In Memoriam

By Saulat Pervez

 

I think back to the first time I met her. She was a traveler, exploring the town. Even before I learned who she was and the places she had been, I felt an instant connection with her, like two kindred souls reuniting. Once she moved to the area and we began to get to know each other, I noticed a serenity about her which was almost regal, someone who comfortably slipped in and out of the multiple spaces she navigated. As I struggled to balance my teeter-tottering tower of obligations, her even-toned, soft voice and cheery poise charmed me.

And now, trying to remember her self-deprecating smile and the spark in her eyes which would light up her face, I am baffled by the news. Her life had seemed picture-perfect! What happened? How could she do this to herself – and her family? I can’t imagine the final thoughts that compelled her to end it all. Admittedly, we had been out of touch for some time. Life simply swept us in different directions and I hadn’t talked to her properly in months, even a year. Maybe a salaam and how are you here or a text there. Worse, too engrossed in my own pillar-to-post life, I hadn’t noticed her absence. What made her change so much? What storms was she fighting internally? What was tormenting her? I will never know.

In some ways, we had come full circle. Our first and last brief encounters took place coincidentally, chance meetings at the mosque, the place where we often ran into each other. Of course, I didn’t know I would never meet her again when I had seen her a few days earlier. I sensed that something was wrong, so much so that at first I couldn’t recognize her. I mean, I thought it was her, but I second-guessed myself. She didn’t smile at me or rush forward and greet me. When I looked again and stepped up, I knew for sure, but she looked so different.

Her face had a pall cast over it – a thick gloom that had shrunk and hardened it – which caught me by surprise. When I think back now, it was as if someone had flattened and stretched a shriveled up, scarred core and turned it outward to confront the world. What a terrible, trying predicament! It was all written in her appearance: why didn’t I read it? Indeed, there was a total lack of emotions: no smile, no spark, no frown, no anger, nothing. And why do I feel like she was answering my questions while moving, the last sentence uttered with barely a glance behind her? I mean, didn’t we stand and talk at least? Oh, how I wish I had paid more attention, probed a little more, kept her engaged!

As she walked away, I simply let her go. I can’t even recall whether I was distracted by someone else or I was so preoccupied that I just moved on too. Strange as it was, I didn’t give her more thought until my community started buzzing. While she was at a standstill in her life, mine kept swirling me around.

Haunted by fleeting memories, all I can feel now is regret for the million lost ways in which I could’ve done something to help, to inquire after her when she had disappeared into her own world, to ask if she needed anything, to offer support – and I didn’t.

May God rest her soul in peace.

 

Saulat Pervez is a writer with experience spanning a variety of forms, including journalistic, creative, content, and academic writing. She has published three children’s books in Pakistan and mentored six teenagers in the collaborative writing of a murder mystery, set in Karachi, which is available here. She lives in Northern Virginia.