sonder
n
.
the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own - populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness - an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
(Source -- The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
* *
John Mendel was on the verge of falling asleep. The late nights he worked in the lab were finally catching up to him. Work made his muscles ache and he was slowly developing a disgust for anything remotely resembling a centrifuge.
He stretched his limbs on the subway, wondering what his parents would think if they knew about the hours he kept lately. Early to bed, early to rise was no longer an option as the biotech company he researched for wanted results faster than proper science would allow it. His eyelids drooped, almost touching the cavernous bags underneath.
The PA system announced his station as the next one, startling him back to reality. His legs expended a lot of effort getting upright, craving nothing more than the somnolence a soft mattress could impart. All his muscles yearned for the same, except his heart which only wanted to see Alyssa again.
"Ah Alyssa!" he exhaled, letting his mind drift to the last time he had spent a meaningful amount of time with her. It was so long ago that he had to think back a long way. He remembered every part of his girlfriend's flawless body. The way she danced from the door of the bedroom all the way to his bed, doing a little pirouette like a ballerina. It was the most sensual sight imaginable.
"Alyssa is one of a kind," mused John, getting out at his stop. It was afternoon, after two straight days of being cooped up in the lab. Normally, John got home in time to see her curled under the covers. He was so happy at getting home early for once that he even tipped the violinist at the gate for his discordant attempt at entertainment.
There was a spring in his step, belying the tiredness everywhere else. He desperately wanted to get back to his apartment. For the moment, it was a small three room affair in the West Village.
"Just till the end of this project," he said to himself, flashing a wide smile at the beat patrol taking two sandwiches from the mobile van outside his building. They looked at each other, confused, but smiled and waved back.
John hummed all the way to the stairs and took them two at a time. His cheer took the other tenants by surprise. He patted his foot rhythmically while extracting his key from amidst the jumble of loose change and other tidbits in his pocket. He opened the door with a flourish, almost simultaneously yelling out. "Honey! Guess who finally got a break off work?"
The words left his mouth, but hung in the air. His eyes went wide, trying its best to block out the visual which burnt into his incredulous mind. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't.
And yet, his traitorous eyes continued to show him the love of his life, Alyssa, cavorting naked on the couch with his older, married neighbour. She shrieked at the unexpectedly early return and grabbed a cushion to hide her luscious, sweaty body. The other man rolled off the couch, holding onto the cabinet for support. His meaty cock hung between his legs, still dripping cum.
"John, I'm so sorry."
John finally found some movement in his legs. He crossed the living room in three strides, landing a stunning punch on the surprised man's face. The impact sent him reeling and he clattered to the ground, breaking the coffee table on his way down. Alyssa screamed hysterically.
"Please, John. I swear it was a one time thing. He means nothing to me."
John wasn't even aware of her existence any longer. He was barely conscious of a strange woman tugging on his arm, but the woman he fell in love with had died. He ignored the pull and went about packing a few essential things into his duffel bag.
"John. Please don't go. Please, I beg you. Yell at me, scream at me, hit me if you want, but don't go."
The bag was almost packed. He retrieved his wallet and some cash from his drawer. Slinging the bag over his free shoulder, he began to make his way to the door, oblivious to the grovelling being hanging off him.
"I love you, John. You're the only man I've ever had feelings for. Please don't leave me alone."
John threw her off and sprinted down the stairs. His mind was numb and his body was on auto-pilot. The only thing keeping any part of him moving was the singular desire to get as far away from Alyssa.
Go where? He hadn't the foggiest idea.
He rushed out and didn't stop running. The same patrol cops he saw earlier stared at the duffel wielding figure running away from them. Everything about him looked so drastically different from twenty minutes ago, when they saw him for the first time.
John Mendel did not stop. Cars, buses, other pedestrians vaguely registered in his peripheral vision but he kept running. Running away from a life he loved. The only souvenir he had from that life was a broken heart.
* *
"What's gotten into him?" asked Shawn Kenefick, staring at the man running away from them, his duffel bag swinging from side to side. He looked at his partner who shrugged back in response.
"Beats me," said Kay, taking a large bite out of her sandwich. The cheese covered tender beef almost melted in her mouth.
"Let's get back to the patrol car," said Shawn. Kay agreed, finishing of her snack before she slipped into the passenger seat. Immediately, she reached over and pulled Shawn towards her face for a kiss. Their lips met for a few seconds before he drew back.
