Step Aside

Where did the words disappear?

I’m sitting on my bed watching the blue sky through the window. The randomly shaped white clouds seem motionless. Sometimes when I look up, planes or seagulls are crossing the one meter wide glass. The tiny stains of dry raindrops become invisible then.

I see you in the shop with the light blue shopping basket in your hand. You are trying to choose some precooked meal from the counter. I’m following you pretending I want the same kind. The truth is that I’m not hungry anymore. After that, you are going to pick up some fresh juice. I’m not familiar with the set-up of the shop yet, so I’m trying to memorize the place for the juices. I’m leaving you behind. When I turn back, I see you at the cash register looking for your bonus card nervously. You received it from your grandmother and now you are afraid you have lost it.

I’m at the cash machine. You show up on your blue bike and stop behind me. You don’t know who I am, but I recognize you in a second. I’m turning to the machine to take out some money. I’m thinking to ask you about the bonus card. Could I take care of it when you leave the country? I keep quiet. I’m putting the money in my purse and I’m leaving you behind. I see your bonus card hanging on the keyring on your blue bike.

I see you running in the park. I cannot take my eyes off of your beautiful muscles. I’m sitting on the bench. The fact that in 15 minutes you gonna show up again calms me down. I’m leaning forward to pick up something blue from the ground. It looks like a bonus card. When I sit back on the bench, I only see your back. The same back someone had seen when you crossed the finish line of your first marathon.

I see you in your room lighting up a cigarette. You are watching people through the window. They are coming and going on your little square. You are watching them as if you were the director of this every day movie. You know all the directions they are heading to. You know all the stories behind the smallest gestures, you know all the characters. You kill the cigarette. You’re pulling down the sleeves of your sweater to hide those wrists. My hand is in my pocket holding the bonus card. I’m planning to forget it on your desk.


Comments

neszlar said…
"Kint a Szabadság-hegyen ismerkedtünk meg tíz éve, egy hétfői napon. Azért hétfőn, mert lehetőleg egyikünk sem akart kirándulókkal találkozni. Az ugrósánctól nem messze feküdtem egy tisztáson, közel ahhoz a sétányhoz, amelyik a Disznófő vendéglőhöz vezet le. Napoztam, és rumos teát ittam. Először nem nagyon figyeltem föl arra a tréningruhás fiatalemberre, aki elhúzott a fák között. Ha odanézek, már alkalmat is adok, gondoltam. Jó negyedóra múlva a férfi visszafelé futott, és meglátta kezemben a termoszt. Egy pillanatra megállt, majdnem úgy, mint egy szarvas: egyik lábát felhúzva tartotta kicsit, s a nyakát furcsán felnyújtotta. Aztán odasétált hozzám, udvariasan kért egy kortyot. „Csak ide a tenyerembe – mondta. – Nem inni, csak öblögetni.” Aztán megköszönte, s tovább futott. Mikor egy újabb negyedóra múlva még mindig ott talált a tisztáson, újra odajött, és akkor már leült szó nélkül." Mészöly Miklós: Az atléta halála
May 2, 2009 at 7:06 PM
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