
The Stranger
It was a mystery how I had passed him daily on the stairs, yet did not know his name. Strange that we had never spoken. Stranger still, I was always coming downstairs and he was always going up. Being young, I was too full of myself to question; I was the sun of the universe.
Yet, when I had a moment between grabbing a sandwich or standing in queues, I thought about this stranger. His greyness, lack of both presence and emotions. He walked steadily upstairs wearing an old mac of indiscriminate colour and some kind of hat. Hot or cold, light shower or cats and dogs outburst, he always looked the same. The cycles of winter to autumn saw him unchanged. Daily I passed him on the stairs, but could never describe his facial features, height or build.
A grey fear came into my life when there were work layoffs. The sun violently went out when I was laid off. Listless, bored and dejected I stood at the window looking out trying to add a meager excitement to my life. The world no longer looked at me. Now that time spread in front of me endlessly, I thought about this stranger.
Spontaneously, I rushed downstairs. We met at the exact same spot below the third landing. Just passing him somehow lifted my spirit.
My feet danced down the stairs when I was rehired. Was the stranger in the hat and tired neutral look a tad more happy?
I chided myself to fly down the stairs as heavy feet thundered after me. Passing the stranger gave me such courage that I turned screaming at the abusive boyfriend, “Leave me alone! Go!”
Through ups and downs, struggles and joys, I passed the stranger without words or eye contact.
Then Mike came into my life; true love cuddled me like a warm fuzzy blanket. Floating surreally down the stairs, the stranger passed me, looking a little paler.
Everlasting happiness was entwined in my gold wedding ring. Passing the stranger on the stairs, he looked back at me, smiled and began to fade.
Comments without a personalized avatar will not be published.
To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleUntil now, I still wonder who that stranger is. And why do they always meet on the stairs? And why, when she has happily married, the stranger also showed happiness on her face and then suddenly faded? Is she/he a guardian angel of your protagonist?
Thanks as always for your feedback, Lotchie. I toyed with the idea of the stranger on the stairs being the father, the protagonist had never met. Also, I thought of a kindred guardian spirit. Perhaps we all imagine someone watching over us and that someone is a part of our own personal imagination.
Love it. You’re welcome.
Comments without a personalized avatar will not be published.
To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleI wonder if this is a ghost, or some kind of guardian angel. Interesting story. Well done.
Thank you, for your kind words. Personally, we should decide as individuals who the stranger is in the story.
Makes me think of how many flat dwellers pass their neighbours every day and never get to know them.
Comments without a personalized avatar will not be published.
To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleYes, truly sad that people have become so distant from each other, and avoid pleasantries with neighbours!
Thank you, Susan for your feedback.