The day is exactly what I expected- a disappointingly dull mild weather to go along with the absolute mundane tasks and meetings ahead of me. Wake up, wash, dress, make tea, cook breakfast for the whole lot and prep my little man for school.
It's all done, I know it by heart, I can do it in my sleep and nothing will go wrong, every step is now encoded in the memory of my muscles and my brain is free to roam. It can go out in the streets and dance, it can sink deep into the mud of why the hell do I even ...
Away with the thinking...
***
The boots were walking her. They took over the minute she stepped out the house, in a collaboration with the complete predictability of the day, they neutralized her brain and she drifted like debris in the ocean of the tonwscape. She walked down the sullen street, each brick down the yellow road home dignified and entitled, stomped under her feet right in the face and still so arrogant. A pavement of historical events and symbolic national insignificance- it's nowhere that it shines brighter. She kicked a pebble to the side and traced it with her clouded eyes only to see it land in the feet of a skinny tiny boy with jet black hair. He picked it up and dashed to the temple memorial like he was racing for gold and lunged at the cellar window. You'd think the bars were solid, but they weren't, the rascal knew they were unhinged on the bottom right, pulled them apart from the window and slid right through the tiny crease he created. She couldn't believe her eyes! How does even a small child crush itself through what appeared a mere slit? Every woman has a bit of cat inside, she is desperately curios to know beyond her instinct for well-being, so as her own nature dictated she leaned forward to examine this mystery and drew near to the temple memorial. What an interesting sight indeed- two bright eyes glimmered indecisively from the vague darkness of the cellar window. She squat down and observed silently, listening in on the breathing patterns- those of a caught animal, and remained as still as a true cat can. The eyes disappeared, but she remained there waiting with no consideration of time passing by. If you are going to tame something, the best weapon to take is patience. The ache in her knees was becoming unbearable, she stood up and they cracked like broken hopes in a classroom. Then three tiny steps echoed audibly in the cellar with the sweet pitch only children's feet can have, and the bright eyes resurfaced at the very edge of the window. She squat back down and extended her arm leaning forward with a very concrete question shining in her irises. The two glimmers disappeared taking their peculiar colour back into the darkness, but once more she remained still with trained precision. Time passed by waving its hands to attract attention. "Look at me! I'm important!" and it waved for days, it waved through rain and fog and screamed at the top of its never-ending lungs of its own tremendous importance. She made no move whatsoever. The sun rose and set back down weaving rays in her hair for a warm welcome and a sweet farewell, and she kept her position- arm extended, open hand. Time didn't matter. Time gave up.
And the boy emerged, no, the colour was not blue, it was better, the two glimmers grew as they approached the light. The bars cracked with a screeching pitch and through the crease a fragile hand with long thin fingers placed itself in hers. Gently, she pulled him out of the darkness and helped him up. It took them a second to penetrate each other completely, hand in hand. Her arms drew him closer and locked around him in what can only be described as infinite acceptance. Against her back, just above the right of her waist, she felt the pressure of a pebble of familiar shape. He let out a sigh so deep and distressed, a sigh to detail all the "I've been waiting for you so long" and "don't leave me" he would never speak of. His hair was usually coarse. Not this time, he was all soft- through all 12 layers of his clothes, skins, masks, emotions and consciousness and desires. Single grey and white hairs had emerged through the thickness of black and dully notified - you're looking at a man nonetheless. And the boy shivered once more as she clinched to this man, this piece of granite promising to never fall apart, because she knew exactly how granite fell apart and how heartbreaking it was.
***
And in the stillness of the morning hour alone, he stood barely upright, down on one knee with his dozen of grey hairs spread across his head, holding a tiny child of bright eyes, weeping. As the child remained still, the room grew even quieter. The tiny fingers of the right hand tore away from the comforting grasp and weaved into the man's hair - it felt soft, like his skin, like his gaze and the granite melted. Melted away with every breath and every teardrop, and I observed them as this tiny boy pet him in the still morning of my mind. Alone, a huge white tea mug in hand, I embraced myself for the first time in ages.
