Fiction
3 min
Out of sight, out of mind. ~ The Last Click In Eye
Zaheer ANWAR
Zaheer ANWAR
Winner of the Third Place in the Postgraduate Category of the 20th English Short Story Writing Competition
The clock struck at 11:58, and the digit clash echoed around the station.
Samira stiffened on platform four, the air crisp with the taste of freezing metal and soot. Not just cold, the air dug into the marrow of her bones.
Samira didn't watch the train. She watched her father.
He was standing just beyond the safety line, in an even bigger coat than before. The smile on his face was stale and desperate. It was meant for her and only her, and, like a present, was wrapped in forced happiness.
This was more than the last train of the day. It was the last train out of the city she has called her home for the last twenty years. It was the beginning of a new life, and, with it, a journey of three thousand miles.
She felt the urge to memorize his face and immortalize it in her psyche. She widened her eyes and wanted to lift this moment off the shoulders of time and hold it forever. She wanted the last thing to see to be his face, his soul, lifeless features, and the details that her soul would be able to hold dearly, even when her eyes can't see, and the darkness of the universe surrounds her.
His left eye drooped a little more than the other, the dull grey beard on the winter-damp asphalt, and the cracks on his face, like the grand canyons that people call smile lines.
Ba'id an al-ayn, ba'id an al-qalb.
It was a cruel idiom she had grown up with. Translated, it meant: "Far from the eye, far from the heart." In English, they say "Out of sight, out of mind," but the English version sounded clinical, like a misplaced object. The Arabic version sounded like a threat. It implied that if she stopped seeing him, her heart would stop knowing him.
It was a cruel idiom she had grown up with. Translated, it meant: "Far from the eye, far from the heart." In English, they say "Out of sight, out of mind," but the English version sounded clinical, like a misplaced object. The Arabic version sounded like a threat. It implied that if she stopped seeing him, her heart would stop knowing him.
It was a little more overpriced than the Arabic version merely to sound great.
The wind howled, and the inevitable scream of the approaching train filled the void of the darkness.
A soft, dull hum struck the soles of her boots like a disturbed water surface, and the headlights divided the nothingness like an old god's will.
She wasn't ready. He wasn't fully memorized. The shadows on his face were playing tricks. The lighting was wrong. The picture was wrong. If she left now, the image would be incomplete.
"Baba."
The train roared into the station. Noise and air. Separated. The blur of passing carriages swallowed him.
Samira stepped onto the train. Left her lungs on the platform. Chest tight. She pressed her face against the glass.
The train screeched. Framed by the glass.
The image was complete.
Locked. Fix the image. Please. Don't blink. Don't blink.
Then the train lurched. The window fogged. The mist.
Samira gasped and wiped. The condensation was on the outside. She couldn't see him. The moment was lost. The last scene disappeared. The train started moving.
Emotions overcame her, and she slumped back into the chair as she watched the tears run down her face, stinging as they fell. Hot and stinging. She readied herself for the closing. Embers of the "far from the heart" were to be kindled inside her.
When she did, she was met with light.
He was clearer than he'd been on the platform, and the light was not bad. No obscurities. She saw him, laughing and teaching her to ride a bike. She felt the warmth of his hand.
The idiom had been wrong. Or maybe she had misunderstood it all along.
The remembered the saying "from the eyes of the heart." She thought back to her heart. It was a darkroom where the too-light, cold mechanical eyes of the world were able to capture and preserve images instead of losing them.
The train sped into the dark. Samira watched the light and imagined the film playing behind her eyelids, perfectly preserved.
"Basira," she whispered.
She felt the word as she spoke. It was a soft word. It meant vision, not the eyesight of the eyes, but the inward vision of the heart, the insight.
A smile marks her soft, knowing lips. Windows are unnecessary, especially when you're alone in the carriage.
~The last scene that has changed everything ~
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