off much deprived limelight

The little smudge of white paint is still on the strap of my left sandal. It's obvious and seems to attract it's share of attention.

"Why haven't you cleaned it? It'll only take a second," she promises me.

I don't answer her. It's been almost a month. Almost. Heck, I can even count the days back to when we went there, together. I miss it. I know missing it shouldn't be an excuse. This pair of sandals were costly and the smudge should be cleaned before it soaks in or does the other theoretical damage she claims will happen with time.

She hands me a cloth and tells me to just do it. I tell myself it's okay to do away with the smudge since I still have the burn lines on my feet where the sandals and the sun made it's print. That should hold on for much longer, right? But I can't bring myself to.

Everytime I see the smudge I hear Roz telling me how she loves peeling the paint off the walls.
I feel the warmth and comfort of Sri's mother's voice as she tells me how proud she is of me.
I see Arasu smiling cheekily as he is interviewed by three girls.
I remember the mural that seemed too complicated to complete.
I feel the dread of having to leave Sri's company to go on painting.

Will I forget if the smudge is gone? I'm not sure. But I'm positive it'll be repressed into the backburner. That's the saddest part, really. It's etched in memory but rarely will it present itself unless of course something calls for it. I hated the way it took me awhile before I could recall Azmi's name. The experience had such a profound impact and yet I lost bits and pieces of it.

"You want me to do it for you?" she asks.

"No" I say and hand her the cloth, "I don't want to erase the smudge"
Or the memory.

Besides, the white paint looks like it is part of the sandal design.

. . . . .

I miss Bethany. I miss signing with Ilyas! Mannn.

minx wrote at2:46 PM
0 replies

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