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Rebirth
A thick line of swirling black crossed my eyes.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly drifting into focus.
Silently cutting straight through the middle of this horrible white...white...white evil that was smothering me. Hot and vile. Holding me in a world from which I could not move. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly the dark line expanded. Took shape to finally reveal it was the sill to a pair of narrow windows before me. Paint weather-beaten. Dried and bleached by the sun. Curled into little shreds. Creviced lines in the wood, gray and deep and dark, that used to be the grain. Bits had been shredded away by rain and wind. And the color was not consistent in tone, with some fresher-looking and the rest almost dirty. Maybe from someone’s careless pulling at the splinters. Maybe it was me did that. The possibility nudged my brain then softly wandered away. Not that it mattered. The wood was so lovely in its weaving grooves and patterns. Each line exquisitely positioned to add to its gracefulness.
The work of an artist at his peak.
The exquisite care taken in placing each line exactly right next to its brother.
The flow of it poured into my soul and brought tears to my eyes. A flow emphasized by a steady line of ants scurrying back and forth across a half-straight section to...to swirl over and dismantle what was left of...of...a half-eaten sandwich? It looked like it could be. Glimpses of it appeared under those swarming creatures and it was on a dish. With crisps. Greedy little buggers wanted those, as well.
They were set by the center post between those two windows. Looked like some sort of meat salad on light bread. Part of a crust lay next to it, neatly bitten into.
Had it been mine?
Possibly. There was a taste in my mouth that was rather fishy. And in my hand was a short bottle of Coke. Sweaty and half gone. Barely chilled. If it was me who sipped it, I didn’t remember but...
The tea and cakes I shared with Joanna were so gentle and tart and real, and she loved them as much as me and...and...
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God...
Eyes closed.
Eyes closed.
Deep breath.
Long and slow.
Long.
Slow.
Long...
Slow...
Until the moment passed.
Until I could open my eyes, again.
Look at the window sill, again.
See the black and gray was still there.
See the ants swirling and racing back and forth.
See the sandwich and crisps were now just a mass of the busy little beasts.
I coughed. And drew in a deep breath. And let my heart slow its racing. Let myself think of nothing things.
Like being seated on a chair. Old. Wooden. With arms. Dowels in the back that ran from the seat to a curved banner. I let the fingers of my right hand explore it. Smooth and polished. And creaking when I moved. But solid enough to be my anchor.
I needed it. Needed something to brace myself with.
The windows were narrow and near tall, and half of both were raised to let in a breeze. I looked though it and I...I almost felt as if I was floating above the ground until I saw...no, I noticed...no, realized...I was actually on the second floor of a house, looking down at a yard that was nothing like what you would find in Derry.
And which could have used some tending.
Half was covered in red bricks set into the earth, with grass forcing its way between them in ragged strands. A large rectangular swimming pool held the other half, more bricks and mortar encompassing it. Clumps of leaves and twigs had scattered about. At the far end was a large hutch built of similar bricks, with sliding glass doors under a narrow porch and a slanted roof made of tin.
This was curious. I'd never seen a hutch like that in Derry, before. Brick, yes. Roof, yes. But not with doors that were so large and fragile. Was this some of the new construction up Creggan? Pennyburn, maybe? Up the Strand Road? Except...there was nothing new about it. Thick strands of ivy twisted up its corners and along the top of that porch, also enmeshing a wire fence that ran from its back corner before mingling with deep green vines of thick, drooping, leaves and fragrant yellow and white flowers. The fence surrounded the yard, and those flowery vines wandered cross the earth to wind up a pair of trees that flanked the little house. Trees offering such a lovely deep cool shade. A bunched-up strip of colorful cloth was strung between one of them and a post of the porch. An old bicycle, rusted but repairable, was propped up against the other post...and it was all so quiet and dark and still, it felt almost like a hideaway. A place to make over like was done for Mairead and Tur and where you could live and not have to think ever again...ever...
No, Brendan, no, don't think, don't think, just look.
Look to the shed to your right, the other side one of the trees, standing unto itself. Large and well-kept and also under a tin roof. A second hutch?
This was growing more and more curious.
There were two large wide doors facing a well-tended gravel drive...so it must be a garage. Maybe. No, certainly, for an old Volvo was parked in front and...
And that bloody para snarling "Ye know cars," over his shifting column while fingering his gun and snarling, "Where'd you come from and tell us why's your mate hurt there and did you really work on a car an' weren't tossin' stones an'...and...?"
Deep breath.
Long and slow.
Long.
Slow...
I coughed...and almost chuckled.
Tossing stones?
Who didn't on this side of the Foyle and why were people always wanting to know that and pushing in on you and demanding of you and not happy with your answers no matter how true and taking from you...and taking and taking, without asking if you wanted to talk and not caring about your worries and hopes and dreams like those bloody ants that were taking the last of my meal without so much as a by-your-leave, just taking it, the bastard things, and...
I used that coke bottle to crush half of them in the line. Spilled some of it on them.
They scattered and scurried about, and I chuckled, deep and angry. Greedy little fucks. No care for anything but your own belly. I brushed more off the sill into the air. Sent the sandwich flying with them, still on its plate. Watched it float out of sight then heard it break as it hit the ground, far below, and I smiled, thinking, Take from that, you bastards, as...
Ma dug at me, screaming, "What's this? What's this?" waving fifty pounds before me as Da grabbed my hand and near crushed it to make me hand over the five pound note I got for my birthday and it was mine and...and...
I bolted up from the chair to catch my spinning mind and smacked my head against the ceiling. For a moment, I saw stars. Beautiful stars, gleaming and sparking...and wondered if I was flying...then dropped back in the chair and the stars slowly drifted away.
Brendan, Brendan, Brendan, the window is in an alcove cut into a wall and...and it slants forty-five degrees from the floor and...no, not the floor; two feet up from the floor. A gable window in a roof, and the ceiling keeps that angle halfway up then cuts across to the other side of the room, nice and flat and...and...
Oh, bugger.
I'm in an attic.
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