was lucky for a moment. Her smartphone saved my moment. I need to get my head around this better before I ruin everything. I took an instant liking, but I needed to be very careful how I keep the 'just conceived' new friendship. 'What you don't seem to get it my dear friend,' she said 'is that I am powerless to change anything in my life, let alone in anybody's life. I know where your heart lies my friend!' By that stage, I feel like I have abandoned all the will, because I was a little unsure. I didn't want to encourage more headstrong points; I didn't want to usurp her time and make my time feel like I am obliged to inherit more troubles than I could ever absorb. 'I would like to try a fag if you have one, please!?' She asked politely. Rather slow. I thought. But at least she is coming round milder. Less heretical in her approach to a desperate man. 'Of course." I responded with enthusiasm. She is sat there, unflinching. I gave her the fag. She takes it with her smooth soft skin of her fingers and almost swallows it. Soon afterwards feeling much more relaxed she crosses her legs; I can actually see a little bit more skin from her bitten holes in her jeans. Especially, I liked the bit that stretch between her upper thigh and the knee. The pure brown pores and the beautiful skin mesmerises me to a point where I stuck my eyes on her and can't help myself but be faceless and bluntly disgusting. A whoosh of Coco Chanel whisked my normal senses and replaced it with that sharp and edifying odour which transfixes me into a different world for a few moments. Then, I started to look at her differently. Because she didn't hesitate to use her charm, her natural predisposition to attract even my most hidden feelings of compassion, hideously ruining me from the inside and destroying my soul, in an instant. I just don't recall what had gone through my mind at that point. But I know that she said quietly 'Don't forget one thing mister - you will be paying for lunch too if you play your cards right.' * You don't go wrong with The Cinnamon Club, never go wrong with that kind of choice. There is so much one can love in there. Above all, I wanted to impress her. She was not bothered. I thought for a moment that the nadir of exquisitely large presence of VIP's, would provide some kind of momentary excitement for her. Not an eye lid or a lip move, so far. The waiter took my jacket away and she refused to let hers go. She wanted to keep warm, or so she told me. I don't know, all I could do in that situation is just sit there and pay a little bit more attention than I was allowed to. 'I am cold. I am ok. Thank you!' she said to the waitress almost in an instructive way. They were very patient with us. The waiters. I didn't want to break the peace. So, I decided to let her do own thing. She was browsing her instapage and I was gazing at people in the restaurant, feeling nefarious but too proud to let myself and my guest down by re-appearing like a brave gangster with a super gorgeous youngster in my shoulders. 'You know we've known each other for half a day or so but we never spoke about each other! who we are and what we do!?' I wasn't sure whether that was an instruction or a question. The way she inferred the words did confuse me. But I was adamant that I should probably go smooth, and oh boy gentle did I go. 'We don't even know each other's names!' I added. As if to say that I am in control of something here. She raised her head, and I could feel instantly that she was going to say something which deserved to be heard. 'Names are like our physical bodies. We use them, utilise them until the day we die and then we unload them when we go in the other side.' 'Aha!' I responded quickly. She is religious. That was my first impression. 'You are religious!?' I threw back. She waited as she was about to send the last message from her smartphone on her instapage. I think. I flinched and I continued to daydream of those unsaid words. 'Choir girl.' she said it quickly, almost like she was shy. 'Aha that explains it.' I responded but slower and more hesitant. 'That explains exactly what?' She asked woefully with her eyes stabbing through my forehead deep into my brain. I didn't know what to say at that exact second. So, I waffled. 'The parallel you draw with physical and the spiritual.' I responded keenly to impress her with my level of preparedness that would distinguish me from the rest of her people, her friends, her confidantes or whoever she accepts in her life. At that moment, while she was looking at me, I entered a state of utter indulgence. I discovered that my own mirroring of her and the gaze, the sheer purity with two luminously sparkly eyes, were penetrating through me like a thunder straight into my heart. All I was seeing was all the vernacular terms in my head, bits that I couldn't express in any given language or expression. 'Ok. Let me explain to you!' She spoke. 'This is not a date mister. So, no high expectations and not too much talking because I get very frustrated very quickly. All I want to do now is for you to order some nice food, fill my glass with some nice wine and then I head back to my place.' Not that I didn't admire the harshness of her directness. I stumbled in my own gulp of air. I deducted the thought out of my head that she is the one that will fall on her own sword if I push the right buttons. The unfortunate thing here was that I was much older than her, and with plenty of time to kill. She looked as if she is in a hurry. * When she said, 'my place', I knew immediately that she was more than just what I thought she was. She was intent. She was coming round. Finally, I felt like I was having a breakthrough. However, something was niggling me, something which was making me thoughtful but not regret one thing or two. I could just agree with her and just let her go when the right time comes! Or I could just let her think whatever she wants to think and in the end I would prevail. 'No, of course not. That is not my intention. I did not invite you so I can extract sexual favours.' I responded in a cowardly way. She is stunned. She does have this look of humbling reaction, probably she perceives the world entirely different to me. I hope so. You could sense the relief she feels once I blurted out my words. 'I did not mean that! What I meant was that I don't think we are compatible with that kind of stuff.' She spoke. When she said "I was" instead of using the present tense connective, I knew pretty immediately that something is amiss. Or was I just to hit the wall and begin making things up in my head. I wanted to go for the jugular. 'Ok.' I said to her. 'Let's just get one thing clear!' In the meantime, waitress approaches our table gradually and keen to take our order. I fidgeted a little. I just didn't want her to turn around and say, 'No. I am going to go easy and light.' I opened the menu with the complete knowledge that she will be hungry and that we should be able to order pretty quickly. She stares at the waitress with a keen eye. I can see that she wants to ask a question. 'Excuse me!' She asks. I didn't know what she was about to say. I stopped fidgeting by now. So keen to see her challenged or at least usurped by the sharp waitress. 'Would you happen to have a gluten-free menu please?' She folds her hands and in a polite manner but keen to make a gesture of curiosity, she places both of her elbows on top of the table. I thought, for a minute that the question is an understandable one. I thought it was a rational decision to ask a needy question. I mean gluten-free menu. I would have never thought such menu exists. Anyhow. The waitress fetches the menu. She rushes back in an instant. She gives her a smile but doesn't look at me. I look at her. We order pretty much soon after I stopped staring at her. She kept it simple. A tomato soup with no bread, pigeon pâté with a seabream, grilled. No veg or rise. Plain. I went for the traditional Italian country soup, squid for a starter and a wagyu steak, followed by a five-hundred ml of Pinot. 'You didn't join me for a glass!?' I tried to draw her attention by raising my glass. She decides to close her mobile and slides it in her breast pocket. She stares at me immediately but softly. I look back. This time I don't let go. I just wanted her to say more. I wanted her to say something. The more she prolongs her talking to me, the more desperate I seem to be. I mean what a price I am to pay!? Is being lovely not enough of a punishment? is being desperate to talk to somebody, feeling the live presence of somebody, warmth of a company and never having enough luck to enjoy these interactions, is this not a punishment too harsh!? I lean on her soul and plead inside her heart, to open up and to at least say something that resembles a conversation. I am desperate now. 'I tell you something my friend!' She said and I was so happy that she said something. 'I was born in a black family with all the African traditions. I do not believe in a witchcraft or in any other utopia. I get on with life. I felt supported by my parents throughout my childhood. My father was my idol. He died of a heart attack in the altar. He was taken from me while preaching to his people. Mother remarried soon after that. I was the only child. I became an orphan within months.' No tears so far. But I felt for her. One thing I couldn't understand though! Where was all of this to fit in my initiation for a glass of wine! I didn't take my eyes off her. She continued to talk for a while longer. I was still purposefully glued on her face. I wanted to stop from staring at her, but everything was undermined when the waiter, another waiter came round and asked if we wanted to order. I felt for a moment that I should actually tell him to fuck off and that would've been inappropriate in her eyes. I said it. I just said it and was convinced that she was thinking in a horrified way what a bastard I was. But no. She didn't. She just couldn't stop laughing. We were flanked out from the restaurant as soon as the owner came round and started to give me a long list of what to do and I told him to just not bother. Within a very short period of time, we were both on the street. At least we managed to get a free drink and she just started to smile, open up a little bit more and for a moment, just for a moment, she dismissed all the troubles of the world and began looking at me more jovially, or so I thought. Streetlights down Horseferry Road were dimmed. I didn't understand why. But I didn't want to bother with anything else. Very quickly by the time we reached Lambeth Bridge, everything started to look much darker. Not only the physical prospect, but everything about her stretched and started to look and sound slightly worrying. I asked her why and what was happening. Her head down and slightly bending her upper back, she wouldn't say anything. I asked her again what it was! Why is she sad all of a sudden! and no response would come. Only a few feet away from where we were standing, this silver four by four with all black tinted windows pulled up and a huge geezer with a long beard merged out of the car in a threatening manner. She stopped and started to shake, her body was taking too much fear, her eyes were shaking so much I could see her eyelids moving fast and were about to fall off. I stood there and felt utterly powerless and didn't know what to say and what to do. She looked at me with her soft eyes as if to say please do something. I don't want to go with him. In some kind of way, I thought that she knows this person and that she must have been her hard-nosed brother or a relation. I was wicked. I was very weak. I was frightened. But her eyes and the desperation in her facial expression was telling me something else. I did not do anything. My brain was working much faster than my body and all the scenarios of the world were going through my head. She walked at least ten yards away from me without saying any goodbyes and there I was desperate to hide my own sense of fear in case my face gets smashed in. It’s the last thing I needed only because I met this lovely girl in a park a few hours before. They disappeared. Vanished on earth's face. The geezer who ushered her in the car, didn't treat her badly. She looked as if it was expected of her to get in that car without any objection. You see I never know who she was and why was she picked up by these people! I have never known whether she was somebody who was pimped, or you never know these days an enslaved soul to the urges of bad people. I was heartbroken. I stood there for at least ten minutes watching other cars going past me and I was indifferent to everything else. I just finished half a packet of cigarettes. I regretted everything. I realised very late, sloppily and stupidly; I didn't even bother to ask her name.