The wind breached the jacket, eventually impacting the dry winter skin that Elliot had developed during the grim weather the city hosted every winter. The 7:45 alarm rang, and in the usual discontent, Elliot snoozed off the clock and proceeded to get out of bed at 7:51 and get ready for another day at work. At a sharp 8:30, he would step out of his apartment to make the seven-minute walk to the station, where he normally waited for about 3 minutes, after which he took line 8 to the financial district where he worked a nondescript job as a data analyst. The days were gloomier in winter, but Elliot believed in routine and was quite mature for his age. He couldn’t remember the last time he missed his train. He felt numb, not physically but mentally. He was aware of this and had reached peak self-consciousness. So much that he learned to snub it out of his system. He hoped summer could extinguish his gloom. He climbed down the steps where the platform stood. With a swiftness in his walk, he shuffled his way past the vending machine. His navy blue chino sat perfectly on the tongue of his loafers. He adored his crispness and was confident others did too. The benches, on which he never sat were as puny to Elliot as the beggar who sat right between the benches. He would observe everything with the corner of his eyes. As he walked past the beggar for the nth time, a benevolent attitude rushed inside of him, forcing him to stop. He gave the beggar a coin, a very rusty one. He didn’t quite know why. The beggar nodded, a small smile breaking on his weathered face, and Eliot hurried on, feeling an unaccountable weight lifted from his shoulders. The next day, Eliot approached the station. But the beggar was gone. The spot where he usually sat was empty, leaving a void that seemed oddly personal. Confused, Eliot lingered, staring at the spot as if the beggar would materialize out of thin air. He missed his train, a first in his meticulously planned life, and, in a decision that surprised even himself, he didn’t go to work. Instead, he spent the day wandering the city, a sense of unease growing within him. He felt the gloom he had been feeling since the start of winter, but the hope he lay in summer wasn’t enough to extinguish his gloom. This pattern continued for a week. Each day, Eliot would go to the station, search for the beggar, miss his train, and roam the city streets. His world, once so predictable, had tilted on its axis, all because of a man who had vanished into thin air. His pride and attention to routine were now trivial in comparison to this beggar. On Monday, as Elliot presumed, his new unorthodox routine, he was shocked to see the beggar back at his usual place. He tried not to act surprised and contain his poshness, but his emotions wouldn’t allow him. He glared at the beggar from a distance and then finally approached him.
“Where have you been?”
He asked with a forced smile
The beggar explained that he was there the whole time, every day. Elliot asked the beggar to remember the humble donation he had made the week before. The beggar didn’t remember. Elliot fumbled his hand inside his chino pants. To his surprise, he found the same rusty coin he had given the man the week before.
© Aryamaan Dabbiru 2024-03-10