Promise

The leafless trees and crowdless streets ensured that only the sounds of the clock ticking and the ambient ringing in my head remained. I sat there and breathed out a steamy breath. Looking at my watch, I blinked and looked to my left, then my right. No sign of him. Yet — closing my eyes — I continued to wait.

I still remembered the screeching sound of the metal vessel which took him away from me. Far, far away. The stench of the winter breeze and the deafening silence was all so nostalgic. I recalled the cold, metal bars I held on to with my hands — covered with gifted mittens from my last Christmas with him — as I watched the craft fly away on a lonely terraced rooftop. Icy tears flowing down my flushed cheeks, I then returned quietly into my own sombre life.

It had been exactly seven years since then. My hair was not the fiery and passionate red it used to be. My choice of lively coloured shirts and embarrassingly cute mittens and coats turned to calm, casual blouses and boring, monochrome jackets and gloves. I was not the bright, hopeful singer I used to be. Instead, standing in her place was a regular, working, standard female of society. Sometimes I had wondered and fantasized about what I would do when he would come back. Perhaps he would sweep me away, then we could start a band like how we wanted. Or a duet. It didn’t matter. He would bring the brightness back in my life. There was no need to worry. After all, I loved him, and he loved me. I had not found love since then, and I was certain he didn’t either. After all, we made a promise.

The promise. The promise he made on the day he made me cry for the first time. The promise he made as he held me tight, and let his own tears stream down and drop on my head. He promised that he would come back. He promised that on that exact day, at that exact time, he would come back, and meet me, and life would be grand. We would be a duet, and he would play beside me. He then told me to find someone else if I couldn’t do it. He just wanted me to be happy. I nodded, and promised that I would wait. I would wait for him, but I also wanted him to be happy. I told him to do what he thought would make him happy. It was an easy promise to make. After all. I was certain that he would still love me, and that I would always love him.

That promise was the only thing that brightened the days of the next seven years of my life. Seven years of silence. Seven years of looking at my microphone. Seven years of dreaming, of thinking what could have been, of remembering how two bandmates found each other and remained even as others drifted apart, and promised to stand on the same stage together one day. Seven years of having no hope except for him. Seven years of loneliness. Seven years of darkness.

And so, there I was. An office woman in her late twenties, having not touched her microphone for years, having placed everything on this meeting, having remembered his promise that he would be fine if I couldn’t stand it — to which I did, barely — yet forgetting my own promise and reassurance to him. Forgetting my own prayer to him, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until, like the final beat of a dying heart, the clock struck midnight. Again, the memories flashed. The memories of him and I meeting on that fateful band audition. Of the days of fun we had with the others. Of the drifting apart. Of how he held me and said everything was fine. Of the day he told me he had to go. Of that final day. Of that final kiss under the mistletoe. Of his stench, of his warmth, of his brightness, of our hope and our promise. Of his promise. Of my promise.

And still, there was silence.

The dark, cold streets, stayed dark and cold. The dead looking trees, stayed that way. Everything remained silent.

Until, something cracked within me.

Again, I felt that familiar feeling. Of icy streams of tears down my flushed cheeks. The silence was taunting me. Denial, grief, regret, everything came at once. When I opened my eyes, I prayed and hoped that it would be like a fairy tale, that he would be there in front of me, and we would relive the dream!

He wasn’t there.

Anger, remorse and sadness crept in. My heart sank and my body was shaking. Every conceivably horrible feeling filled my heart, until;

I remembered my promise. And my wish. And also his;

“I just want you to be happy, I promise.”

And so, I took a deep, calming breath as the chilling winter breeze blew past me, and I left that fateful place. Running past the empty streets, ignoring the stares of the few people who saw me, and struggling to keep my heart from cracking, I opened the door to that plain, yet now shockingly warm room and I threw my coat away. Looking left and right, old posters and photos burning my sight and forcing more tears from them, I grabbed that old, dusty microphone and, the icy tears still there, and heart still cracking, I sang into the night. I sang, and sang, and cried and cried, and fell, satisfied. It was as if he was there. It was as if I was there. As if I was back. I closed my eyes. He fulfilled my promise, now it’s my turn to fulfil his.