Rest in peace

I was on another one of my swiping sprees. Swipe left, swipe right, swipe left. It didn’t really matter, knowing that you wouldn’t match with someone. Except for the occasional bot. Just as I was growing drowsier, about to call it a night, I receive a notification. That I’d matched with someone. Not again, I groan inwardly. However, upon inspecting her profile, she did seem human. After a healthy dose of hesitation, I send a message, not really expecting a reply.

I wait a while, and seeing that I was right, I almost doze off, when I receive a reply. We start conversing in earnest. I keep up with the small talk, not that I really enjoy it. We probe each other, asking the questions you would expect two people who’ve matched with each other on a dating app. Time flies. She’s easy to talk to, without me being the only one investing in the exchange. At one point, I remember seeing on her bio that the River Walk in San Antonio was her favorite place in town, and bring it up. She asks me if I’ve ever been. I recount to her the only time I’d gone, when my roommate had forced me to tag along, and I had to take pictures of him all the time, for him to share with his wife back home. I remember feeling a mild shade of jealousy towards the couples that were having a great time together, and here I was wishing that I’d stayed back at the apartment, doing absolutely anything else. She found this funny and told me that I should try going again.

Almost of their own accord, my fingers type out a message, asking her if she would go with me the next evening, and hit send. What I’ve just done sinks in, and I think of ways to salvage the situation. Maybe tell her I was drunk. Maybe tell her I was just kidding. A few moments pass, and there’s no response. I was weighing other choices, when she replies yes, that would be nice.

It’s a date.

I meet her the next evening. We pick up where we left off the previous night. The weather this time of the year is just right, and we walk around. I remember trudging down these pathways almost a year ago. It’s a familiar experience; only this time, I do not feel jealous of the people I see around me. I’m too busy having a good time myself to even notice.

We stop at a restaurant for food and drinks. She has just one, for she has to drive, while I have no qualms, since I’d taken an Uber. A while later, after we’re done with our meals, she looks at me with a glint in her eyes, and says we should go someplace else. We walk to her car. She reaches out for my hand. I wonder if it’s because it had gotten a little chilly, and she needed warmth.

We drive down the highway. She has country music playing, her singing along unabashedly. Unfamiliar with the lyrics, I hum along, my fingers tapping the window in rhythm. The night feels young and full of promise.

And then comes this song, one I vaguely remember listening to once, something about missing the one you love. She hurriedly reaches over and turns off the stereo. I see her demeanor has visibly changed. She has gone quiet. I ask her if everything’s okay, and she nods wordlessly. She looks to be in deep thought, and takes an exit, driving into an unfamiliar neighborhood.

She pulls up by a cemetery, and steps out, leaving me in the car. I’m starting to have a bad feeling about this. I think it over, and follow after her. The fencing is in poor repair, and I see an opening through which she could have gone in. I look around, and find her, kneeling in front of a gravestone.

I slowly walk up to her. Standing behind her, I see her heave, silently sobbing. By the shrouded light of the moon, I make out some of the inscription on the headstone. RIP, a name, and some other words, trying to sum up a life cut short. I stand there unmoving, for how long I know not. I wanted to hold her, tell her that it would be fine, she would heal, even if they were just empty words. But then, who was I to do that? I was practically a stranger. She needed someone who could give her warmth and love, and having looked within, I knew I was bereft of any.

I walk back and wait by the car. The night is now laden with a sense of loss and sorrow. Not my own, but it was still tangible. She returns a while later, having composed herself, and looks surprised to see that I’m still around. She apologizes, and asks if I want to get dropped off home. I tell it’s alright, that I’d take an Uber, and that she should go home. She agrees, and leaves.

I return to my place. Before falling asleep, I send her a message on the app, telling her that I’m sorry for her loss. There’s more that I want to say, but I know I would never find the right words, and hence, leave it at that.

I wake up in the morning, the memory of last night still fresh. I reach out for my phone to see if she has replied. I find that she had unmatched me. Not having exchanged numbers or any other social media connections, I now have no means of contacting her.

I think back to the inscription on the gravestone. Rest In Peace. It is meant for the deceased, a prayer for them to find solace. But the dead know no pain. It is us, the ones left behind, that have to live on and endure, missing them in their absence. I wonder if those words were meant for us more.

I wish she finds peace.

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