Tomorrow

Who am I waiting for? Why am I here looking forward?
As far as my mind goes back, I have been here in this city, a crumb in a bin flooding with rubbish. By this I do not intend to compare my big city with a big bin, out of imagination. The residents of the city are people each having minds abound with memories, information and dear knowledge though in filthy bins, scum, dirt and empty useless packaging which have been cosigned to nothingness can be just shuddered at.
You might expect me to describe this city whose name I have forgotten, and what’s the use of a name? Let’s call it the Forgotten since I have forgotten its name. And moreover, I am incapable of giving any depiction of any part of the Forgotten but the street I am in, for I have never left this small confined panorama of mine. Do not ridicule me, that’s so mean to charge me with short-sightedness, with being narrow-minded for I have endured such torment beyond comprehension, I have endured Waiting. For years or days- it is the same difference while you are waiting; seconds turn into days and days years- or it is more appropriate to say for ages this comfortable chair standing out of my door has been my constant companion. Passing most of the seconds of my life on it, I have set my sights on the not very far distance- the street I am in at one side is dead and at the other bends into the unknown and my eyes have been fixed on that bend.
I am fully aware that waiting in vain for such a long time seems foolish and even I sometimes tell myself, “ You stupid, get up, go away from that chair, take that turning and see how people treat,” here I should point out I have seen how they treat but don’t remember any details. “Or, even not, go and watch that box of magic, those pictures,” I should again point out that at some point of my life I underwent magic and that’s the underlying reason why I am here. However strong the yearning to go, something else inside me, like the heart beat you go through when for the first time you are about to tell a lie or intend to look in the eyes of the girl whom you have always heroically through a slit in the curtain peeked at but you just fail, has always deterred me from venturing out of my long lasting friend and companion.
“My fortune is on the way,” that old white bearded man told me, but again nothing concerning the details is certain. He himself whispered in my right ear that I should keep waiting for my waiting shall blossom and that evergreen fortune of mine would at last wink at me. “I would see my fortune,” had become his mantra and since some people say repetition is the key to success he had promised and devoted himself to saying it wherever and whenever he had spare time which included even his sleeps.
Many a time his wife who slept in another room was startled and woken up by his “I would see my fortune,” then rushing into the room seeing her husband soaked with sweat uttering inaudible words would burst into tears and not able to stand on her feet, almost falling down, would implore, “ Oh that curse, we are cursed, God help, help us, help, forgive him, forgive us, I will spend all the rest of my life praying,..” the rest of her prayer was not usually clear since it coincided with her sobs. Such were her words at nights, but days were quiet and passed without a word heard of her and more importantly of him. Nights were hectic and noisy but days quiet and restrained contrary to the conventional man’s life.


As the day broke like the other days, the dim gleam of sun which overcame the barriers of window and curtain started him as if it was time he had woken up in order not to miss any moment, not to miss any moment of opportunity of seeing his fortune. What was his promised fortune that he had been waiting for? He did not know, yet he knew by heart that someone or perhaps something was destined to come on his way of life and transform his destiny. Yeah, it has played an important role in everyone’s life. Do not say it is contrary in your case for we all have always been waiting. Waiting for different reasons, it gives reason to one’s life. As long as we are waiting we have a goal. Some wait for death, some for their beloved to come, some for nothing and some like the middle aged man of our story for something or someone that an old white bearded man has promised them.
Sprang to his feet and hurriedly left his sleeping place, because he was going to come back and sleep again at night so there was no need to waist his time tidying it. Saying to himself every minute counts had a glimpse of the big clock which adorned the wall, a black clock, a kind that its numbers and hands were visible even in the dark, reminding how much every minute counted to him. It was the first thing that anyone stepping inside the room would see ruling over everything inside which was not many; a black and white TV in one corner on a wooden table which lacked one foot and was balance by the help of some books, a photo of a heaven like scenery which wasn’t neatly cut but was put in a metal frame facing that big moving clock, and a large colorful carpet which covered all the room striving to be the prominent feature of the room in vain for no one pays any respect and attention to what lies beneath their feet and what’s more, its color had long faded under those feet. Everything in the room was scrupulously clean, you couldn’t find even a speck of dust on anything, his wife dusted the room twice a day and didn’t let the dust intrude the room for she believed dust was evil and anything associated with devil was consigned to annihilation.
That morning he had a different feeling as if the promised day was that day, a kind of feeling that just a mother approaching the due day has got, a mixture of tension, happiness, anxiety and any contradictory feeling; “Is my child going to be pretty? Oh, it is not important but I wish so.” “Is my child going to be healthy? How about myself? Even if I wasn’t I wish my child would be. But then, who is going to raise him? Is it a he or she?” “Is he going to love me or leave me soon? He will love me, she won’t hurt me, I suppose.” “Giving birth is so painful like torture, how can I face up to it? Look at me all my charms have deserted me and I am going to shoulder not only this but also that torture, for him. She is worth it, I assume.”
So with his heart beating hard passed his wife who had fallen asleep in the door frame with the beads still in one hand and her black scarf on her face. Then delightedly took to grooming himself. Though he was in a hurry, it took him longer than usual for he was all the time dubious about what to wear and how he looked. At last the ticks of that big clock which he could hear as clear as his pulse compelled him to become satisfied, so had a look at himself in the mirror; a man in grey, with pepper-and-salt hair combed to the sides with a parting dividing his head into two equal parts, a clean shaven face which revealed his vulnerable skin not fresh anymore, rekindled eyes and a forehead which showed how hard, tough and destructive is waiting, Taking on a smile he tried to hide his stress and made his way towards the door. When his trembling hand descended on the handle felt it colder than usual, though I assure you that the weather wasn’t different from the other days and besides it was summer, so the handle sent chills down his spine and his arm hairs( it escaped my mind to confide that his body was full of hair particularly his arms, in a way that his wife perceived them to be the residence of devil,) bristled, even though, with such resolve opened the door which seemed as heavy as the gate to the castle of joy. The light glared, dazzled him but he stepped out, put his chair down beside the door and with thousands of thoughts hovering over him sat down making the gloomiest picture anybody could see; his face facing his long shadow on the ground surrounded by the crimson clay-like light of the early morning. Nothing out of the ordinary, changeless was the scene he was examining now, his long shadow on the ground dominated and was the most significant thing seen in front. It was very long as if it was a stranger always staring at him. On the right buildings which differed in color, size, strength, age, shape, beauty and history lined and receded into the unknown. On the left was the street which mostly lay uselessly since almost nobody had any cars except for a frail decrepit old man who owned a car with opposite particulars to his own, a brand new one whose speed was incomparable and overtook the old man’s imagination leaving him way behind in a mist of dust. As always the car stopped near our hero, “Get lost, let me concentrate on the people,” was his reflection, the window rolled down and the commonplace grin of the old man was revealed saying, “Don’t u wanna let go of that cher?”
“Good morning.”
“Get into my car, I’ll show u all the lights of the city in my car’s fligh....,” the rest he could not hear for the clacks of a disposable glass in the wind, hitting the ground as if resisting to go with it, distracted him. However hard it tried to stop, survive and settle down, the wind outdid and took it again like other things to the unknown. Then he realized that there was no trace of that car nor of the old man, as if they had never existed but he was sure they did.
Wiping off all these trifles from his mind he got down to his main concern, “I would see my fortune today.”
People were leaving homes and going to work so he could see them distancing from him, just their backs were visible and I have no intention to describe their backs. Backs are unimportant, besides they are very frightening for they are always hidden, secrets they must be.
Hours, minutes, seconds blew away and nothing of significance occurred, except for a slack cat which lazily crossed the sidewalk, had a furtive glance at him, dragged itself towards a big tree, put his hands on the trees, leaned against it and stretched its body unaware of the world and our man. But the man was aware of every single move, lost in the flowing time.
Now that his shadow could he step, all under his feet, a girl rushed out of the home and shouted, “Shame, come in, lunch is ready,” slamming the door behind. He gave no answer and had no intention of giving up, leaving his aim. He did not surrender, he considered it a war, a war with an enemy he could not see. Defeat was unbearable and has always been. “Don’t question the validity of my war for I would spare no drop of my blood to triumph over the enemy and see the breeze of my fortune stroke my cheeks,” yet still he had no concrete idea what the reason of his war was and what his fortune was standing for.
Time slipped away, hunger crept in but still he was in fight. Nothing familiar showed up, nothing particular. Nevertheless, he didn’t abandon his hope and watched forward, the sun was now over that turning in front of him. Dark people mostly coming back from work were just visible, some long and some short. As if exhausted they dragged themselves forward in a sort of sleepy sunset, the only thing common among them was the black color, unable was he to distinguish them from one another.
A black figure, a figure in black, actually a woman all black in the distance walked towards him with her hair drifting in the air like the flag of a peace keeper, a person who would help him out, “Is she that fortune?”
As she approached him her dark turned into color and one came to the knowledge how colorful one can be, is it possible for so many colors to be in one place? She stopped beside him. His heart beat got louder, even I could hear that. What was she going to do? Showing him the way? Giving him the fortune? His eyes brimmed with tears.
“Do you know a very old man whose car is very new?” was the question that came out of the color, out of her wide mouth.
“Oh, the bearer of my fortune!!! Or looking for that antique in that... Or neither??” he reflected. Contemplating his fortune, whether she was that savior who was supposed to take him out of this stagnation, “she might have made a mistake, I am sure she is my hope, forune,” he looked up, she was gone, his hope was gone, shattered.
His face was still forward, but could see nothing. People gone, night come, lights on. Shouts, laughter could he hear. A man growled, a woman cried. A child saying he is still there burst into laughter. Summer though it was, snowflakes started to drop, one by one on his face. Now he remembered how hungry and cold he felt. With the snow on his face he looked like an old statue, fighting against something he did not know. Hopeless was the word which described his day. “Nobody delivers fortune at nights, I’d better go inside and get refreshed for tomorrow.”