Tirza de fockert
"Well?"
The questioning look
in her eyes reveals a tiny glimpse of hope. Of the
kind 'despair' to be precise. Please, let it be good
news! But on his face shines no good news. It breaths, just
like his entire appearance, hopelessness. The
sympathetic look, head slightly bowed.
A deep breath. A
short blink with the eyes.
Silence.
He shakes his head.
"I'm sorry, miss. He's beyond saving."
And he gives her the jar.
She takes a step back.
Bites on her lip. Tries to swallow her tears. No.
Please not. He puts his hand on her arm. Gives her a
soft 'are you okay?'-Pinch. Or a 'take care'-pinch. Or
a 'God, you look hot, I just have to touch
you'-pinch. With an angry move she shakes it off. Piss off,
you lousy excuse for a doctor, with your fake,
over-acted compassion. How many other gorgeous and confused
girls have you already tried to comfort today? Besides,
what do you know about pain, about loss, about guilt?
As if you even care!
And without granting him
another look or another word she turns around and walks
out of his waiting room, leaving the poor man a bit
dismayed.
"Let him go," he tries ones more, "it's the best for
both of you." But she is already gone. Flown.
Swallowed up by the big bad world. Let him go.
Let him go. The words keep echoing in her head, while she walks
past cars, bikers, and moms with kids. She's got the jar
firm in her hands. Let him go.
She hears it,
over and over again, the sounds, the voice, but the
meaning won't sink in. Just an abstract combination of
letters. Let him go. Beyond saving.
Damn!
It's done. Over. Gone.
Destroyed, dissolved.
Earth
to earth and all that bullshit. Or almost, anyway.
Let him go. But to where? And how? How can he go,
when he is robbed of everything that could take him
anywhere.
By her. Oh god, what a mess. They had been so
good together.
Come to think of it, there hadn't
been that much of 'together'. Their paths had probably
crossed before. She'd most likely seen him and ignored
him, not granting him a thought, cause that's what she
seemed to do with the more worthy things in life. She
had a natural gift for overlooking beauty. Maybe
looked down on him, or pushed him on the floor and
almost crushed him. Probably.
Maybe. And maybe
they hadn't met before and had their first encounter
really been just a few minutes before... before the
accident. A couple of minutes. Was that enough to even
speak of a 'together'?
But still. It had kicked
in. Otherwise she wouldn't be walking through these
streets for half an hour now, this labyrinth of houses
and parks and canals. They all looked the same, where
the hell was she?
She feels completely numb.
Every sound, every movement, every sign of outer world,
it completely passed her by. The drivers blowing
their horns, the bikers screaming their anger, she
doesn't hear. She's not there. Completely sucked within
her own mental world.
Hollow.
It felt hollow. She
had never known that emptiness would hurt so
much.
But it did.
She glances at the jar. The last
concrete reminiscences of their hasty, but disastrous
rendezvous. Fuck. Please, no tears
It was an accident.
Just a stupid bloody accident!
It was not her
fault, how could she be blamed for... don't you notice a
thing like that, burgeoning danger that sucks you in
from behind, that surrounds you, closes you in? That
spins its web until you're trapped and there is no
place else to go? The burning breath of disaster in
your neck? He must've felt it! And if he'd felt it, he
should have been able to escape!
It's true, she
hadn't paid any attention either, but it was his life!
Why should she be held responsible for
that?
But nevertheless she was. That much she knew
Or
maybe not for his life, but sure as hell for his
upcoming death. She feels guilty. She feels guilty,
because it was her kitchen, her gas, and her fire. And
because now he can't feel at all.
Because there's too little left of him to feel.
His wings, these grand
hands with which he pushed the air away, created his
own little space in the world, they.... there's not
much left of them. The right one probably suffered the
biggest stroke. It has completely melted away. The left
one does not look much better; just a tiny scorched
piece of skin hangs flat on his mutilated, shrunken
body. A body that only recently had come to its
breathtaking perfection.
Did he realize it, that he...
what she...
Did he realize at all, or was he slowly
fading away into a comatose nothingness?
It's getting more and more difficult to stop her
chin from shaking. She feels her breathing intensify,
sucking in more and more oxygen to keep in control. Her
heart is pounding heavily. It doesn't matter how hard
she tries. There they are. Tears.
The moment
the wind blew him into her room... it made her smile
a faint smile. His amazing charisma had warmed her
house a bit. That self-confidence that brought him
there, that made him dally through her living room,
following her, flying around her, leading her. Bewitched
and bewildered she let him drag her through her own
environment, her own world. Through everything that was
familiar to her. Was hers. He led, she followed. Not a
word was said, but for a second all was different.
That was the power he had held over her, for just a
couple of minutes.
And that was why she was walking
through out this more and more unfamiliar city, with troubled
eyes.
Beyond saving.
He had lifted her up, made her float
on an everlasting happiness. Not so
everlasting as it turned out.
Beyond saving.
There
had been a spark. The fatal spark. It had come out of
nowhere. A lost spark that made the bubble of her joy
explode. And not just her bubble. All of a sudden the
spark had ignited, there came a flame, a lot of flames,
a sea of fire. She did nothing. It caught him in no
time. He burned like dried paper, a flying, floating,
falling, flaming torch. She just stood there. The stench
of scorched flesh and she...
She was paralyzed.
She realized too late. The water came too
late
Beyond saving. He,
Or she?
She panicked. All
of a sudden it hit her, all that had just happened,
it hit her right in her soul. It hit her how she...
if only... maybe...
Fuck, of course a doctor
couldn't save him. He was turned into ashes, or most of
him anyway. But she wanted it so badly, wanted to
give him another chance, to life. He had had so much
potential, and she... she had burned it. She had to at least
try.
Let him go
But how?
She holds still.
Suddenly. She looks around, looks left, right,
Before her, behind, but there's nothing.
No one.
Just a field. A tree. Right in front of her. She'd
simply walked into silence. Ones more she takes a look
at the jar. Breaths in. Breaths out.
A small
hesitation.
All right. She puts the jar on the ground.
Sorry lad, but
you were made to fade. You wouldn't have
lasted. One firm kick. The glass shatters when it hits the
wood. A rain of splinters. Go! Bye bye,
butterfly.
Tcdf 25-12-2001
