Sunday 1 April 2018

Damien, who brings freedom.


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.