So
nice to see you crawling back to me. A little later than I predicted
you would, but still... You knew it too, didn't you sweetheart?
Who
likes people like you, Uma, with a heart like an open wound? Who likes
people like you, with a lot to give and you present it so nicely and in
the end is all rubbish? Who likes people like you, Uma, so gullible and
out of this world. So fragile and strange. So delicate and breakable.
People don't like you, Uma. They may find you attractive for a while.
But in the end, there's only me. Ain't that sad but true, Uma?
I know it's been a while and that I should've
replied you sooner. I should've come back sooner. I should've known
sooner. I should've seen the writing on the wall sooner. But you know
me: I always wait untill it is too late. I don't think about the clock
(tick-tock) untill it strikes twelve. Remember Cinderella? She forgot
about the time as well (she should've been back sooner).
So, what's the deal, Bill? Anything new? Anything
old? What is it that I should know? What is it that I should feel? What
is it that I should do?
Fill me in, Bill and let us try to be like we were
in the old days (not to be confused with the good days, because I don't
seem to remember those).
Isn't it about
time you stopped being a silly, stupid little girl now? Let me tell
you, you're way past that age now where acting like a little girl is a
turn-on.
Isn't it about time you came back to where you belong? You should know by now that talk is cheap and Prada shoes expensive.
Isn't it about time we started painting the town
red again and pretended that we're happy and having fun? I'll take you
away to some white beach and blue skies, you'll be wearing something I
bought and you'll forget all about this sad country.
Isn't it about time you started doing as you are told? We both know, you'll end up doing so eventually.
She pictures
perfect weddings. She invents time like other people invent stories.
She dreams of how it would be if they woke up together, in the same
house, the same room, the same bed. Close and calm. At ease and with a
whole day stretching out in front of them.
How
true can love be and why do we hang on to it? Do you know the torture
of uncertainty and how does one survive the constant craving? Knowing
and not knowing at the same time, an answer clear as the sun on the
horizon.Suddenly clouds appear and al clarity is gone, vanishes just
like the ground beneath her feet.
Was it something I said, he asks. I
don't know, she says. Was it?
She saw a flash
of lightning and then was blinded by it. Now she stumbles through the
dark and someone took her hand, guiding her after he told her: Trust me.
She's thinking
"what do you mean?" while he's talking to her. The answers to his
questions are the ones he so much likes to hear. Meanwhile, she's
thinking "what do you mean?". She's supposed to be glad that he wants
her and that he promises her the world, later, later, some day. He
says: You'll hang on, don't you? So she agrees, while she's thinking:
"what do you mean?". He doesn't know that his words are raining down
upon her like razorblades. He doesn't know that she wakes up at night
sometimes with a pain in her chest and a chill in her bones. He doesn't
know that tears wash away her make-up nowadays and that her pillows are
stained because of that. And she doesn't let him notice, afraid that he
will question her faith in him or her or them, again. She knows that
one day he will be tired of the useless fights she puts up. Just one
more time, she thinks: "What do you mean? " but she already knows the
answer to this one.
She
watches snow fall down. She watches days go by. Everything is like
wonder, everything seems new, these days. The cold is like a brandnew
sensation, it is frisky and exciting. Life is frisky and exciting, and
every day is bliss.
The end of the world is not the end of the world. It is another world, almost dimension.
Her
chest was opened, so they could examine what had happened, all of a
sudden. And they dug deep into her body, just to find that where her
heart should be (and a particularly small organ it was, according to
the coroner's report) nothing more than a bloody mass was found, like
someone stabbed it over and over again. However, there were no entry
wounds and the coroner said he had never seen a case like it. Never had
he read about it in his study books. Never had he seen photographs on
the internet. He is 31 years old. He smokes too much, but only when
he's drinking. His wife loves him, but he doesn't know what to do with
her love anymore. Somehow it started to annoy him, he felt like she
wanted too much of him. He has developed a habit of working late and
often. He visits bars and sleazy motels for cheap sex and carefully
takes a shower afterwards. He comes across a lot of dirt, during office
hours and later. He knows that it stains him, the pretty boy from the
suburbs. But he always comes back for more. He thinks of himself as a
pig, rolling in the mud and faecies. Recently, he met a friendly whore
with a heart too big for this world. Now she's laying on his table with
her eyes dead. Her pale skin bruised, her hands and ankles tied. The
sight of it almost makes him cry, but he doesn't.
It is only
when the night surrounds her and the house is hollow that she feels
alone. She walks the stairs from the attic to the cellar to catch up
with the strange presence she suspects to find, somewhere, someone. A
door closes, suddenly and she's startled. In the livingroom the silence
is made of led. Television starts sound and motion, albeit limited. A
walk to the kitchen, a stare in the fridge. Old cheese and milk gone
sour. Wrinkled vegetables.
She
doesn't stand a chance and boy, does she know it. She's read about this
stuff in books and overheared people talking about it. She never
thought it would happen to her. She knows where it's all leading to.
She can foresee the end even from a far out distance. It's not that
she's stupid. It's not that she's smart, either.
She doesn't know
what to do or how to live her life. She doesn't stand a chance if
someone else takes over. She doesn't stand a chance if people lift her
up and then drop her.
She's
running on empty and she knows it. Her fuel has always been a strange
collision of nitro and glycerine that she's used to keep people away
from her. But in the end she wants what everybody wants: a place to
call home and someone to wake up with. And now her past is starting to
keep up with her.
She's running on empty and she
knows it. It's not so much that she's depressed or lonely, oh no. It's
just the strange coincidences that keep happening and signaling their
mixed signals. It's the food she orders and does not touch. It's the
phone ringing and she doesn't pick up. It's the letters that she does
not bother to open. It's the bills that she somehow doesn't pay. It's
the insurance that she doesn't want to take. It's the feeling that says
'why bother?'.
She's running on empty and she
knows it. She doesn't have a clue wether or not someone is willing to
rescue her and at what cost. She has always paid the price, because she
knew that somehow that was the deal. She has a habit of sticking to
deals she's made. She's made a lot of bad deals. She's paid all dues
there are to pay. She's done that to pay for her own way. She has a
feeling that all of that may just not have been enough.
They had
drinks in two different cafés. She had white wine to start with, then
switched to cocktails. Limited time available, so the crap was cut
short. She thought he was wearing very nice shoes. She likes shoes, if
you didn't know that. She always says: you can wake me up anytime for
three things ... for sex, for cinema and for shoes. But that's just
boasting, once she's gone to sleep she doesn't like to be woken up, at
all.
So back to the
drinks. She likes the guy. She even likes him a lot. And she knows he
likes her. He even likes her a lot. But theres always something, he
said. Theres always just one thing. So they just meet up once in
while, to have drinks. Maybe dinner next week. Shell see. Hell see.
Maybe hell go on holiday. Chase the sun and escape this boring country
with its boring people.
They talk
about women. His women. How to hurt them, how to hold them, how to have
them. She admits she doesnt know the first thing about men. She
doesnt know when to give in or when to give up. She doesnt know when
to say no or when to say yes. He says its because she likes to keep
things simple. And that she should stay that way. By that time shes
tipsy and they need to say good-bye. So they say good-bye and kiss each
other very politely. Maybe dinner next week?
I am tired and I
am alone, sometimes. I drink too much sometimes. I do stupid things,
sometimes and other times. I love too easily, sometimes. I break and
hurt too easily, sometimes. I like people too much, sometimes. I am a
little girl, sometimes. I am a grown woman, sometimes. I am hard and I
am soft, sometimes. I am weak and I am strong, sometimes. I am right
and I am wrong, sometimes.
Its
not like Im crying all the way. Its not like Im saying Im ok. Its
not like youre not going to break my heart. Its not like I didnt ask
you to. Its not like I havent been warned before. Its not like Im
not strong. Its not like Im not wrong. Its not like Ive not been
walking with the Devil all along. Its not like I dont know whats
going on. Its not like I havent tried before. Its not like I dont
always want more. Its not like I havent been here before. Its not
like things havent long been said and done before. Its not like I
didnt know. Its not like I wouldnt pay my way. Its not like you
dont have to go.
Eventually
life just goes on. You do things, talk to people, go some places. In my
case: I do the wrong things, talk to the wrong people and definitely go
the wrong places. Nothing new under the same old sun, I suppose.
This
evening, it hit me. All of sudden. Just out of the blue. I guess you
catch my drift, dont you, Bill? I didnt think of you this evening. I
never wondered where you were or who with. What were you doing and were
you all-right? All these questions did not cross my mind, until now I
kind of like that.
You
know what I mean, Bill, so dont get upset. You never missed me like I
missed you. Until tonight I wanted you to, but not anymore Bill. To me,
that sounds like good news. Not to love you anymore, not to hate you
anymore, not to miss you anymore Not to wait anymore, by the phone or
for you to want me. Not anymore, Bill. Like I could be free and really
be the one I am.
I dont think Ill dream, Bill, not of you. Not anymore
It
was nice of you to worry about me, but really, you shouldnt have. Im
fine. You know Im fine. You mustve known all along that Id be fine
in the end. I always am. Get back up and on my feet again. Ok, Bill,
maybe I cried a little, maybe I died a little So now I can love you
less and less. In our case, thats good news Bill, isnt it?
But
if you just want to kiss me Bill, thats ok. Well just have good times
and sometimes kiss. Ill sip your fine whisky and well compliment each
other on how good-looking we both are. If you want, well watch a
sunset from a top roof over some foreign city. The sunsets seem to be
real famous over there. Ive read about it, Bill.
Do
you have a plan, Bill? Have you checked and double-checked everything?
Locked your feelings in some basement? Your eyes are so bright, like
they know no sorrow But did you have to? Did you have to? Did you have
to let it linger? You know Im such a fool for love.
Its
ok Bill, really. Just had a bad couple of days. Drank a lot and smoked
a lot. Ate just a little. Didnt sleep that much. Its such a cliché
Bill, dont you see that? God, I hate clichés. Let alone be part of
one.
What
should I do with this day, Bill? A man is standing on top of a mountain
and is asking himself: should I jump? In the end he doesnt. Maybe I
should eat something. My body is craving. Nothing but coffee and
cigarettes these days. And alcohol. Nothing a good drink cant fix, I
suppose.
I
am so tired of these useless things that I do. But I do like the
hunger. To know that I am stronger than my hunger. I like these drugs
that keep me thin. I dont have to use a knife again, or scissors or
that razor blade to feel myself anymore. You know like in: you bleed
just to feel youre alive. But I am past all that now. I mean, I dont
even use all those secret places anymore. You know, the ones no-one
ever sees, except if theyre your lover.
I
hope I can sleep tonight. I hope tomorrow never comes. And if it does,
I want the sun to shine and the birds to sing. I want the air hot and
full of promises, like summer. I want to drive my car, far away from
here. An endless road, I need to find. You held me today. For the very
fucking first time, you held me. And you held me close. Is this what it
takes, Bill? For me to be close to you, I need to be far away? I need
to distance you, push you away and feel bad about it?
If
theres one thing to remember, Bill, remember this: I do not look back,
ever. You know I walk a rocky path on the loom of the land. I walk it
once, and never back again.
Ive
been doing some thinking. I know, its not something a pretty girl like
me should be doing. But sometimes I just cant help myself, you should
know that by now. And Ive finally figured out what is that you want
from me. And it isnt much, is it?
You
just want me to wait for you. You just want to have me in your mind.
You just want to call me when youre feeling sad. You just want to call
me to tell me how well youre doing. You just want me to tell you that
youre good and clean and handsome. And you are all of those things.
Didnt
I tell you I would get you back on your feet, point you in the right
direction and off youd go? I will not even ask whats in it for me.
Ill just take whatever should be mine. Ive been having bad dreams
lately. I wake up with the strange feeling that the world is finally
coming to an end and then I just go to work or whatever it is that I do
to earn myself a living.
Look,
I know I probably shouldnt be saying all this stuff to you. Or write
them down so I could know what it is that I am feeling. I am sorry that
I scare you. I am sorry to be me. I am sorry that I can not take no for
answer. I am sorry for wanting to take care of you. I am so very sorry
for wanting you at all. But I am taking care of business
This
stuff must be boring the shit out of you, I am aware of that. But you
know that saying goodbye is not what I do best. Ill just shoot you in
the head instead .