Poppy Day (tout va bien)

A bright light shone 
Into my life
And now she’s gone

She’s Gone, Steve Knightley (Cruel River album)

He held the red poppy in his trembling hands as he sat with his head bowed down, on the wooden bench at the side of the street. It was a busy day in November as veterans dressed in their best coats with a red paper poppy attached to their breast pockets, walked around, hugging and congratulating each other. Despite the gloomy winter weather, their spirits were high.

He was a veteran too. Though not of war and definitely not as old those celebrating on the streets. His sideburns were more white than black. That’s how old he was. Once you cross 50 then you’re like the veteran next to you, she would joke. ANd you know I love the oldies more, don’t you, she winked at him. As he sat waiting for a couple of months for her prophecy to come true, he felt older. Much older than that. A couple of rain drops kissed his worn out sneakers. He looked up and the sky confirmed the rains that were surreptitiously making their presence felt. He got up from the bench to find a shelter, just like the vets on the street.

As he stood under the stone carved shelter of the cafeteria he saw her. Walking along, more gliding along the rain drenched street, her auburn hair completely wet just like her long flowing dress, her eyes a-sparkling more crystal than the rain drops, her lips shaped in a joyous smile. He was sure almost everyone present all around would fall in love with her. He certainly had.

She wouldn’t be a day more than 20. Her cheerful smile and her whole being seemed the brighten up the dull weather. She lit up the place as she handed a red poppy to one and all on the street. Some thanked her, some hugged her and some gave her a peck on her cheek which she returned with equal love, all the affection she got. Her eyes caught the 25 year old handsome guy that he was. He wasn’t nearly double that age then. He had his arms outstretched and he smiled when their eyes met.

They sprinted to a coffee shop nearby, still laughing, still holding hands. She ran her hands over her hair and shook her head sideways to drizzle off the rain from her head. She looked at him as the water from her face trickled down her lips and neck. He kept looking at her, mesmerised.

“God I’m so cold”, she broke that beautiful silence. She smiled at him as he ordered two espressos for them. “And I’ll have them quiches too”, she added to his order.

“I missed you so much”, he finally spoke, clutching her hands tighter. Steve Knightley’s Cruel River played in the background as the lovers spoke.

He had never known anyone as free spirited as her. She wrote poems, played her guitar, making up her own chords for known songs, sang like a robin. She didn’t like calling her job at the old home, work. “It’s something I love doing, it’s my passion to be able to make these people happy. That smile on their happy faces, their kind, gentle appreciation cannot be exchanged for money”, she argued, each time he told her she was meant for a more ‘meaningful’ career. He had no answer to that response.

“Let’s get married”. Her sudden declaration caught him completely unaware. He nearly choked over his black coffee, as he looked up towards her. Her light brown eyes were fixed on his all the while. She had an expression that was a heady mix of surprise, joy and anticipation, as she enjoyed his reaction and waited for his response. “Well”, she continued, “say something silly”. And remember no is not an option she laughed, clutching his hands as tight as he was holding hers a while ago. He kept the coffee cup down on the table and placed his other hand on hers. For a moment they both were silent as their eyes whispered to each other.

Yes. Yes. Yes. He heard his heart tell him loudly. Just one of them came out of his lips. And that was enough. The people in the coffee house cheered and clapped as they kissed. Steve Knightley was now singing Tout Va Bien as the lovers embraced. It was a magical evening as the sun said it’s final goodbye outside the coffee house.

“The rain has stopped mister, can you move on please”, the old lady from the cafeteria spoke to him, bringing him back to the present from his thoughts. His unfixed gaze as was lost in his past came back to this world. The street looked fresh, just like after a nice bath. People were back on the streets moving along. He adjusted his coat as he moved out, away from the stone carved shelter of the cafeteria.

It was Poppy Day that day too. As he waited for her to come and meet him. They were to go the registrar’s office to get married. He waited and waited but she did not come. Eventually the news of the accident outside the old age shelter came. The crash that shattered their dreams. That changed his life. Forever.

He looked up to see the sky clearing out. The setting sun painted the sky a glorious deep orange. He walked alone on the rain drenched streets, the red paper poppy still in his hands. It was soggy, but not just from the rain drops. The Steve Knightley song She’s Gone played in his head as he walked on by himself.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar