Of old friends and times...

He walked on the sidewalk. Alone. His mind was filled with thoughts. He couldn't hear the rustling of the dry August leaves as they lay there on the sidewalk. His feet trampled on them causing a low crackling sound. He didn’t notice that either. He just kept staring at the slope on the road. He remembered the countless times he had walked up that slope as a child. The trees on both sides of the road seemed so old now. But then they were. They had been there before him and looked like they would be there forever. It didn’t look like things had changed for those trees at all. Sure they must have had nests where birds laid their eggs, hatched babies, fed them, and watched them disappear across the horizon. But apart from that, things looked the same for the trees. They must have all seen the sun rise and set each day for the last several decades. They must have seen scores of young children ambling to school somberly and back from school ecstatically. They must have seen generations of kids ride their bikes and play in the lonely lane for years. Had anything really changed for them at all? Well, they had grown old. Like him. But differently. The trees had grown old gracefully. They seemed at peace with themselves. Unlike him. He could feel himself growing old each day. And he hated it. He wished he could grow old doing what he liked. There was a time in the past when he had got caught in the high stakes' game. He made himself believe that he had dreams and he had to pursue them. This pursuit took him away from his beloved lane. The trees and the mountains tried hard to stop him and begged for his companionship. He could not hear their pleadings. He believed he had bigger things to achieve.

Today when he came back after 15 long years, he had no such airs. He was grateful that the trees and the mountains and the houses accepted him like always. He could see how much had changed in these years. Yet it all looked so familiar. He instantly felt at ease when he started trudging that ol’ lane of his. There was the house of the mean lady who always yelled at them. Next to it was the house where the jolly old grandma stayed. She used to invite him and his friends over for lemonade and cookies on those hot summer afternoons after they were done with their game. Could she still be around? Would she recognize him?

There was a teenaged couple walking aimlessly on the other side of the road. He could read their thoughts like a book. Their innocent love reminded him of his own teens. He watched them disappear into the wooded park off the road. It was the same wooded park where Jim and he used to go exploring on wintry afternoons. They saw birds and ducks and the pond and the trees. They had countless questions about each of them. Most of them were still unanswered.

Then he saw it. His own house. The beautiful place that had made him what he was today. He saw it from the street and felt tears well up in his eyes. Could this be real? Could he be standing in front of his own little home after all these years? The building had so much character. He felt so small. How could he have left it? All those years came rushing back to him. He couldn't hold back his tears. It is a crushing feeling to realize that all you really wanted was always righ there when you were searching for it outside. It wasn’t the same though. Jim no longer stayed next door. There wasn’t the air of familiarity where he could walk into Jim’s bedroom and spend hours doing nothing. He wished that Jim would come back one day and stay next door again. He yearned for that. Kids no longer played outside till dark. There weren’t any mothers chasing their kids.

He went around the house to the backyard. It looked so small now. He couldn't believe he used to get tired running around that tiny backyard. And there was the tree. His tree. Even that looked smaller now. It was definitely frail. He walked across the yard to the tree and hugged it and began to weep.

Life had come a full circle for him. He was where he started from and was happier than ever. He missed all this. And he missed his tree. He felt like he had wronged it somehow. Even after it begged him to stay, he had left it to grow old alone.

But now, he saw it all. In the fading light of the dusk, he could see things properly. Autumn leaves fell gently on the ground and a slight chilly breeze began to blow. Birds were returning to their nests. He was hugging his tree and lights were quietly coming on in the houses on the street. He let his tears flow down freely and silently made a promise to himself that fading evening.