An Episode

There are so many reasons for me to drink, to smoke, to do drugs, to abandon this whole thing called ‘life’. But…does it help? Why do I give bad friends something worthless? So, just keep it to myself. Maybe it can still be useful tomorrow. Those are the signs which made me realise that she is here, in my house, again.

It always takes a while before our voices are separated. The only way to do that is to be quiet, be aware and listen carefully for her voice to get louder and clearer.

This is the first time her look appeared clearly in front of my eyes. The other times, it would be already so annoying for me to turn around and deal with her. So, we ended up screaming, not listening, and I didn’t really take a good look at her. But this time, let’s make a difference.

Let’s make some tea, maybe turn on a movie. – I said to myself

The whole scene is painted with a gloomy blue, the colour similar to the shade of Apatite stone. The weather is cold, and it’s raining outside. She is wearing a quite oversized red winter jacket, over a bright sweater. She is dragging and spreading all the mud on the wooden floor by walking back and forth in her boots, yapping all her thoughts like we were already in the middle of a conversation. Weirdly, she’s not wearing anything on her head. Her hair got all wet and untied. It’s falling forward and nearly covers all her face. Water is dripping from her hair, soaking into her jacket, and some is falling down to the floor. Thanks for her storming in and forgetting to close the door; everything is moist now. My socks are wet inside my shoes.

I’m pouring hot water into the cups and put one on the table for her. Leaning on the kitchen bar, looking at her and pretending that I’m listening. It’s better to have her think that I’m paying some attention to her stories, keeping this distance between us, than fighting with her.

Those are the same stories every time she visits. However, each time, they are told in different ways, using different words. The emotions remain the same, as well as the crying. I wonder if she ever wanted to tell a different story, a happy, fun one, maybe.

What would be the perfect background music for her in this moment? Erik Satie Gnossiennes 1 or 6 Epigraphes antiques for Flute, Cello and Harp, no.V.

Now, while looking at her, I realised that I never had any questions about her, her origins, or her backstory. How insensitive I was to her all this time. She must feel safe in my place to pour out all her thoughts. I pulled out a chair in case she wants to sit down. And I’m sitting down on the chair next to it, opening my laptop. I’m going to do my tasks and maintain half of my attention to her.

Maybe this is who she needed me to be to her. A quiet listener, a space giver. A safe place where she can go to whenever she feels like the world is going against her.