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💾 Archived View for clemat.is › saccophore › library › ezines › textfiles › ezines › LDT › ldt079.tx… captured on 2022-01-08 at 16:27:05.
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                                productions


#079 - [ No Particular Title ]
       [ ilamai ]


I was driving around the road that circles your house yesterday, and I
remember walking around there when I was a kid.  I was overcome with a whole
host of strange emotions. I didn't know what to think, but my face couldn't
stop smiling. I hadn't been there in years but I felt warm and young and
innocent, calm as I drove around to your house.

You couldn't answer the door to me, you are too ill.

My heart almost sank as I saw you sat in that chair again, unable to move,
virtually helpless. Somehow I couldn't stop smiling back at you when I saw how
happy you were for some company, and all I had that day was a spare half an
hour, to sit next to you. You didn't seem to care though. You cheered me up
for the rest of the day. Your hair may be thin and grey, but you're still
youthful inside, I can see it in your eyes, and this is what makes me want to
spend time with you, even though it hurts, I know it will hurt a hell of a lot
more in years to come. But I don't want to talk about that.

I had to put the brocolli in the bin outside because you didn't like it. I
used to be scared of that bin because it used to be full of spiders, I'm not
anymore.

You asked me to cut your roses for you with a pair of scissors, so I went
around the back of your house, where I saw a den constructed out of your
washing lines and step ladders. There were two little girls running around
pretending to make tea and eating sultanas, your favourites, it was me and my
sister. But of course they were not really there. All there was were a couple
of neglected plant pots and roses you wanted me to cut with the scissors.

They reminded me of you. They were old, falling to pieces, neglected. Each
petal was in limbo between falling to the floor, hanging on to what strength
it had left, resilient against the ever forceful wind, and yet somehow they
managed to retain their beauty, of what had been, and the dignity of never
giving up. But it was my job to cut them so the new buds could grow. A job I
thought that I did well.


Apparently You are dying again. I keep being told this. I don't really like
getting upset every few weeks. So I'm forgetting about it until it happens.

I'll probably forget about it then too.


I'm not quite sure what to feel today. I've been up one minute and down the
next. I got a phone call this morning for a job interview tomorrow.  Which is
great, seeing as I desperately need a job, else I don't know what the hell I'm
going to do about Christmas presents.  Then I got a call from my sister, which
I thought was strange seeing as I only spoke to her the other day.  She told
me that You had died the night before.  We had a long chat for about an hour.
She said that I cheered her up, that I made her laugh. Which I guess is a good
thing. I don't quite know what to feel. I mean, no one has ever died before.
We've been expecting it for a while now but surely I should feel something, or
cry. But I couldn't. It makes me feel like I'm some cold hearted bitch.
Maybe I am.

Then my boyfriend called me up and told me he'd just got a job, which is
fantastic. Now that's all I can think about. How awful is that?  Maybe it just
hasn't hit me yet. About You I mean.  He needs that job, for his sanity as
well as mine. It was taking it's toll at times.

  "There's room to believe,
  Out of sight, out of mind, out of reach
  Start over 
  It's no way to begin.
  There's room to believe,
  Out of sight, out of mind, out of reach,
  Start over,
  It's no way to begin, no way to begin."

I think that I'm supposed to call my mother up and give her some kind of
sympathy.  Seeing as I haven't spoken to her in about five years and she's
not particulary bothered about the situation I don't think I will.  Call me
immature but I think I'll just get a card instead.

  "Sooner or later more,
  These words too paper poor.
  Come close apologies to bring you back to me.
  What words were written for.
  One girl whose pages tore
  I'll bet you never knew,
  With a letter came a fool for you.

  She says she worked it out,
  This room's not big enough for two,
  He swears, she worked his words out,
  If she ever knew."


I went to your funeral the other day.  I'd barely thought about it, how it
would affect me. I was more concerned about being late.

My mind has been preoccupied with so many things since you died. 

My sister cried instantly as we had to follow that box into that place.  I
knew that if I looked at it I would too, and I couldn't do that.  Not me.
Your service was nice, I hope you would have been proud.

She cried all the way through. I'm sorry but I had to think of stupid things,
like what I was going to do that night. I must do a Jackie, perfect control.
I'm not sure if that was for me or everyone else.  On leaving I almost
exploded but I didn't, I kept perfect control all day.  I hope you don't think
I don't care but I couldn't, not in front of those people, not on my own.


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