Autumn of the August


“Can you help me with a start?”, asked Jose, scratching his nails on their edges. “It’s better if you start from the beginning”, insisted the curious Ian. The morning had a really troubled start for Jose. It seemed that Jose’s waterfall of memories had just frozen or maybe dried off. It was an unusual state of mind for a young man of thirty-five, to lose his memories. Jose woke up finding his erased brain with a man in his house. This man was Ian, similar looking by age. Jose didn’t even remember his name and after asking Ian’s name he got to know that his name was Jose as Ian pointed out a badge on Jose’s desk, written “JOSE” on it. Getting irritated by every moment passing by, Ian said again, “If you cannot remember anything, just try remembering something that is important to your life, as if it can be your most beautiful moment”. Jose stared dubiously towards his window sill. Obviously it is not at all warm in October of Dublin and it gets colder with the drizzle. Jose could smell the petrichor and could see the moving birches and the feeling when they get struck with those zephyrs. At last he said, “I’ll try to remember this year’s Autumn, as I can feel my mind crashing that beautiful memory like a flash”. Ian told him to start.

“So, it was August and Autumn was turning every possible leaf into flowers. I was on my way home from office when it started drizzling. I started running until…”, paused Jose. Ian said, “Man, try to work out with your brain, concentrate on the flashes”. Jose kept his hands on the head and tried to concentrate. “I started running until the next turn and someone crashed into me, I cannot remember her appearance but her scent would pacify the smell of mud”, Jose ceased again. After Ian’s long stare Jose continued, “I can now remember her face vaguely, her eyes were the dream where all lies would be dead and she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her face was a like a shining star and it was keeping me stargazed. She said she was really sorry and left, my petrified eyesight. The next day I followed that same path and waited for her on that moist road. Quite a time had passed by and I could feel the growing aurora near me and the mist started covering the flora. I felt like let’s go and forget these things but it felt like that moist roads was like an echoing aisle, so I waited. Later that day I wasn’t walking home alone but I had Anne with me”, Jose stopped with a sustained echo of “Anne” and a knock on the door, his waterfall of memories started flowing and he saw his wife, Anne at the door. Jose was still trying to figure out about his memories till Anne kissed him and said, “Ian, I missed you so much”. Jose knew it wasn’t the first time Anne had called him by his second name Ian. While Ian, on the other hand smiled at Jose from behind the mirror.

                           ~ Written by Anmeet Chawla

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