The Big Goodbye
I stood in the doorway with my suitcases. One in each hand. Quite pathetic. My gym bag would have sufficed. But it's me, with a flare for the dramatic. I was leaving. All throughout my life, I'm always leaving. It's all I know how to do ... and I do it well. Just as I get tight and cozy in a place, deep down in the wicked chasm of my subconcsiousness, there I am, leaving. Will I ever stop leaving? The decision is not mine to make. One day, maybe, when I least expect it, I'll stay.
But there I was, in the doorway, with my suitcases. Leaving. A place I had found by chance, a place that had become my oasis all these years, a place I loved. A place I dreaded originally, until I met her there. My Fiona. She had chosen me, she had welcomed me, no questions asked. And this is how I was thanking her now. By leaving. By leaving them all.
They had been good to me. I had tried to be good to them. I believe I was. And as I stood in the doorway, the one thought dominating my troubled mind was, the decision was not mine to make. Never is. Never. It was better that Fiona had her back to me. I would have wanted nothing else. Too busy, or pretending to be too busy, to see the door slam shut behind me. For good this time. Yes, she had begged me not to go. She had told me how much she needed me and how much she would miss me. But she had never told me more. And I needed more. I needed much more than that to stop me from leaving. That urge is a great driving force in my life. Did she not know that by then?
Of course there was Marc. The man tried to be good to me. I do believe he really did. But it was not in his nature. I do blieve he tried with Fiona, tried his best poor man, but the nature of the beast is ... well, beasty. And it didn't help the influence the Others had on him either. I despised the Others for one, but I tried to be decent with Marc, for Fiona's sake of course. The only good thing about leaving was leaving Marc. And the Others. I hated how they drained the life right out of Fiona, slowly, drop by drop. And I couldn't stand to watch. I couldn't stay and watch. In the end, as is always the case, they got what they deserve I hear.
And then there was Sly. Sly was good to Fiona. Sly was good for Fiona. I left Fiona to Sly. How do I sleep at night? Easy. I tell myself I left Fiona ... to Sly. Sly, my good buddy, he takes care of my Fiona for me now. Did Sly make it easier for me to leave? Would I have still left if there was no Sly? The decision was not mine to make. How many times do I have to tell myslef that? What's most important is, Fiona is happy now.
Leaving. Never mine decision to make but always the right one as it turns out. For the people that I leave, for the new ones that I meet. And for me.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Brief Twelve
December Night
I was absent mindedly watching infomercials and having a kind of conversation with Johnny Walker when her car's headlights briefly blinded me and then the old engine roared and died in my driveway. I sat there for a few moments trying to decide if it was real or if it was Mr. Walker playing his tricks on me again. I heard the key being inserted in the key hole. I heard the two clicks and the door swung open letting a gust of icy air blow in. She had come back.
I got up from the sofa and walked over to the door just as she closed it gently behind her. I stared at her. Her long blond hair spilling out of her winter hat, the thick scarf around her neck and her long grey coat hugging her tiny body. She carried no bags or suitcases. How long had she been gone? Why had she come back? Had she come back for my big day tomorrow? Had she remembered how important it was to me?
She pulled off her hat and scarf, shook her boots off her feet but she kept her coat on. Then she turned to me and smiled. A very small smile. Her face was tanned, her lips dry and chapped and she wore no trace of her usual make-up which, according to her own words, she could not leave the house without. Her expression was tired, but her eyes shone brighter than ever.
I leaned down to give her a kiss on the lips. I don't know why I did that. Must have been an instinctive reaction, she comes home, I give her a kiss. But she stood up on her tip toes and kissed me on the forehead as I missed her lips completely and landed one on her neck. She smelled of vanilla and coconut and ... snow. Her skin felt icy under the warmth of my mouth. Had she driven with the window open?
We walked in the living room and sat on the sofa. She reached for my glass of Johnny Walker and took a big gulp. She never took off her coat, never said a word. I didn't speak either. It was all like a dream to me. I was sure I would wake up any minute, the glass of whiskey spilled on my T-shirt and some overenthusiastic lady on T.V. shouting the last countdown to the end of the sale of the most fabulous vacuum cleaner of the year. But I didn't wake up. I simply stared at the woman beside me. And I wondered.
"I'm exhausted." she finally spoke as if we had been together the whole day, working hard and now she was exhausted.
"I'm going to bed." That was the second and last thing she ever said. She got up from the sofa and walked to the bedroom. I followed. She took off her coat. No suprises underneath. A pair of faded jeans and a sweater. She took those off too and got under the sheets. I did the same. In less than five minutes, she was asleep. I lay there watching her. She looked peaceful, content. And that's when I noticed her wrists, or rather the bands on her wrists. Ugly things. I shot out of bed, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife out of the drawer and ran back into the bedroom. Without any concern that she may wake up, I cut the bands off her wrists. She didn't wake up.
She slept peacefully the entire night while I lay wide awake, my head buzzing. I had an important day ahead of me.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the house and woke me up. Which meant I must have slept. How long I don't know, but I slept. The shower was running and a stunning red gown lay across her side of the bed. I had never seen that dress before. It wasn't in the closet with all the rest of her stuff still hanging there. I would know. I knew every article of clothing which belonged to her there. And I never saw her bring it in last night. I got up and walked to the kitchen.
We ate in complete silence. If she noticed the bands off her wrists, she didn't show it. How could she not have noticed? We drove in complete silence. If she noticed I was greatful to have her by my side for this important event, she didn't show it. I gave my speach. They loved it. She smiled and laughed, drank champagne and conversed with the guests. They loved her. But she never spoke to me. I got the singnatures I needed. It was a success.
We drove back in complete silence. If she noticed how excited and pleased I was, she didn't show it. Once inside, I went in the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. When I came out, she was gone. The red gown thrown casually on the floor beside the bed, together with the jeans and sweater from yesterday. I ran to the window and looked out. Her car was gone. What had she worn? I went back to the bedroom and rummaged in the closet inspecting all her stuff. A T-shirt and pair of shorts were missing. T-shirt and shorts, in the middle of December. Where was she going? How long this time?
She never came back. All these years. I still sit on the sofa late at night sometimes, long after Margarith has gone to bed, twirling my glass of Johnny in my hand and watching infomercials and waiting. Waiting to see headlights shine in the window, or hear an old engine pull up into the driveway. But that never comes again. And it never will. But I keep waiting. And on some nights, I also keep hoping. Especially in December.
I was absent mindedly watching infomercials and having a kind of conversation with Johnny Walker when her car's headlights briefly blinded me and then the old engine roared and died in my driveway. I sat there for a few moments trying to decide if it was real or if it was Mr. Walker playing his tricks on me again. I heard the key being inserted in the key hole. I heard the two clicks and the door swung open letting a gust of icy air blow in. She had come back.
I got up from the sofa and walked over to the door just as she closed it gently behind her. I stared at her. Her long blond hair spilling out of her winter hat, the thick scarf around her neck and her long grey coat hugging her tiny body. She carried no bags or suitcases. How long had she been gone? Why had she come back? Had she come back for my big day tomorrow? Had she remembered how important it was to me?
She pulled off her hat and scarf, shook her boots off her feet but she kept her coat on. Then she turned to me and smiled. A very small smile. Her face was tanned, her lips dry and chapped and she wore no trace of her usual make-up which, according to her own words, she could not leave the house without. Her expression was tired, but her eyes shone brighter than ever.
I leaned down to give her a kiss on the lips. I don't know why I did that. Must have been an instinctive reaction, she comes home, I give her a kiss. But she stood up on her tip toes and kissed me on the forehead as I missed her lips completely and landed one on her neck. She smelled of vanilla and coconut and ... snow. Her skin felt icy under the warmth of my mouth. Had she driven with the window open?
We walked in the living room and sat on the sofa. She reached for my glass of Johnny Walker and took a big gulp. She never took off her coat, never said a word. I didn't speak either. It was all like a dream to me. I was sure I would wake up any minute, the glass of whiskey spilled on my T-shirt and some overenthusiastic lady on T.V. shouting the last countdown to the end of the sale of the most fabulous vacuum cleaner of the year. But I didn't wake up. I simply stared at the woman beside me. And I wondered.
"I'm exhausted." she finally spoke as if we had been together the whole day, working hard and now she was exhausted.
"I'm going to bed." That was the second and last thing she ever said. She got up from the sofa and walked to the bedroom. I followed. She took off her coat. No suprises underneath. A pair of faded jeans and a sweater. She took those off too and got under the sheets. I did the same. In less than five minutes, she was asleep. I lay there watching her. She looked peaceful, content. And that's when I noticed her wrists, or rather the bands on her wrists. Ugly things. I shot out of bed, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife out of the drawer and ran back into the bedroom. Without any concern that she may wake up, I cut the bands off her wrists. She didn't wake up.
She slept peacefully the entire night while I lay wide awake, my head buzzing. I had an important day ahead of me.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the house and woke me up. Which meant I must have slept. How long I don't know, but I slept. The shower was running and a stunning red gown lay across her side of the bed. I had never seen that dress before. It wasn't in the closet with all the rest of her stuff still hanging there. I would know. I knew every article of clothing which belonged to her there. And I never saw her bring it in last night. I got up and walked to the kitchen.
We ate in complete silence. If she noticed the bands off her wrists, she didn't show it. How could she not have noticed? We drove in complete silence. If she noticed I was greatful to have her by my side for this important event, she didn't show it. I gave my speach. They loved it. She smiled and laughed, drank champagne and conversed with the guests. They loved her. But she never spoke to me. I got the singnatures I needed. It was a success.
We drove back in complete silence. If she noticed how excited and pleased I was, she didn't show it. Once inside, I went in the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. When I came out, she was gone. The red gown thrown casually on the floor beside the bed, together with the jeans and sweater from yesterday. I ran to the window and looked out. Her car was gone. What had she worn? I went back to the bedroom and rummaged in the closet inspecting all her stuff. A T-shirt and pair of shorts were missing. T-shirt and shorts, in the middle of December. Where was she going? How long this time?
She never came back. All these years. I still sit on the sofa late at night sometimes, long after Margarith has gone to bed, twirling my glass of Johnny in my hand and watching infomercials and waiting. Waiting to see headlights shine in the window, or hear an old engine pull up into the driveway. But that never comes again. And it never will. But I keep waiting. And on some nights, I also keep hoping. Especially in December.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Brief Eleven
The Big Fall
They all just kept falling. My brother fell first. Tony fell. Marla and Vince. And little Stevie. They kept falling and all I could do was just stand there and watch. Helpless.
With my brother, I was able to overcome my crippling fear and lean over and look. He sat there at the bottom, holding and rubbing his right ankle. "Could have been worse" I thought as he waived at me to show he was alright.
But the others? I have no idea. And that's when I started feeling scared. Terrified. I heard much later that Marla got married and had a son. The whole family left the country and moved to Istanbul. Or was it Innsville? A world away, in any case.
My brother made it too. His ankle is fine, but his head... He's got these...things...in his head. My God, things beyond me and most people. Things to make one terrified if one thinks about them too much. Was it the fall did this to him?
I'm not so terrified anymore though. Scared yes, but not terrified. I can lean over. And people don't fall anymore. No body falls.
And Marla, I hope you're alright, wherever you are. And all the rest of you too.
They all just kept falling. My brother fell first. Tony fell. Marla and Vince. And little Stevie. They kept falling and all I could do was just stand there and watch. Helpless.
With my brother, I was able to overcome my crippling fear and lean over and look. He sat there at the bottom, holding and rubbing his right ankle. "Could have been worse" I thought as he waived at me to show he was alright.
But the others? I have no idea. And that's when I started feeling scared. Terrified. I heard much later that Marla got married and had a son. The whole family left the country and moved to Istanbul. Or was it Innsville? A world away, in any case.
My brother made it too. His ankle is fine, but his head... He's got these...things...in his head. My God, things beyond me and most people. Things to make one terrified if one thinks about them too much. Was it the fall did this to him?
I'm not so terrified anymore though. Scared yes, but not terrified. I can lean over. And people don't fall anymore. No body falls.
And Marla, I hope you're alright, wherever you are. And all the rest of you too.
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