The opening for New World For Old...
Slowly....
Slowly....
Slowly drifting into focus.
Silent. Cutting through the middle of this horrible, horrible white, white evil that was smothering me. Surrounding me. Hot and vile. Wrapping me in a world from which I could not move.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly the dark line expanded.
Details emerged.
My focus sharpened.
Finally revealed to be the wooden sill to a pair of narrow windows. Both open. Neatly positioned before me. Light screens across them. The black line was paint. Weather-beaten. Dried. Bleached by the sun. Curled into little shreds. Creviced lines in the wood, gray and deep and dark. What used to be the grain. Bits picked away by wet and wind, making the color inconsistent in tone. Some fresher-looking; the rest dirty.
Maybe helped along by 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 interlocked patterns and the care taken in placing each line exactly right next to its brother, I felt as if I were viewing the work of an artist at his peak.
The flow of it poured into my soul. A flow emphasized by a steady line of ants scurrying back and forth along a half-straight section to swirl over what was left of...of...a half-eaten sandwich? What vaguely looked like some sort of meat salad on light bread? Part of a crust next to it, neatly bitten into.
Had it been mine?
Possibly. I noticed there was a taste in my mouth that was rather fishy. Salmon? Tuna? All I could say for certain was, it was not haddock.
I watched those swarming creatures continue their quick dismantling of it, making it live and breathe as they worked. It was on a dish. With crisps. Greedy little buggers wanted those, as well, dancing over and under and around them, making them move a bit as if a living creature trying to escape their casual destruction. I half supposed were my hearing sharper I could hear the screams of the crips as they were torn apart and...
Someone whispered a chuckle.
Was that me?
Must have been. No one else was about.
The plate was set by the center post between those two windows, and in my hand was a short bottle of Coke. Sweaty and half gone. Barely chilled. In my other hand, half a crust from a portion of that sandwich and...
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...the whiteness surrounded us and...
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
Lightning tore into my heart and I coughed and coughed.
Eyes closed.
Eyes closed!
Breathe.
Deep.
Long.
Slow.
Long...
Slow...
Long and slow.
Until the coughing ends.
The moment passes.
My heart slows its screaming.
Then I can open my eyes, again.
Then I can see the window sill, again.
See the black and gray is still there.
See the ants still swirl and race back and forth.
See the sandwich and crisps are now just a living breathing mass of the busy little beasts.
I coughed.
Drew in a deep breath.
Felt so weary.
Felt the need to keep still and let my heart continue to slow its sudden racing.
Let myself think of now.
Right now.
And 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. Polished. Creaking when I moved but solid enough to be my anchor. I needed it. Needed something to brace myself against.
The windows were narrow and tall, the lower panes raised halfway to let in a breeze. Looking outside and 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 French 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? Strand Road?
Except...
There was nothing new about it. Thick strands of ivy twisted up its corners and across the top of that porch, and also enmeshed 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. Those vines also wandered up one of two trees that flanked the little house. Trees that offered 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 Schwinn bicycle, rusted, was propped up against the other...and...
Tommy rode up on a Schwinn, Shane on his Huffy and Danny greeted them and they threw stones at the Paras off William Street and the bastards started shooting and...and...
Cough.
Deep breaths.
Let my heart stop its racing.
Let the quiet and dark and stillness of that corner whisper through me. Let it settle me and bring peace and easiness. Keep me away from thinking.
From feeling...
Feeling what? All I knew for certain was this terrifying numbness behind my heart. And that I had to lean against the frame of the window to hold myself up.
Down below, that building was quiet, dark and still. Almost like a hideaway. Like the hutch Danny and I made over for Tur and Mairead, where you could live apart from the madness and never have to think ever again...ever...
No, Brendan, no, don't allow the memories in.
Don't think, don't think, just look.
To let memories in would only jolt and shatter you into fear or grief in the space of a second before they withdrew to their corners. To wait for the next time it was called forth to wreak havoc and damage. Each time leaving you torn to bits and lost in weariness.
Fight them.
Fight them.
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