for pumpkin

she came quite out of the blue, one night, at a pub. sleeveless striped t-shirt and jeans. big smile, messy hair. 'hi,' i said. me, with my vodka and cigarette. she, with her laugh and her many faces. and we fought and went home smiling like children.

years passed. some times, we'd sit through horrible films that should never have been made (die, harry potter, die); at other times, we would drink beer like it was water, talking about everything and nothing, watching other people drink beer and talk about everything and nothing.

if i were to describe her to someone, suddenly, i would have nothing to say. ‘what’s she like?’ they could ask, suddenly, somewhere. 'she's sweet', is all i would manage. and it wouldn’t be my fault at all. after all, it's difficult to paint a picture of someone so full of life when they stand against millions who appear two-dimensional by comparison. 'she has a laugh that could force a dead man to start giggling', i could add.

but they still wouldn't understand.

the thing is, they don't need to. no one needs to. all that matters is that i do. and she knows i do. i know what she means when she says 'mereko bore ho raha hai' (which, from the point of view of simple semantics, makes absolutely no sense). she knows when i'm enjoying myself and when my fake smile begins to kick in. she knows when i'm trying too hard to look interested in what someone's saying, while wondering about something radically different.

we're pretty much the same, she and i. if she were not to yell at me, or sing ‘little bunny foo foo’ while i was trying hard to edit something terribly important at work, i’d feel as if the day were incomplete. if she were not around to throw my ideas out the window, or cut me down to size every 14 minutes, i’d feel completely alone. what she does, then, come to think of it, is make me feel whole.

we have different paths now, at least on the surface. she with hers all planned out, i consistent in my complete lack of direction. strangely enough, it always feels as if we’re still walking down the same road. she with her life in a suitcase, i with mine. with big green trees and funny monkeys swinging overhead as the rest of the planet rushes about us. and then, every once in a while, we stop to giggle about a joke that makes sense to the two of us alone. the rest of them stand and shake their heads. we ignore them. they know nothing about pumpkin and lindsay anyway.