I looked in the mirror, even though it was useless and only
made me more sad. Will he even recognize me? Like me like this? It’s been
almost 30 years. My thin waist was now framed by thick folds of the only
substance that still allowed for public shaming in the Western culture. My face
was entirely Botox-free and wrinkle-full. My clothes were what was left over
from better years, when Tony was still alive and spoiled me all he could. I
re-folded the napkins, wiped the dust that wasn’t - yet again, and made sure
the wine was chilling in the right position. At an impulse, I ran into the
bedroom and ripped my dark-blue skirt right off, turning it inside out in my
crazy rush, tripping up on it and stepping on it all over. It landed onto the
bed belly up, like a gutted frog. Black would go much better, of course, how
did I not think… My hands were shaking. Now a black stone on my neck to match…the
darned clasp. Oh, but he remembers me as a young and carefree hippie, with hair
loose… he won’t know me in this proper lady. Who is this lady in the mirror?
Oh, but the song is about a doggie. Help, I’ve lost my mind, as if I was
sixteen again. Too much excitement… Maybe I should pick up my hair in a clip?
No, that would draw attention to my double chin. How lovely of Dave to find the
time…
A loud crash in the kitchen made me jump. My first thought
was “Thomas!”, but then I remembered that cat was run over by a neighbour some
four years ago. I don’t even know whom I missed more, my husband or the grey
furry weight of him on my back when falling asleep. I ran towards the sound, the
slow run of a middle-aged overweighed matron, heart thumping, and there he was
- Thomas. Sitting on a chair I prepared for Dave, and looking at me with this
totally human expression. For the first time in my life, I understood what “scared
to death” meant. My breath left my body, and I grabbed the door to keep myself
steady. The window was open, he must’ve come in through there. A lookalike? No
way. This was Thomas, down to the shape of the white heart on his chest and the
soft tuft at the end of his tail. Thomas.
- - Won’t you even offer me
some tea, Leah?
I stared at him, and my knees started bumping on each other
in a funny way - bump-bump-bump. All my folds were shaking, a mini-earthquake. A
Leah-quake. My mouth went dry. Where’s the phone, I must call myself an
ambulance. Maybe I had meningitis. My friend told me she saw things when she
had it. Either that, or I’ve gone schizophrenic in my old age.
The cat’s voice was vaguely familiar, as if I’ve heard it
before.
- - Dammit, those humans are
such scaredy-cats. Every time the same thing…- grumbling like that, Thomas
lifted the kettle with his front paws and poured himself a cuppa. I felt the
floor touching my bottom, the walls going somewhere up and away.
-
And now she’ll faint, and I’ll
have to get water… arhgg. Get up, woman! - the cat was shaking me. He seemed to
pour off the chair, in one swift move, like a wave of black and silver. He gave
me one last push, then jumped back up, again much like a wave, and sipped his
tea in silence.
Grabbing the furniture, I slowly lifted myself up. If he
could shake me, he was real. Or was he? Maybe I imagined that, too.
- - Who… who are you? - oh my
God, I am talking to a cat. And the cat talked back.
- - Your guardian angel, of
course. Don’t you recognize me? - Thomas pretended to lift up a hat with his
paw. - I used to look a bit different, I admit, and you people never see
through this - he patted his chest. But it’s me all right. And we’ve got to
talk, Leah.
I thought back to my childhood. The golden shadow that
sometimes sat behind me in the car, and some other times it cuddled up with me
when I cried in my cot. It healed my bruises, and once it tripped up a boy that
wanted to hit me. That was in kindergarten… so many years ago. It was soft and
glittery, and I loved it. When did it go? I didn’t even notice… What else? I’ve
forgotten all about it. I never told anyone, of course, all I needed was a psychiatrist
to diagnose me with God knows what.
- - Correct, it’s me. Damien.
That’s what you named me then.
- - Do all children get… those?
- I mumbled.
- - Of course they do, - the
cat seemed to be smiling.
- - So… what did you want to
talk about? - my heart was still racing, but a bit less now.
- - This is not what we agreed
on, Leah. This is not the life you wanted… You tell me why I’m here. Go on,
now.
I looked down at the marble kitchen table. The lines of it
assumed shapes… I was watching a film about another Leah. A powerful witch of a
woman, not a junk-grazing TV addict. She was me… yet, she wasn’t. She had an
engine in her behind, or at least that’s what everybody said behind her back.
Doing so much, she seemed to be present in more places than one at the same
time. Her life had more than 24 hours in a day… she was so brave. Such a giver,
such a kind soul, dancing through life. She was fun to be around, and she made
everybody laugh. I think there was a motorbike and a pair of shiny black Dr.
Martin’s. Dreads and a guitar, bitter tonic and an enchanted song, flying over
the forest. And she wasn’t fat. She was age-less and beautiful, a wild untamed
beauty, arching back and powerful arms, tight behind and legs used to running. She
was… will she ever be? It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and held back. Held
back, biting the back of my hand at night to choke down my tears. Pinched my
belly every time I spaced out, called by the invisible… How much could a person
betray themselves, really? More than anyone else could betray them, that for
sure. It’s my life, it’s now or never…
I woke up to a sound of a door closing. “Dave?” - so much
for my date. He must’ve seen me passed out on the floor, and he just ran. The
floor was digging into my shoulder blades, and it was colder than I remembered. For the second time that day, I pulled myself up. A thin trail of
blood was running from my cheek to my chest, and then onto the floor. I felt
the graze, and to my utter horror realized there was a pair of manicure
scissors lodged in the back of my head. I dropped them before, and didn’t
bother picking them up. But to fall onto them? The curved end went into my
scalp and got stuck. I gave a tug, and the thing came out, spraying droplets of
blood everywhere. Strangely, I felt no pain. Dave must’ve thought I had been
murdered… a trail of blood running from my head onto the floor… poor man.
Coward.
“To freedom”, - the words formed in my mind. Damien, a
golden shadow again, was wrapped around my shoulders. I wondered if it was fun for him to turn into a cat for a bit, to make me remember and see him again.
The backpack I had been hiding from Tony was exactly where I
had left it, in the bottom drawer, where his back didn’t allow him to get into,
and it still smelled of lavender oil that I sprinkled on it last time I took it
out. The night smelled of damp and fog, the metal- taste of exhaust fumes, and of
all the future I could encompass. Sirens wailed in the distance, as I walked
away from my door, leaving it open. They will find nothing but shadows in here.
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