I always thought life was an assemble of great stories and that everyone you meet or encounter are characters in their story, each with a mind and soul of their own and somehow intertwined with each other's life and I was a sucker for great stories. My life so far has been a crazy journey. I've literally experienced everything one should, pain, success, failure, loss, but not love, or that's what people used to say. I didn't believe in love, I thought it was a fantasy, a type of liking that kills. Even though I lived in New York, a city densely populated by ambition, I'd never come across someone worth that kind of liking......... until I met the girl in the red scarf.
Let me tell you about her, she was five foot six, beautiful and had shiny brunette locks. She walked with such confidence, like her hips could move mountains, she either dressed in a completely neutral or completely floral outfit with a splash of vibrant colours. If anyone saw her, they'd be convinced that's she's a cheerleader, fashion major or a party whore, but she was different. She kept to herself, read Russian poetry and was an Ivy league graduate. Her attitude and her sarcastic nature made her even hotter, not like Kendall Jenner hot, but like mysteriously poetic hot.
My first encounter with her was during the Brooklyn Book festival which was held at the Brooklyn Borough Hall, during the September of 2013. She wore a dark blue colored dress with a red scarf and attended one of the panel discussions. Her command over the language and her cautiously clumsy behavior caught my attention. On the second day, I decided to approach her, she was standing at the edge of the footpath, waving her hand to and fro to motion for a taxi to stop, I fixed my tie, walked up to her and introduced myself and she shook my hand, her lips stretched into a faint smile.
She said, "I' d tell you my name but it isn't necessary" and disappeared into the sparkling skyline. A few weeks passed by but I couldn't forget her, she had me wrapped in her enigma. I remember how her hazel colored eyes glistened in a way that made me melt. Neither did I know her name nor did I know her alma mater. I moved on with my life; soccer, math and college kept me busy but I didn't forget her or her red cashmere scarf.
It was during the Summer of '14, I was done with my semester and I was extremely tired from pulling all-nighters, so I decided to sleep through the weekend. After about 48 hours of undisturbed sleep, I woke up to an empty campus. Still sleep-deprived, I decided to go for a run outside the campus. So I ran for about 3 miles and stopped near the small café in Lower Manhattan, I walked inside towards the counter and ordered myself a tex-mex sandwich and a pumpkin latte. I scanned the small café, it had a modest size wooden round table surrounded by 4 chairs, abstract paintings hung tightly on the pale colored wall and there was a foosball machine across the counter but that wasn't what caught my attention; it was a girl, sitting near the window and reading a book. It was the girl in the red scarf.
I walked over to her table and planted my tray on the table, "May I? " I asked, my hands glued on the chair. She looked at me, it was one of those explicable eye contacts and that was immediately overanalyzed. "It's a free country" she replied, clearly hinting me to join her and without hesitation I took a sit from across her. We immediately clicked, we had similar interests, she studied at UPENN, I studied at NYU, she didn't tell me her name, she still believed it was unnecessary, so she called me blue tie. From that day, we met every Saturday morning at 10.00 am and correctly at 5 past 12 she'd walk away, we didn't exchange numbers or identities, I asked her once, why and she said " I don't want you to fall in love with me", I did not understand her theories or her habits, but her charm had an effect on me that wasn't healthy.
It wasn't love, it wasn't friendship either. It was a feeling that couldn't be defined. She slipped through the woods with me, she walked around NYC, read me poems at odd hours, went to the arcade with me and sent me quotes on life, everyday. She found solace in words and I found solace in her. She was like lager. Hot, addictive and fatal when overdosed. She occasionally spoke about her family, her father was a publisher and her mother a homemaker. We'd talk about books, movies, phsyics and sometimes even about George Clooney. Often, she told me stories about herself, stories from when she travelled to India and how she broke her leg from falling off from a camel. She seemed shy and introverted but turned out she'd had exciting stories of herself. She was sneaky, smart, bitter, destructive and paradise. I held on to her, even though she had a strict policy of getting too close but I got impatient and approached her one day about her identity, she tore a piece of paper from her monogrammed CU notebook and scribbled something on it, dropped it in my jeans pocket and asked me to read it only after she left, She tiptoed and gave me a peck on the cheek and walked away from me and I could spot her Orange trench coat in the distance, glowing dimmer and dimmer with seconds and when she completely disappeared, I took out the piece of paper and what was in there, left me gasping for air.
DEAR BLUE TIE,
I'M GRADUATING AND I LEAVE FOR CHICAGO TOMMOROW, I'D TELL YOU MY NAME BUT IT WOULD'NT BE POETIC WHEN YOU WRITE A BOOK ABOUT ME. IF WE EVER CROSS PATHS 20 YEARS FROM NOW, I WANT TO SEE YOU AS A SUCCESSFUL LAWYER IN AN ARMANI SUIT.
LOVE,
THE GIRL IN THE RED SCARF.
It's been 10 years now and I still have that piece of paper in the back pocket of my Armani suit. I've had it had through out; graduation, job interviews, the day I opened my own law firm, my wedding day and I still wonder about her, she's like a riddle, a rhyme that no one understood and every night, when I stand on my balcony in Chicago, over-looking the city, I wonder, "What if?"
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