Very much just another blog

The breeze will kill me

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The man pulled away and walked away. The woman stood – frozen in position. If time could stop and if he could retrace his footsteps he could  have leant back in towards her, let the clock resume its motion, no one could have guessed the gap. But time doesn’t stop and he didn’t come back.

The woman walked to the top of the stairs he had descended and waited. She was waiting for nothing; he wouldn’t return. She walked to the board to check her train and made her way to platform nine, her hands stuffed low in her pockets and her head scooped down. She waited by the waiting train that wouldn’t open its doors and curled her body against the wind that rushed from the mouth of outside full and cold across her.

A man spoke to her. She couldn’t quite understand him. Later he would sit opposite her on the empty carriage and begin a conversation which she would shut down by finding her iPod and turning the music up. We’ll just have to wait, he repeated and gestured towards the train. Yes, she said. We will.

She plotted her way over the conversation: the tears and the anger, the desperation she had croaked out, not even knowing how deeply she felt it. She didn’t know, until just a half an hour before, that the things she did had much of an effect on anyone. She thought she was easily forgotten, like something brushing against your skin, something that is nearly but not completely and then it fades.

It turned out she was not a breeze. Not remotely. Not a light touch nor a faint echo. It turned out she had wounded far beyond her understanding and, by the time she realised she loved him, he had moved away. She realised, as often time happens, that she needed him before she knew she loved him; away from him she was like a broken clock that couldn’t keep time, the hands reaching and slipping from the hours they hoped to keep.

In the bar she watched him pull further and further away. I love you, she said. And he could happily have killed her. Happily have ripped her limp from soft limb and kissed and wept and killed her.

He told her what had happened in the months when her indecision and insecurity twisted her up and pushed him and pulled him away. She didn’t know, how could she; she still thought she was a slight on someone’s skin. I love you, she said, again.

He walked away and she knew he would not come back. She continued to wait by the locked train.

Should I leave? She asked him. I could go. She was looking down.

No! He shouted. No. Why must you run away from everything? This isn’t about you. Not everything is about you.  Stay here. Face this.

I’m trying to make it better. I love you. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. She reached out, stopped as her fingers brushed against his arm.

The train doors flashed and she boarded, followed closely by the man she couldn’t understand. A light smile crossed her face as she thought: in fact I don’t think anything is about me, which is a different problem but hurts in the same way.

He flashed towards her: You have no idea. No idea what you did. You broke me over and over again.

The train pulled on, a thousand stations to get through. She could smell his skin lightly on hers.

I didn’t know, she repeated. I didn’t realise. I knew you were upset. She could hear she was sounding more ridiculous, beginning to understand as she spoke what had happened, what she had done. When she first met him his enthusiasm had overwhelmed her. It was too much and she pulled away. But something had happened and she felt, as he left, that she was beginning to fade.

She left the train and walked the path to her house, up to the main road. She glanced across but didn’t see or even hear the car when it hit her. She was lifted gently and slowly, moved peacefully through the air. Sound stopped. When she landed, like a doll, several metres away, she looked like she was sleeping.

On the other side of the city he lay, asleep and calm, his arm around a peaceful dreaming girl.


Written by elikafm

February 28, 2010 at 3:07 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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