Three Walks (short story)
By Luke Labern
Preamble
Ivan was in one of his moods. He had had an average day in all senses of the word: he had woken up with a little under seven hours sleep (when he needed at least eight) and the bags under his eyes gave him a rough edge. He had not felt motivated since he woke, but he had not been depressed and had not wallowed. The highlight of the day so far had been the cold coffee, which slid down his throat and practically saw him reborn – before he crashed a few hours later.
His lectures were finished for the day, though, and he was now heading towards the library to pick up some books. It was the first day of spring; insects had begun to make their presence known, the weather made a coat look and feel uncomfortable (he, of course, had a coat on) and there was a distinct, pleasant smell all around, almost as if the earth was rewarding him for having hidden the sunlight for the past few months. The smell was somehow directly related to the heat, and he had been pondering this exact relationship for the past few minutes as he made his way from the lecture theatre towards the library. He paused, for some reason, and said to himself: ‘now is the equinox of the day. It hasn’t been a failure, nor has it been a wild success. In fact, it’s quite in the balance: it is completely up to me what happens from here. I simply have to decide.’
Ivan had a tendency to reflect in ways such as this: though often prone to sensationalising, he had an excellent eye for understanding how to break down a goal or ideal into smaller parts in order to achieve it, through careful planning. His downfall was the emotional – as logical as he was, when his reason became clouded by emotion his judgement would give rise to unexpected and unpredictable results. But here, Ivan was in control of his emotions: he decided that, though his day was neither here nor there, he was in thoroughly able to engage his ‘powers of observation’ in a meaningful way. It was as if he became a different person at times like this. He looked in all directions, registering all of the minute details: the grass was cut in a particular pattern, though the edges were not trimmed; he predicted the paths of people as they walked; judged the relations between different groups of students as they walked, assessing which subjects they took, whether they were late. Ivan had no idea what he looked like from the outside, but he seemed to squint very slightly as if he was literally seeing into the essence of things – when really he was opening his eyes to what was in front of him.
It was in this observational mood that he decided the rest of his day would hinge upon. Now that he had taken in all the colours, smells, sounds, relationships and predictions he could in the few seconds he had stood still (pretending to check his pockets for something important so as not to arouse suspicion), he reflected in upon himself. ‘So much rests upon the way one walks,’ he thought. The library was ahead, situated above a long series of steps with a square in front of it which acted as a social hub; sometimes there were even markets held there. A few benches lined it and there were always people milling about; it had four openings and each headed to a different part of the university. In short, it was the perfect place to ‘observe things’. Ivan had decided that he would delay his visit to the library by means of ‘observing things’ by walking very slowly across the library square. The question was: how should he walk across?
Often it is not a conscious choice; one’s gait simply mirrors their emotion. A slow, winding walk often belies a person lost in contemplation; a thorough, pointed walk is the signifier of someone on a mission and then there are those whose dejection trails them in a wake with their slow, plodding steps.
Today, however – in this situation, at this time, in this place – Ivan had all the control in the world. His mood was in no defined configuration and the day was his: ‘now, how should I walk, whilst I am observing? And where should I walk?’ He could walk either straight through, observing the people through at the heart of the square by walking right past them; he could walk to the left, which would mean less to observe, but it also meant that he would attract less attention to himself (he was quite aware of the oddity of his mood and current thinking, and was not completely set in his mind: nor was he sure that he was in the mood for others to observe him – his mood could just as easily swing in a negative direction, hanging in the balance as it was) – or he could walk straight into the library. (He would have to find a way back their eventually, as he really did need those books.) He was in the preliminary stages of his walk, on a path which lead onto the square at one of its corners, with two, low brown fences running parallel to each other sectioning off the pathway from the grass which variously bohemian students were adorning with their bodies, cigarettes and conversation.
As he set foot on the square, he continued to observe – that is, until something presented itself to him –overwhelmed him -- which quite knocked him out of his meditation and made him quite subservient to it. His choice of ‘how’ to walk, and, indeed, where, had now been thrown back to his instincts. Not being able to take his eyes off it for more than a few seconds, he began to walk into the square.
She was beautiful.
Walk the first
He approached with wonder. He was barely conscious of his steps, his appearance, or anything else. His reason had been well and truly subjugated: nothing is better at throwing a young man off than a beautiful young woman. She was walking towards him, but if she paid him any attention he didn’t notice. She had her headphones in and was looking sultry. To him, she was positively seductive.
Though he didn’t notice, his gait portrayed a man who wasn’t in control of himself. He looked disjointed; unfocused. His mind was wavering and hovering over outrageous thoughts: he had well and truly been undone. He looked beside her; at her; to this side, to the other side; at his hands, at his feet. He tried to make eye contact but she was too busy being beautiful. He had been acting on instinct – or, rather, he wasn’t acting on instinct so much as he was acted upon by his instinct. Time seemed to slow down as she was in view -- then surged forward after she was out of sight.
It was over in seconds, and they would never see one another again.
It wasn’t until he had passed her and walked straight into the library that he began to analyse what had happened.
‘I had no control whatsoever. I did exactly the opposite of what I planned to do. I was thrown off by the simplest things: soft lips, piercing eyes, a slight smile… finely shaped eyebrows, lustrous brunette hair…’ – and off he slipped into wonder once again. This is quite indicative of the constant battle between logic and emotion going in within all of us: Ivan simply happened to lose this time.
Though the lesson was there to be learnt, it was overwritten by thoughts of a girl he would probably never see again – and he was thus doomed to repeat it.
He continued to oscillate between remonstrating with himself for not doing what he said he would, and thinking about her delicate, charming features over and over again as he looked for the books. ‘PF19214… PF… oh, I wonder if she saw me? … PF1…’ the battle raged on inside his head, becoming more and more fragmentary. He eventually found the book and settled down in the library, on his own, to read it in isolation. His day faded into the abstract: the next day he had already forgotten about her, and the chance he missed.
Walk the second
She was beautiful, but he was not going to let that displace his observational mood. He saw her lips, he saw her eyes, he saw her eyes – their gaze met, and he looked away. He walked with confidence, but it was somehow infused with a sort of thoughtfulness: his mind was both everywhere and on the tiniest things, but only for a fleeting moment.
Ivan completely registered her, and was glad to have been in the presence of such a pretty girl; but all around him there were things beautiful, too. The warmth was particularly conducive to musing, and he began to study everyone else in the square. He was walking straight through the middle of the square, and both his gait and his face gave insight into his happiness. He saw a couple near the edge, holding hands, chatting. He wondered if he could see into their future: how long would they last? ‘Probably a year… No – but that is too sceptical, pessimistic. Who’s to say they won’t be together for longer? Look how tightly he’s holding on to her hand. It’s always a good sign when he is holding on to her hand.’ He smiled; if anyone saw him, they would not have thought him too odd – he simply looked at one with the world.
He was moving like a sort of traveller, most at home in his thoughts. He looked approachable, and very much was so. The beautiful girl had walked past him long ago, having turned behind her to look at him again. To her disappointment, he was not looking back.
Observing all that there was to be observed, he spotted a friend from his English class ahead. She was not only the sort of excellent philosophical soul who makes one question all that is around them, but she also provided excellent conversation. His observational mood alone pointed this out to him: had he not been paying attention to every detail, he would have missed her.
He continued walking on ahead and caught up with her. She was wearing a polkadot dress and it twirled as she turned to meet him, greeting him with an excellent, genuine smile. He replied in kind.
Their conversations were never dull, and never trite. He kept a smile for the rest of the day as they walked off, talking about literature, the state of the world today and how they were going to change it. And they walked together in inquisitive sync.
The third walk
‘I can act however I want: the world is mine.’
Ivan flared his nostrils, adjusted his step and focused. She was heading towards him – not past him. That is how he saw it. He kept his mind on how fast he was walking, how he came across – his gait reflected the thoughts within: a man in control walks like a man in control. Nothing is left to chance: no step is out of place. Nothing in his life is out of place.
They headed towards each other, each walking with perfect execution: she swayed her hips with ease – not too much so as to look arrogant, but she was confident in herself – he, too, allowed his shoulders to move and his hands moved with a fluid motion just slightly in front and slightly behind him as he walked. A smile was (barely) visible (because it was well hidden) in the corners of both of their mouths.
They saw the other; in a fraction of a second they both acknowledged the other as an equal. They were interested and they were going to let it be known, if such a thing was possible. Ivan kept his observational mind-set, but he kept it focused on her. He was not in awe – he was studying her. He saw her simple, flat shoes; he traced her upwards; her skin-tight jeans, her loose, dark top revealing the slightest hint of her firm midriff; her face was sat in its glorious poise, her lips… ‘her lips…’ he reminded himself, almost lapsing into awe but bringing himself round again. Her eyes sparkled – they could easily have pierced right through him, but he met them with an impassioned gaze of his own.
In her hand was a piece of paper which, as they were almost side-by-side, heading in opposite directions, flew out of her hand – either through sheer luck or because she subconsciously loosed her grip on it whilst he anticipated being so close to him. He knew this was his chance. He fairly pounced on the piece of paper as if it really stood for the opportunity itself (though in reality he picked it up with grace), smiling to her as he handed it to her.
He had smuggled a look at its contents and saw that it was a map: she was new, and was looking for a building a long way in the direction he had been heading from. ‘Would you like me to show you the way?’
She smiled, after thanking him politely. He read her face as she answered, ‘Really? That would be so helpful!’
He turned and headed back in the opposite direction, standing close to her. It was a mutual invasion of private space – they seemed to unite as if they had known each other years. ‘How odd it is,’ Ivan thought; ‘had we been walking in opposite directions, we would have passed with a wide birth so as not to seem rude – but here we are, walking so that our hands almost touch. What a difference a walk makes.’
Ivan continued to observe, continued to think and continued to talk to the girl, whose name turned out to be Lily. The further they walked, the slower their pace became – they didn’t want to separate. All this was unspoken. At times he glanced at the hand closest to him and dreamt about holding it, or at least brushing past it. Her glorious perfume began to wash over him and he could almost feel himself dropping out of control of his own actions. Everyone they passed gave them a look – they were quite a striking couple.
‘Everyone’s looking at it us,’ Lily remarked (she was observant too).
Ivan turned away from her as he heard this, trying to conceal the fantastic smile that had taken hold of him. ‘Oh, they must think we’re a couple.’
‘Do you think so?’ she replied, amused at the idea. ‘Well, let’s see what they think of this…’ Lily inched her petite fingers towards his and they interlinked. They had only met minutes ago and now they were walking hand in hand.
A surge ran up Ivan’s spine, culminating in the greatest smile at his lips. He may have accidentally squeezed her hand a little in his joy, and she may have let out a little squeal of excitement in return.
They continued to walk onwards, simply lapping up the atmosphere and the majesty of the moment. Lily never went to where she was headed; they simply walked without checking the time, until the afternoon gave way to early evening, to the twilight, and the warmth met the lighting in a wonderful contrast, as the earth was blanketed in a romantic ambiance. Lily’s eyes and Ivan’s smile stood out, made all the brighter by the other.
They continued to walk until no one was around, continuing to hold the other’s hands. They never asked where she was from, or where she was headed, or even why she was there. They only stopped once, looking at the sun as it inched its way lower, behind the horizon: at the right moment Ivan couldn’t resist placing a soft kiss on her cheek. His observations had given way to impulse, and his kiss gave way to a profound smile on her behalf.
They linked hands once again, and carried on walking.
A Short Story,
Published 04 March 2012
Published 04 March 2012