Sometimes, I wish I was at a wedding. A nice quiet French wedding where I know neither the bride nor the groom. And I will be in my purple dress with slight frills around the hem. It's late in the evening and the crowd is drifting away. The music is slow, for the bride and groom to dance to. The untouched champagne glass beside me has stopped fizzing. And I am sitting by myself at a corner table, with my feet resting on a chair opposite and my legs crossed over at the ankle. And I am making bubbles from a bubble bottle I took out from my little clutch bag. The one which matches my dress, of course.
The bubbles are tiny and they turn different colors under the dim lights. Then they burst. Disappear. Leaving me alone. There are distant french murmurs surrounding me. And I can relax my head on the high backed chair and stare at the ceiling. Just concentrate on the dim disco lights that are making me feel slightly dizzy. And if someone passes by and tries to talk, I can shrug my shoulders and tell them in my broken french that I don't understand them. At all. Because that's the truth. And that's why I am here. And when they play Sous le ciel Paris, I will sing along softly. Because that's the only french song I like.
The window is open, just a crack. And strains of conversation is making its way through. Wind can never keep a secret. It's not in its nature to. So don't be offended. Because it's not you, it's me. It's always me. I am wearing my peach ballerinas and drinking straight from my bottle of orange juice. It was a nice day. Spent in my own company. I had forgotten how easily I am able to amuse myself. In fact, I had completely forgotten myself these past few days. But then I handed in both my assessments today and I am back to breathing normally. Library books, post-its, and lots of loose sheets are cluttered over my work space, a fluttering reminder of the past week. The one that whizzed past me.
My window looks out to a school playground. It's beautiful. And the conversation continues. Louder, more intense, a little spooky. Two people, late at night, meeting up behind the school grounds. This is how I always imagined murderers to meet up. Under the hood of darkness. Having lost their consciences on their way to the old school. Trespassing. It makes me curious sometimes. The conversations which lead to a loss of life. This is my cue to shudder but I don't. I have no clue what they are saying. And I am not one to eavesdrop. I have a t-shirt which declares ignorance to be bliss. I have never worn it. I also have a t-shirt with an owl on it which shouts out, "I am a hoot". I am wearing it right now.
3:14 AM. I need to get my life back. The one that has spread itself thin all over your absence. I want to sing along to French songs and blow bubbles into the melancholic air. I wish it would rain. Rain takes away the pain. It seeps through unexpectedly, uninvited, without apologies. And it takes away the melancholy, replacing it with beautifully strange, damp beauty. I want it to rain. All over my life, cleanse away the bits you left behind. The ones that are like shards cutting through the soft skin.
Have you ever wondered how you might react to getting shot? To have a bullet travel through you. To be gunned down. Hear the blasts piercing through the silent night. It makes me think of myself in third person. Falling to the ground in slow motion, clutching my stomach, screaming in pain. Or would I be silent about it? The one who just falls flat without any noise. Blood oozing out and trickling over the sidewalk. Dark. Dark red. Staining the walkway. Gasping for breath. Coughing. Heaving. Dying.
I need to wake up early tomorrow. It's London for the weekend. With old friends, new faces. And Zach Braff. I will be watching him on stage. All New People. A dark humored comedy. This is probably why I am not able to sleep. Or it could be New Girl. I started watching it a few hours back and I am already eleven episodes down. Zooey Deschanel is wonderful that way. With her big beautiful big eyes and quirky sense of style.
But now there is silence all over. I wish it wasn't this cold. The conversation has stopped. The plan made. And steps retraced. Cigarette butts stamped witless. Evidence left behind. And a witness. Time to get into bed. Leave it all behind. Fresh start. A new path. Leading away from you.
