between holding on and letting go
I have a lot of work to do today;
I need to slaughter memory,
turn my living soul to stone,
then teach myself to live again
― Anna Akhmatova
12 hours later.
The day is dark and full of gloom all around. The low temperature, seeming to drop with every gust of wind that hits my face and tries to get under the clothes. Penetrating the material and reaching every fiber of the body until it fills me up completely, until I am once again nothing else but a brick of ice, trying to move from one spot to another - what perfect settings to match the occasion.
I use all the energy that I can still find in my tired muscles, moving at a fast pace and trying to outrun the weather, as if having hopes that if I move fast enough, I might cheat it. But it was rather clear that I was losing that battle. Not that it really mattered. Honestly, it seemed like a good enough punishment as any other, with how my life was these days. Crazy enough, it gave me some security knowing things were going wrong because as soon as something went too smooth, that’s when it was time to worry. An almost visible message painted on my forehead, shouting in bold neon letters. Don’t get too comfy. It’s going to crumble down anyway.
Feeling my body tremble, I bow my head in an attempt to avoid the wind the best way that I can; the hood of my blouse set low, and its zipper scratching the neck every time I try to shift it higher. A thick, black leather jacket on top of it seeming to be the only thing keeping me on the ground and stopping me from almost flying away - just like the leaves and trash that seem to litter every still available space; the joys of a well-settled Autumn. I think to myself and soldier on, heavy boots making loud noises against the sidewalk, as I find the street that leads to the subway station, struggling to get down the dirty stairs while shifting through a living mass of people that brushes and pushes against me. All those bodies chilled by wind and just wanting to get to their homes.
A tired sigh escapes my lungs, lucky bastards. For me, it was only the beginning of where I needed to be. Needed, or wanted to? I whisper silently but then shake my head quickly, trying desperately to hold the memories back. I didn’t need this right now, too many notions raising painfully in my chest. It was enough that I had to survive each day with the constant ache and the torment of the voices of people with harsh, wounded souls. That I could somehow live through with the help of Charlie, but the memories were much harder to handle. I shut my eyes for a moment as I wait for the train to arrive. Charlie. I didn’t tell him where I was going or why on this day. I haven’t told anybody. Well, not that there were that many people to tell - maybe just Phil, he knew, and so did my parents. But they didn’t care, after everything I have put them through. I can’t really say that I blame them though, I made many bad choices, and now I was paying for them with interest.
Slowly, my lungs inhale a small spark of warmth that grazes against the bruised heart. Well, Cara knew as well, and I could tell that she cared and wanted to help me. And little
Emily, my precious extended family.
I shut my eyes harder. I didn’t tell him where I was going but stopped by the hospital and paid a short visit, needing to build some mental strength before I could go anywhere. In the end, I just informed him that the weather was breaking me down, and I needed some rest. Which, of course, started a series of multiple, never-ending questions about my symptoms. And I had to roll my eyes at that, despite how miserable I was feeling on the inside. It was hard to lie to someone with medical experience, so I told him to just hush, and that all would be well. He gave me his number one worried expression, and I tried not to groan from all the guilt and annoyance that was taking over me.
It was so strange to have someone worry about me like that. I was so used to relying only on myself that this situation really unsettled me, feeling both grateful and irritated by it all. Maybe deep inside, I needed some form of a miracle in shining armor - just without the male version of Marry Poppins looking after me and the knight Galahad to romance me away. No, I definitely didn’t need that. Especially, when I thought about where I needed to be today.
So, to get him out of my back, I started to chat with Susan and mentioned how great Charlie washes the dishes and how he is always so caring and helpful around the house. That sparked her attention immediately as we both knew Charlie was a bit of a loner. Constantly working and taking care of his patients, while ignoring the longing stares from the bigger part of the nurse community - lightly and with humor, too busy to find any love interest. And as Susan put it once. “He should find time for a little fling on the side to spice up his blend existence”. I burst out laughing when I first heard it, spilling the tea from the paper cup that I always seemed to have while talking to her. All I can say is that she enjoyed the show.
My mood loosens up for a moment as I remember how suddenly all of her focus was on Charlie - as if she was a hound and just sniffed a new luscious scent, nose set low on the ground. A woman with a mission to get to the latest gossip as the first one. For a split second, I think that I even noticed her nostrils flare as she smelled the juicy story for the taking.
My lips purse as I try to hold back a smile. Mmm, and then there was his reaction. It was that of pure terror when he looked at her, and then with absolute disbelief when his eyes found mine. He knew that he was cornered and froze to the spot. I smiled innocently at that moment and waved him goodbye, as I slowly started to retreat. I knew that he wanted to say something to me, but a lingering look of Susan’s eyes and her flaming cheeks distracted him much more than I ever could.
Heading off to the door, I still remember hearing him making some desperate excuses, pretending that he was being called in - causing a smile to stretch on my lips, bringing some relief to the tired lungs. At the last second, I turned around, just before stepping out of the main entrance to the hospital, looking back for a second, lost in thought, knowing that that was probably the last nice note of the day.
Now, two hours later, I am sitting on the train, snuggled tight between an old lady that used far too much perfume and a teenage boy moving his head to a beat, listening to the music blasting away from his bright yellow headphones. Blankly, I look at the window on the opposite side of the wagon. While at the same time ignoring a long, almost sticky stares of a girl with numerous tattoos and a jacket way too thin for this kind of cold. Her sleek ink and neck-length hair sprayed and smoothed back with an edgy style, purple highlights flashing here and there. She keeps sending me intense looks, and I shift my hood even lower despite the overheated train wagon - and try not to notice the quite obvious body language. She was interested. All I could do was slowly shake my head at that. Man, did she pick the wrong, damaged tree to bark at. Not that she wasn’t attractive - if in a slightly too aggressive way. I just didn’t feel much these days for anyone. Closing my eyes, I count the seconds, hoping that the time will fly faster; there was still over an hour of a ride to live through.
_____
Eventually, I reach the station and get off the train, the weather seeming to be just as bad as it was in the city, maybe a little less windy. I gaze at the dark sky and notice little drops falling down. Perfect, just perfect, leave it to the lunatic, to go on such a trip without proper clothes, gloves, or even a fucking umbrella. I move faster and think that maybe this was the exact way I wanted it to be. Maybe, I wanted the weather to make my body numb from the bitter chill, just like my mind and emotions were right now. Or perhaps I hoped it would dull the last shreds of feelings and pain still lingering inside of me. In the end, who knows. I just might be the kind of person that likes to sabotage everything good in her life. Not that there was much left to ruin.
For a second, her thoughts head to Charlie, and she feels the guilt strike again. He seemed like the only real good thing in her life right now, and she could not afford to sabotage this too.
I won’t let it get that far.
Slowly, I move forward down the road, passing buildings, shops, and other people with bored, indifferent faces, trying to ignore the low buzzing of voices and emotions in my head, sensing how displeased they were with their lives. Without even noticing, I close my eyes and bump into some of them, distracting myself with the physical contact, so my mind won’t fully operate, causing memories to spring back to life again.
Before I can remember where I am going, where I actually am. Even though technically I knew all of those things, I didn’t want them to become more turbulent. Almost as if speaking them out loud would make them more real - for half of a second, my mind wonders if I should have brought flowers. I quickly shake that thought away, but then another one pops up instantly.
It’s been a whole year, love.
The simple thought hits me hard over the head with an almost ringing sound so strong that it makes my teeth hurt, mixed with a sensation of a sharp slap on the cheek. And somehow, that harsh sting against my skin seems to penetrate me right to the bone. Swallowing, I shake my head, eyes shutting tightly. Don’t think about it. Just get there, do what you came for and leave. Be done with it. Then you can go back to your cold apartment, roll into a ball, and stay there forever - I sigh as the thought seems both appealing to me and depressing at the same time.
At least I won’t be here.
Suddenly, a weary smile covers my face at the thought of going home and settling myself back into the comfortable denial, a thing that has helped me many times before to stay afloat, to survive. My eyes close one last time, giving myself just one fleeting moment of stillness before I straighten my back, determination switching off everything else. Ignoring the wind and the rain, I quickly march forward, moving past the sidewalk, going higher and higher up the road, climbing a hill until I reach my goal. Reluctantly, I look up and see a massive, old metal gate with just one word placed in the middle.
Cemetery.
The big steel letters welded into the gate’s rusty structure.
My lungs seem to do overtime as my breathing speeds up, accelerating with force. I try
not to hear how my heart hammers against the ribcage, and for the first time focus on the voices in my head, the buzzing sounds under the skull seeming like the biggest relief that I could ever want, a perfect distraction in this dreadful place. I push the gate and walk past the entry, the wind howling like a tortured creature while the sharp rain hits my skin, soaking through already wet clothes. Shivering, I shove my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket. It’s so cold, the temperature dropping with every minute; winter definitely on its way in the next couple of weeks, if not days. I could feel it. My legs shift forward as I count an endless amount of rows to get where I needed to be, knowing the road all too well, even if I had only been here twice. At first, not being able to face the pain in my heart, and then the second time - thanks to unexpected events, the never-ending pain in my head. The one that always seemed to fill all of my senses, never letting me go.
Well, until he came along, changing the rules of the game completely. I knew he couldn’t protect me forever from myself, but he sure made everything more bearable, and that was definitely far more than I could ask for. I look down at the ground and concentrate on the dirt and mud coating my shoes while throwing Charlie’s picture out of my head, needing to focus and be alone with myself, even if just in my thoughts. I walk through the rows, heavy boots sinking in the soft, wet ground. It was still drizzling, and I put the hood higher on my head, using it as a provisory umbrella to see through the endless paths and rows of graves. I count silently, trying to find the right place, while my body shifts frantically into a panic as a single thought covers everything in view, blurring my vision. What if I won’t find it? What if somehow, I forgot where it was and will be here all day, soaking in the rain and catching pneumonia, staying here until dark, and then not being able to discover my way out? My lungs rise and fall with a fierceness I can barely control, threatening to explode but then stop abruptly as finally, I recognize it, something in my heart sinking.
Oh, that horrible hollow feeling, when your reword is your greatest punishment.
As if finding your home, but knowing that it will forever remain empty.
I try to quickly snap out of the haze before I fall too deep into it. It’s still there, in the exact place that it’s been before. It didn’t disappear. Which meant that he was still gone, and everything horrible in my life was there. They weren’t just nightmares, Eleonore. Every monster haunting your dreams, every tight hand on your throat was real. With stiff limbs, I walk up to the grave. And every step that I take feels completely unnatural, lifeless. I stare at the tomb and feel absolutely nothing, all of my inner gates shutting one by one. Bending down, I lightly trace my fingertips against the small smooth letters that seemed to have faded a bit since I was here last. I read the name, and the words fall out into a whisper that nobody can hear.
Daniel Andrew Morgan.
I feel each letter fall down and hit the wet ground. I swallow. Well, I made it here, after all. My eyes still stare at his name, blurring all else out. Daniel... Dan. Everyone always called him Dan. I look down, and my eyes slip past the next words. “Beloved son and friend”. I shiver as none of that feels enough. Too short, too little to describe anything that still lived and breathed in my memories. Low whispers manage to escape my tight throat, falling out with surprising softness. The love of my life, my heart. The oxygen between my fractured lungs.
Eyes start to sting as everything that was held back for such a long time mercilessly rushes to the surface, threatening to drown everything on its way. It starts to suffocate me, air catching in my throat, tears clouding the vision. But I didn’t need my sight to see the last line, the date. November 12th. 365 days without him. Those words swirl in my head as my lungs tighten. Invisible metal rings pressing them until it’s almost impossible to breathe, to exist. My knees go weak, and I slip to the ground, leaning forward and trying to make my lungs move. In and out, in and out.
Finally, when I can’t make myself even sit anymore, I lay next to the grave, body clinging to the side of the cold stone, my cheek next to the hard surface, giving me some stability while pictures of me, and him, play in my mind. I almost see the light from the projector warm my skin, imaginary dust motes swirling around the cold air. And he’s there, with me.
I see it all.
Dancing on the bar with my shoes off. I recall his stare, both embarrassed and proud, a wide smile appearing on his handsome face. The way he looked at me as if I was all his, and he was all mine, even as I was making a fool out of myself, he still loved me like no one in this world ever could.
The moment when he slipped a ring on my finger. I tacky little silver thing with a painted daisy on it - and the words that I said to him after. “You idiot, you know I hate flowers.” while at the same time smiling with tears flowing down my face. “But you love me, so you stick to that flower until I can replace it with a big rock”. I never told him that I didn’t want any other ring. Instead, I smacked him over the head and kissed him until the only thing left on me was that silly ring.
My body seems to crack as the next memories fill my mind, skin becoming grey and bones turning to grained dust.
The day when the policeman knocked on my door, and I just thought that he got into another mess again. But the officer’s expression told me otherwise. Every sound in the world, disappearing, the walls around me closing in, trapping me inside something that would never let me go.
And just one more piece of shredded glass in a barely beating chest.
The moment, when I put a bouquet of daisies on the ground, on an Autumn day just like this. The only difference was the bright sun that hurt my eyes when I didn’t feel anything, wrapped around in denial. The only form of existence I could bear to at the time. So I wouldn’t sink there gently beside him, letting the earth take me too in its embrace.
I lay there almost still, and after a while, fall asleep to the rocking of my own heartbeats and the whispers in my head. It was just a low humming of bees because everyone around me was already gone, the actual voices coming to me from afar. I drift into slumber and don’t wake until a few hours later when it gets dark. My body chilled to the bone, and muscles stiff from lying on the ground, cheeks still wet from all the tears. I blink a couple of times, trying to somehow get myself back together, which proves almost impossible to achieve... But I do it. Standing up on shaky legs and pushing slowly forward, I let the high lanterns guide me out and stumble out of my personal hell. Leaving the heavy gates behind me and heading back. After a while, not even sure how I found the train station or how I even got home. Each move that I made, done on autopilot.
_____
I reach my building, dragging my feet past the stairs, hand moving against the old banister, and my mind completely blank. All of my energy drained, with nothing more left to feel. I walk up to my flat and search for the key, fingers numb as I open the door and quickly close them behind me, standing in the center of the living room and feeling nothingness set a permanent home in me. I look down at the bare wooden floor, at the mess around me, and the darkness slipping through the dirty curtains. Maybe I will wash them tomorrow; he always did like it when there was more light in the room.
The mere thought sets my whole being into motion as if it was suddenly activated after a long slumber. I fall to the ground, hitting my knees hard against the old boards, but not even registering if the action was painful or not, my body suddenly shaking, lungs gasping for air. How many times can a soul suffocate in a lifetime? How MANY? I start to sob uncontrollably, my chest seeming to be ripped from the inside, the entire pain of the world pulling at my flesh as I curl into a ball on the floor, letting the tears flow. And as they sink into my clothes and hair, I know that it’s different this time. It’s not the voices or the pain corrupting all of my senses. No. This time, it’s just me. My pain. My sorrow. My loss. I strive for air as the night grows deeper and swallows me up in its dark but understanding arms. They feel so warm against the dull ache in my heart.
_____
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
Previous chapters :
34. https://theprose.com/post/397121/knots-on-fragile-things