++ summer on the downhill
---------------------------------------------
+ Everything's different from what I think it is. The doors
don't have no knobs, so I have to kick them with my already
wounden feet, and the windows with curtains of newsletters
don't let any light in. This is my first vacation job, I guess.
The holidays have already begun and I was forced to elect
suffering the glow of hell instead of glowing in the summer
sun with friends. My eyes are crossing a room that is clouded
by smoke and dirt. What I see reminds me of everything that
could be good in my life. Each thing that could happen only
to make me happy or lets me rest for a moment of peace.
It’s my body that’s speaking through my bones
to my brain. ‘Stop torture me!’ it says. But I
have to, because I need the money. A easy but true calculation,
so easy that it hurts. I’m not a beast of burden. I’m
too young to die of exhaustion. My body should have the time
to turn every hormone into hairiness, longer vocal chords
and happiness. But now I’m standing with two wooden
slats on my still tiny shoulder (hormones please hurry!) in
a meadow not wider as myself (architects please rethink!)
and learn what it means to go always forward even though garavity
pushes you to the floor.
My dullness slows down the traffic. If I’m a car in
this race, Lenny would be a truck and George the driver with
nervous fingers on the signal horn:
" When you’re not strong enough, don’t pick
two slats. And don’t let them fall or they’ll
only be left for toothpicks. And I swear, you will never need
them anymore, when I punch your untouched face for every slat
that hits the wall."
His words don’t hurt anymore. I let George pass by and
feel the cold wall at my back. After he’s gone and silence
comes back, I hear the familiar voice in my head again. It
speaks the same since I left the house this morning:
" This is not your fortune, you live a life of somebody
who doesn’t know a girl like Isabel!"
Unfortunately I’m knowing her. I know how pretty she
looks. I know how soft her voice is, and how throaty it becomes
when she’s nervous. And I know how much she means to
me. I stop trotting and close my eyes. The slats appears lighter
while I’m leaning against the wall. My mind is tired
too and my hearts gets heavier with every thought that slips
to her. I stare imaginary ahead, gaze towards the end of the
wooden slats and I see myself on a boardwalk near our sea.
My feet are splashing in water and I'm talking gently with
Isabel. Her head is cutted by the water surface from her body
and I can only see the rest as a distortion. But I'm really
sure that's her because I have this fresh taste in my mouth
that only comes out, when I’m happy.
A plane is crossing the blue sky and leaves a white straight
trail. The sound rouses the ducks out of the reeds near the
bank. So we have to talk very loud, but anyway I can’t
understand her. The plane and the ducks are getting noisier.
I lean forward to catch more words but I'm overbalancing and
fall down. I liked to open my eyes to see what’s under
the sea, hope to see a world beneath trouble and pain…
to see her next to me. But after open my eyes it’s only
Lenny who looks into my face. For how long I don’t know.
He doesn't talk much, but I know it’s better to step
beside and let him pass.
I follow the meadow till I feel the warm sun on my back. I’m
outside the site and I'm breathing fresh air. The glaring
light dazzles me so I have to close my eyes. Some spots dances
wildly on my lid and one of it looks like the shadow of a
girl, that I know. Without noticing my surroundings I put
the slats in a container. A metalic sound proves that it wasn't
move in the last ten minutes.
The next time I will take only one slat. One is enough to
don’t let me rest halfway. Halfway means thinking of
Isabel and halfway means thinking of a lost summer. Besides
with Isabel it could have been be my first summer at all.
This is dedicated to John Steinbeck and
his mice.
|
