Thu, 19 May 2005

john, afterwards
She sits in the kitchen and rehearses the tragedy. She refuses to be taken by suprise when the phone call comes, when the word that John is no longer alive reaches her from some shaky-voices relative of his she should remember by name, but wouldn’t, were it not for the fact that she has rehearsed this event, memorized the names of all the people who watch over him at the hospital, waiting. She has already developed rationalizations for her not being there, work is so crazy right now and you have to keep living your live for as long as you can, you know, John would understand, he was always so good at that. She will attend the funeral, which she originally thought she wouldn’t be able to handle without the sort of histrionics everyone expects of her, but it’s been two months of practice and she keeps getting better. She will not drink; this she knows for certain, as whatever control she has will be lost to her then, and once she makes that first mistake she knows it will all fall out from under her, and she will never stop falling. She knows she will not speak at the funeral, but has practiced small talk with the family, with all the friends who came out of the woodwork to gnaw at the collective sympathy, and they will talk of how hard it was for them, as this is the only way they can come to know anything. She will cry, of course, and her hands will shake like an old woman’s, but that is all. There will be no wailing, no falling at her feet, and she practices mourning in her new heels to be certain of this. She will watch the crowd, and find the most sactimonious, false friend and will tear him down in private conversations, and this is how she will bond with John’s sisters, as the temporary amnesia of suffereing will allow her a chance to change history, to make someone else the judas goat. She will take up smoking again, and will stand outside on the porch in the rain with them, and it will be as though she is one of them, staring through the window into the kitchen where the goat takes another beer from the fridge. No one will ever ask her what she is thinking about ever again, and the relief that brings is extraordinary. She remembers that her silence is no longer an implication of guilt, but a wall behind which those who do not know cannot follow, and which those who do know have no need to see behind. She will get back the ring she gave him, which was too small, which he wore on a chain, and she will place it back on the finger from which it came, and one full cycle will be completed. She takes off the ring which John gave her, all those years ago, and rolls it back and forth between her index finger and thumb, staring at the light caught inside the band, hiding the inscription, and is so startled to hear the phone ring that she drops the ring, and it bounces away, and she holds the phone to her ear, flustered, and hears the words, and falls to the floor, and begins to scream.
(12:24.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #