A Kindred Soul
written by: Marcelo Andrade
Ann and I grew up here in Bristol. Opposite mine on Tyndall’s Park Road stood her house, a familiar sight. Her parents owned a quaint bookstore on that street, so we spent hours browsing through a diverse array of books during our childhood. The earthy smell of aging paper and the old-fashioned lamps made the store feel like a second home.
We were not classmates, but we used to walk to St. Michael’s High School together every day. Joining the local chess club, we eagerly participated in numerous competitions. She pursued her higher education at University College London while I was studying in Edinburgh. We rarely returned to our hometown. Nevertheless, we managed to see each other every year.
The last time I heard about her was last month. I entered my office and a blue wax-sealed envelope resting on the desk caught my attention. Without any prior expectation, I carefully opened the surprise that lay before me: an elegant white card adorned with a green leafy wreath and the initials N and A – a wedding invitation. My heart skipped a beat as I read the names ‘Nick and Ann’ in elegant calligraphy.
Nick, the name that had become intertwined with Ann’s life since we last met. I had heard about Nick through Ann’s occasional emails and phone calls. He was the man who had captured her heart. My mind raced back to our shared childhood, the adventures we had had, and the dreams we had shared. It had been years since we last met, but here, in my hands, was a connection to our past. The invitation was more than just an announcement of a wedding; it was a bridge to our shared memories, a chance to relive our friendship. It was not just an event; it was a reminder of the enduring bond we had formed as children.
They were getting married on Saturday, 27th September, at 5 p.m. at the Lighthouse Farm, Sandy Cove, Wales.
On the wedding day, I typed the address from the card into Google Maps, realizing the journey would take about three and a half hours to reach Wales. I wore that black tuxedo re-served for significant life events. Just as I finished adjusting my tie, my mobile rang. It was Ann.
‘Hey, Ann!’
‘Hi, Mark!’ Ann’s voice held a hint of nervousness. ‘Still at home?’
‘Yeah. How’s everything?’ I asked, eager to know more about her life and Nick.
‘Good! A bit nervous, of course.’ Ann chuckled. ‘Well, I just wanted to ask you if you could give a lift to a friend of mine. She is staying at Delta Hotel. Her name is Victoria, She’s Spanish.’
‘No problem. I’m about to leave. Tell her to wait at the entrance. I’m driving a grey Volkswagen Golf. The plate number is HR26GBR. See you there.’
‘Great! I’ll let her know. Thanks. See you later.’
Driving during the lunchtime bustle of a Saturday was not the wisest choice. The cacophony of car horns and distant chatter filled the atmosphere. Scanning for a sign of relief, my eyes locked onto a towering structure emerging through the horizon —The Delta hotel. As I approached the building, I could see a tall, black-haired girl waving her arms, drawing me closer to our meeting point.
‘Victoria?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
She got into the car, and we headed for Wales. We were on the M4 at 1:25, chatting about our lives until we got to the bridge on the A548 near the Sandy Cove club on Foryd Road. I kept on looking at the clock. It was 4:56 and my grip on the steering wheel tightened. There were still about ten miles left. We were already late. I swerved right to pass an old lorry. A high-speed blue car was visible in the rearview mirror, coming towards us.
And then, everything changed. The crunch of metal against metal, the shattering of glass, and the piercing sound of a horn blaring. I saw the burning wreckage of both cars from above, like a nightmare scene. Shattered glass and broken debris littered the road. Two people emerged from their homes to forcefully pull Victoria out of the car. I could not see my body. I had become a spectator of the unfolding tragedy. The sound of a wailing siren approaching the site drowned Victoria’s cries of pain out. The paramedics rushed to lift her up and took her to the ambulance. In a few minutes, North Wales policemen were controlling the traffic, diverting vehicles away. Only after the emergency vehicles disappeared did a strange clarity wash over me. I was no longer part of that world.
Immediately after the accident, I was in the church. Nick was there on the altar, wearing a navy-blue tuxedo, a bow tie, and a small flower boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Ann was wearing a beautiful white sleeveless dress and a veil that draped over her head and extended over her face. They could not see me, of course. I stayed there next to them on the altar.
Ann’s parents, Margaret and Phillip, were sitting in the front row. I had not seen them for ages. Their faces looked so happy. I could still see his mother’s friendly smile, the same that welcomed me at their home when I was a kid. Wonderful memories never disappear. His father looked much older than he actually was, but kept the same proud attitude about her daughter. Some friends from school were there, too. So many people I had not seen for a long time. What did I do all those years? The happy couple walked back up the aisle among the joyful music and applause from the guests. Confetti filled the outside of the church.
From that moment on, I have kept visiting them. Although they can’t see me, I am glad they are still a happy couple.
The End
- A Kindred Soul - March 4, 2024
