Friday, March 18, 2005
Moving on
His guard fell. Perhaps it was hypoglycaemia. Or perhaps it was insomnia-induced fatigue. Perhaps it was was hypothermia. Or maybe it was because he was assisting in theatre - one's mind does strange subconscious things to keep you awake sometimes.
Or maybe he was just slow...
But it hit him then as, holding on to his retractor, he remembered them - both, in full-colour detail. Exactly as they had been in life - grey. Pre-grey. Sobre. Drunk. Gentle. Cranky. And the permanence and enormity of it all struck him at last.
For an instant, perhaps just an instant before the cynic took over, he felt a welling breathlessness rise within his throat. And vision went very slightly hazy.
And then a voice told him Brace yourself. This is not the time, or place.
So he did.
Much later, he considered calling a friend who somehow, through the days started - quite unintentionally - becoming a port of call. But then he thought it best not to intrude. Too many problems of her own already, that one.
Let this be the end of the matter.
Or maybe he was just slow...
But it hit him then as, holding on to his retractor, he remembered them - both, in full-colour detail. Exactly as they had been in life - grey. Pre-grey. Sobre. Drunk. Gentle. Cranky. And the permanence and enormity of it all struck him at last.
For an instant, perhaps just an instant before the cynic took over, he felt a welling breathlessness rise within his throat. And vision went very slightly hazy.
And then a voice told him Brace yourself. This is not the time, or place.
So he did.
Much later, he considered calling a friend who somehow, through the days started - quite unintentionally - becoming a port of call. But then he thought it best not to intrude. Too many problems of her own already, that one.
Let this be the end of the matter.
