Reflections from a Lunch Table

She is sitting at the smudged, off white lunch table like she has done so many times before. But today is different, even as everything is the same today as it has been for the past four years. Her friends sit adjacent from her, their trays of food set haphazardly before them. Backpacks scribbled with Sharpie litter their feet. They are laughing now, at some joke that’s been told too many times to count. All of their worries are gone, replaced with the bliss of indifference. Too bad her own worries don’t slip away as easily. They float around her like constant, uprooted shadows. If she sits still enough in the hard, plastic chair she can almost feel them whispering around her face.
Outside the window the leaves have begun to turn back to green. They’re still wet and glimmering from last nights rain. The afternoon sunlight cuts through the window to light up the table across from hers with its harsh radiance. It glints off the silverware of her tray, sending shards of light in every direction. This is the last time she will watch the trees make their journey from brown to green and back again from this chair. Right now is the last chance she’ll have to memorize every detail. The cracks in the floor, filled with the dirt and dust of dreams. The scribbles on the underneath of the table, timid thoughts not ready to be unveiled. The handmade posters in bright maroon paint strung from end to end of the cafeteria.
She knows though, despite her mental cataloging, that she will forget. Sooner, she suspects, rather than later. She will watch the leaves of a different tree turn and curl with fall from another window, in another town. She will watch time pass from another seat, another building. The faces around her will soon be those of strangers.
Her attention is brought back to her own table. Her friends are speaking to her, asking her what she’s looking at. They stare at her with young, eager faces. Bright eyes and smiling mouths turn their attention to her, curiosity coloring their expressions. And what can she say? For she is looking at life, the throbbing essence of it. She is looking at the past, but she is also looking at the future. Here in this crowded cafeteria she sees all that has been and all that is to come. She sees beginnings and endings in the faces of her friends. Amidst the smells of food, sweat, and pencil lead she catches a trace of something else: anticipation, and fear.
They’re still waiting for an answer. She smiles a faraway smile, then answers.
“Nothing.”
That’s all it takes to seduce them back into comfort. Her simple reassurance further dampens their own fears, the ones they hide much better than she.
What is it about leaving that has her so terrified? Maybe it’s having to leave behind all the relationships she worked so hard to create, the friendships she invested so much time in. Hours on the phone intently discussing the day’s events for the fourth time, with the receiver smashed up against her ear, assignments left undone on her desk. The endless typing of frantic e-mails sent to those who would understand the importance of such frivolous topics. The hot summer days spent planning the then distance future with foolish anticipation. It’s being afraid she’ll forget what she swore she’d always remember. It’s knowing she will. Memories once vivid will fade like the tired posters that line the hallways. Photographs and folded notes written in bright ink will be all that is left to tell the story. The story of a beginning, and of an end.
That’s what frightens her. It’s all of those things. Knowing that those who know her best will find someone else to fill the lonely spaces, the empty seat, and the quiet moments. But more than that, it’s knowing she’ll do the same. She will become the traitor. She will forget, move on, and mourn them only in passing. Their place will be only in dreams and in offhanded conversation. Soon they will become someone she knew, rather than someone she knows. It is this then that she fears: the inevitable change that’s charging towards her, towards all of them. She fears she will welcome it, accept it. She fears she will invite it. She knows she will.
It is happening already. As they stand to leave the table they pause for a group picture. In her head she names it the last. The confident words “until then” taste of goodbye. For never again will they exist as they do now. These last moments before everything changes…it’s the hardest goodbye. Hellos may follow after a time, but they will be tainted with the passing of days, weeks and months. Awkward silence will exist where before it did not. The stories they once loved will have gone stale, new stories with different characters will have taken their place. The vivid emotions they feel now will have dulled, taking on a dusty gray hue.
The bell rings, and her thoughts are forced back to the present. She picks up her bag, and lets her hand run across the table as she walks away. She gives the room one more look. The sun is still shining in, lending her a bit of clarity. As her story comes to an end, another will begin. The chairs and tables will soon be occupied by the youthful laughter of others, and their stories will eventually take the same winding road hers have. Another chip will be added to the table, another nick in the floor. Sticky puddles from spilled drinks will occur once again. New relationships will be forged amongst the homework and childish dances. The trees will have an audience once again, and someone will notice that the leaves turn much too fast. She allows a small smile to turn the corner of her mouth up as she walks away.