Simple face, simple speech,
only ever asked for simple things when she was asked-
“What would you like to do?” To do.
“It’s up to you.”
She sneaks out of her house to see the silent skies not knowing the night she’d chosen to glorify uncertainty was the same night the Absolute would fall into her world.
She’s wearing the silk blouse she wore that day when the man behind the counter stuttered nervously in her presence. She can taste the cold. She can feel her nipples numbing beneath the Chelsea blue. The moon lets her have this night to herself and slips behind the church roof.
The air is fresh enough to feel it fall asleep on the back of her neck.
Tiptoeing on the below-the-hip brick wall, she makes her way to the end of the street.
She halts as she starts to feel herself hollowing, the weight of the unseen falling to the bottom of her stomach. It starts off with a heavy blur in her right ear. A dulling white appears before her right eye. Her head cranes in the same direction. The absurdities are not enough of a warning for her sudden fall to the ground. Winds rush to carry her coarse screams away so no one on the street can hear. This is a private affair. The screams keep coming for it is now her heart’s turn to shift to the right.
She lies on her stomach, breathless, biting on her gum, her left ear pressed against the ground, waiting for the heart to end its stir.
Through the dizzying pain she sees a figure standing on a street, on the right off of her own. She blinks once very carefully to let her eyes adjust to what can be seen. He wore a black woollen coat. The shoulders fit him perfectly; a sign that he may have searched for it. The wool between his shoulders glazes over the dip in his back and she is confused as to why this is her first point of attention. From the way he is standing she is assured that everything that touches him wants to be touched back. She confirms within herself that he did not search for it, it just fits him well.
“What would it be like to be made of wool?”
His head is tilted upwards ever so slightly, waiting- disciplining the elements to stop and quieten. In the church yard the oak tree apologetically stops its rustling. Street lamps subdue their saturated oranges. The moon remains hidden; with ardour and embarrassment it understands one should not be witnessing such an intimate affair. The only source of light to fall upon the figure is the colour blue; the colour that was once waiting to be discovered. Now, in this very moment, Blue shows itself, unveils and sinks into each available pore in all its deepest shades. There is a silence upon every sense. Fearful of breaking that silence, a wave of wind rushes in to catch his attention. It unloads the impatient screams of the girl lying on the street.
It was if he was waiting for this very moment; for his world to start blinking heavier. For his world to just about slip into deep sleep. And for it to then be awakened by the sound of need.
She sees him move. ‘He moves,’ she thinks. He turns his head to his left walks towards the figure on the ground. The Blue crawls into the lines beneath his eyes, making his expression hard for The Girl on The Floor to see. He keeps on walking. Blue crawls further, now into his eyes and in a jealous frenzy for attention freefalls onto his right cheek. She can hear his walk. He walks quicker until he hits a glassy new air outside of his atmosphere. He can hear breaths other than his own. He can hear her breathing.
He struggles to take in air. “Don’t sigh,” she says. A laugh splutters out of his mouth as he reassures her he’s not sighing.
“I can’t breathe.”
“Neither can I.” His legs buckle and his back bends backwards until it reaches the ground where she lies. His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched.
“This was always meant to happen, wasn’t it? This is what you were waiting for?”
“Yes. I was waiting for you.”
His stomach concaves as the first stage of the hollowing begins. As if preparing himself for this very moment, he reached out and held her hand knowing that it was his turn for his heart to fleet to the right. She moved closer to him. His hand did not feel like the hand of a stranger. His hand felt like it should have always been there. She did not question what was happening. He said he was waiting for her – and that was enough. With his eyes closed, he yells in pain and tightens his grip around her hand. She can hear his teeth grinding against each other. Still lying on her front, she moves closer to him until they touch. Her head is now resting near his shoulder. She counts the cold breaths coming from his mouth.
“It’ll be over soon.”
Both hearts have ended their move and are now still. Both hearts have been moved. They both lay on the ground, arms by their side, one hand in each other’s, in front of the church yard at the end of her street. The moon knows it can come out now, but it still lets them have their moment in private.