“How are you,” she asked and that was enough to fuck me up. Not because I was sad or bad or even mad but because it was her who asked how I was. She shattered all the pieces I had glued. They all stuck to each other I had thought and I was back to who I was, but had I ever known who I was. I mean the one who was free from wounds, scars and Pain. Who was I going to be without them, I wondered. Without my wounds, scars, tears and cries who was I , what was I, I asked. How empty I looked to myself while trying to empty myself. What did I want for God’s sake, I asked my hungry-self. Experience but no wound…knowledge but no responsibility or headache…wisdom but no fucking pain or heartache…best of all I wanted power to murder all my weaknesses…but what kind of power would ever bring my pieces back and make me unbreakable, I wondered.
“I am fine, how about you,” I asked.
“I am okay, thanks,” she replied. I did not see her to know how sincere she was. “She is not really okay,” whispered my heart but I was not brave enough to ask whether she was or not. But I knew she was not somehow. And I knew she was not brave enough to say more, to ask more, to talk more…so she hushed up her heart and let it bleed like I did and we both listened to the sound of our pain for a while, thousands of miles away from each other.
“I dreamed of you last night,” said she unexpectedly. It was courageous of her to say that. And I did not know what to say.
“I moved to another place, that must be the reason why,” I said , not daring to hear her dream.
“Where did you move to,” she asked, drifting away from what she had initially wanted to communicate knowingly or unknowingly, willingly or unwillingly…it was not that clear to me.
“I moved somewhere near the sea,” said I, pain of her accident in the darkest part of my heart.
“I wish you happiness in your new house,” said she, knowing perfectly well that happiness had got little to do with the house sometimes even none.
“Thank you…come and watch the sunset with me on the balcony one day,” said I. I listened to the silence, it was loud, it was wet, it was long… and it was resentful…
“It is still hard for me to walk, especially when the roads are not so good,” said she.
“The roads are not so bad here,” I said but she knew that they were. She knew that she was worth nothing before the accident like everyone else and now she was worth less than nothing as she was disabled. Nothing must be something if there was something less than nothing, I thought in that brief moment. Yes, moments can be incredibly brief and unbearably long sometimes.
“Do you remember how we had everything once…youth, health, determination, time, strength, yet… yet we did not appreciate them…maybe we did not know how to… or maybe we were too young and arrogant to do so…yes we wanted to be loved without being able to give love…we wanted money….we wanted to succeed something big…become someone bigger than anyone on the face of earth…yet we were put in invisible little prisons separate from one another…unable to hear…unable to see…unable to understand one another…yet we were told how free we were in those invisible little prisons…and that was the reason why we were unable to love…no matter what we had did not seem to be enough…and we were never good enough to our imprisoners…and how we hated each other…and how we hated ourselves, do you remember now,” I asked without uttering a word the best of which was surely going to hurt.
“I still panic when I cross the road,” she then said.
“Yes, that is because you had the accident while crossing the road, that will stop,” I said but I knew it was not that easy. We, humans, had hearts which had nothing to do with reason. Reason could explain why we had pain, how it occurred but it would never care how it hurt. It could cure it with some medicines, it could even numb where it hurt but it would never care what every pain left behind. Reason was dry, so was I. And I knew she did not like my reply. She did not know how upset and how angry I was.
“Is your father still alive,” I asked.
“He was, I heard,” said she. That was when we felt hell of anger and resentment but no word. That was when we felt the sharpest knife of our lives stabbed in our hearts but had nothing apart from watching how we were losing blood.
“It is okay,” said she, remembering the day she had had the accident and how her father pushed her in front of a bus which crashed her to the pieces. I knew it was not okay, she knew that, too.
“There is nothing we can do, just forget all about it,” said she. She said that despite her broken leg. I knew that she did remember him every time she took another step. She sounded like she had learnt how to appreciate what she had, including her bad and a little mad dad.
“He is not bad, he is just an angry dad who has never been hugged or loved and whose anger was the way he begged for help to get out of his loveless hell,” our hearts whispered to each other. And we stopped texting to each other. I sent her a picture of the sea I saw from my balcony.
“Come and enjoy the sea one day…at least we can have one nice sisterly memory to remember…it might make us forget the bad ones maybe,” I texted while the sun was leaving with a hope of another tomorrow.
She did not reply.
Tagged: accident, blood, disabled, father, hell, love, mad, sea, sister
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