Roses and lilies and buttercups, flowers of love, flowers of –
He was thinking too much. Again. He was making everything into a metaphor, everything into something beautiful, an illusion. He partly knew and yet he didn’t at the same time; his head had become full of fog and he, the weary traveller, unable to find his way outside of the maze.
It had gotten worse after the death of his wife, Jill. He was familiar with loss, grief, pain, and so he expected that like the other times, gradually, the pain would simply fade away and become more bearable. In reality, something about her death made time stop and the windows shut. Yes, the windows seemed to shut on his life entirely and the days seemed to lengthen as if there was a sort of evil puppeteer controlling the clocks who had decided he wanted the world to move painfully slowly just for the fun of it. The pain never really got dealt with, it just lingered, and since there was no one to talk to, he began to talk to himself.
Now, on the surface, this may seem slightly sad, but he didn’t see it that way. “I’m my own best friend,” he thought, and this gave him a sense of comfort at least temporarily. So it began: every day he would walk out to the nearby park which stood near a large block of flats and a bakery which was often devoid of customers. He would sit there, watching the world go by and wondering where it was all the people walking were going. “They could be going anywhere,” he thought, “..anywhere at all, to the moon maybe!” These thoughts began to translate into speech though, and after a while, they were no longer silent, but spoken aloud so that all the passersby could hear.
“Jill I don’t think we should buy a new kettle. We’ve got one already! Yes, yes… I know it’s nice, but so is the one at home! Pfft.. Well I say, you’ve always had a thing for spending money..” he murmured to himself on the bench. He was sure Jill was being silly, really, what was she thinking? Their kettle was fine! Perfectly fine! What was the need for another? Yet here she was complaining, complaining, her silly ways. Yet he loved her for it anyway, he always had, always would.
He looked out at the block of flats. “Well if you really think so, perhaps we should buy a new one. They’re much more expensive from that shop though, a bloody rip-off if you ask me. But oh well, if it makes you happy. Anyway, shall we head home yet?” and he turned to his right, waiting for her response.
For a moment, he became confused. He had asked her a question, and she wasn’t replying anymore.
“Jill? What do you think? Should we head home now?”
No reply.
“Well if you aren’t going to say anything, I’ll go myself!” He became annoyed. There was no need for her to be so rude, all he had done was comment on the price of the kettles. After all, the ones Jill had been eyeing up from the antique shop were a rip-off and yet he would buy her one nonetheless.
A woman with a pram crossed by him, making her way down the road with a bag full of shopping. He stared at her as if wondering if she knew why Jill hadn’t responded to him, as if she was about to offer up some answer for him, despite her being a stranger.
It was a strange feeling really; he couldn’t feel Jill there any longer. Yet she was there, she was! He’d only just been talking to her! Yes, she’s just tired, just taking a moment to think, he thought, she’s had an awfully long day. He waited a while longer, waiting for her to come back to him, but she had vanished. He couldn’t feel
her now, couldn’t reach her, couldn’t sense her there. So that was it then: she’d disappeared for the day, and the world became stagnant. He didn’t want to get up, as if his legs had grown heavy and the way back home remained uncertain.
Nevertheless, he got to his feet after about five minutes and rubbed his hands together in the cold. He began to stroll down the road, making his way home when he suddenly turned the other way; excited, renewed.
There she was at last!
“Ah, there you are! Right, let’s walk home then. Oh, you went to the bakery? You could’ve told me, it was freezing out here… Alright, do you need anything else from the shop then? I thought we could have that stew tonight,” he continued as he walked down the street, in deep conversation.
Yet for that, no one was listening. The space next to him was empty, empty as it always had been.
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