2046

She had come.
She was even earlier than me, which was something of an anomaly. She had elevated dotted punctuality to an art-form, so the excess earliness seemed stark.
It was Cheswick Cafe once more, the same place with the same table with the same waiter at the same time. The comforts of familiarity were on our side.
I would gaze at her as I always did. I would stride to the table, fully in my element. I would smoothly nod as the waiter slid the chair out for me. I would slide into the chair with reassuring ease. I would smile at her as I tucked in the napkin. The pacifying routineness bolstered me. Yet, it was to be so similar and altogether too different.
"Hi" was just about the only words she managed to utter on the night as her lips curled into a mystery of a half-smile. Her eyes raised up to greet me as I stood, with the old twinkle. Those eyes dropped as I sat, and ran away from me.
"Hallo." I would allow none of the tentativeness I had anticipated in my greeting. Then I awaited the moment she would take her turn to speak, but I would wait for some time.
Her eyes. They faced mine, met mine, but yet they looked distressingly far away. My eyes pleaded with hers but they never responded. They were glazed. They were walled.
I slid myself into an empty chair that was to her right. That wall held still, for never an inch did those eyes even move. I helplessly raised a hand slowly in front of her eyes and twiddled the fingers distractingly, but there was nothing.
There she sat, like statued goddess, like the subject of an ancient painting at which I could only gawk as a passive art-lover. There she sat, beholden to herself. My discouraged hand drooped ashamedly.
It was only then I realised I might as well take the chance to take a good look at her. A first look in months, where I could look at her searchingly, knowing that I was not being watched in reply. So my eyes travelled freely.
From the top they would canter down. Her long, ash black curly hair. Her luscious lashes, peering out from those sparkly dreamy eyes. Her firm girly lips held fort for the half-smile. The satin cheeks, the swanned neck, and forbid, her lovely bosom. Indeed she was something of a little goddess. But the eyes, they would kill me, for they said nothing and yet said too much.
But yet I would not be rushed. I would take my time. I plonked my elbows on the table. It was socially unbefitting, but physically comfortable. My arms were upright and my left palm hugged my right, clutching as if to reassure the little boy in it. I rested my head on my hands, my lip was on my left thumb. Then I set myself to wait.
The waiter had been waiting by the tableside for an exasperating time. I had forgotten about the poor man. Hurriedly, I sent him away after ordering the usual- nothing but the finest pork ribs from St. Louis.

They say that there is a place where nothing changes. Everyone who went there had the same intention... to recapture their lost memories. It was said that there, nothing ever changed. Nobody knew for sure if it was true, because nobody who went there had ever come back.