Molly woke early with her mouth all stuck together and a knot of vomit in her throat. Danah was not around, so she got up and tried to drink some coffee. Her brain felt foggy and there was a general sense of discomfort and ...anticipation in a way. How strange! she thought.
She remembered the young man she kissed yesterday, how he had
appeared to enjoy the kiss with his eyes closed. And it made her feel good
knowing that he enjoyed it so much. She also remembered how she had felt his
erection on her thigh and tried to chase away the feeling, the memory like one
would chase an insidious fly away from the jam dougnat. It was ridiculous, no,
no, no, no....
What is happening to me? What did I do? Who are these people?
Who is this man? She remembered that she asked him to show her his
identification and vaguely remembered that he was 33 years old. Nine years
younger than her. Aris something, what was it... He saved his number as
"Aris, my friend" Molly realised that the nauseous feeling was rising
within her belly. She cried a little, then laughed, wanted to vomit but
couldn't...
Danah returned to the apartment later that morning, after a
night of partying. They decided to go to the seaside. The waves were broad and
slow, lazily embracing the shore. Danah and Molly lay on their backs on the
beach. Molly was struggling to suppress the nausea she had felt since the
morning. They did not discuss the night before. Instead, they were focused on
planning to meet with some acquaintances later that evening for a dinner, and
entertained the possibility of going out dancing after that.
Molly was happy their trip was coming to an end. They were
heading back home across the ocean in three days time and then she could forget
all about it. Or could she? There again that sense of anticipation, a tiny itch
or something that was nagging her, mixed feeling of dread and desire.
She remembered, once again,the enchanted expression on Aris'
face during the kiss. She was enticed by his reaction to her. She felt desired.
She felt attractive. That evening she felt a new wave of energy coming from
her, a different vibe. She was enjoying this feeling. It had been so long since
she felt like this.
xxx
Danah and Molly returned from their trip, which ended
uneventfully. Molly embraced Leon and felt the familial, comforting smell of
his skin. She was home. Why did it not feel that safe anymore?
What happened to us, she was thinking? Where did it all go
wrong? And the image of a tiny cemetery appeared in her mind, a little
pregnancy bola, hanging on the little tree above the sign. Everything
was little there, so delicate, as if it could be destroyed by a gust of wind.
She could barely fathom a whisper, afraid that it could all collapse. She had
become accustomed to the peace in that location, embedded in a silence that
spoke louder than words, silence that echoed around the void in her, a void
that remained after it appeared there was nothing left to hope for anymore. And
she would whisper stories and mumble a song, a lullaby, but was it even needed when
she was asleep anyway? Would there be a song to bring her back to life? Maybe
she has become a star, Molly thought, changing this story into one she would tell
little children, pleasantly comfortable. She is definitely an angel. She was
spending too much time here and too little at her home.
For Leon, her husband, the loss was a misfortune that
happens. For her, it was as if someone had taken a piece of her. She felt
mutilated, hopeless, depressed, guilty, shamed. What if she could do something?
If she was younger, it would not have happened. Have they explored all their
options before giving up? Saying no to a life, no matter what disability it may
have been associated with. She remembered how it would yell from her womb:
"nooooooo". Yet she let go. She remembered increasing nausea and then
the life inside her was gone. But when she delivered the tiny baby, it looked
perfect, it was so so beautiful. So peaceful, as if sleeping. And when they
took it away, a large piece of Molly went along too.
Leon could not understand her turmoil and they were growing
apart. She started to numb herself with work, alcohol, whatever was taking her
attention from it. But then that tiny graveyard would call out to her and
whisper: "I am here" and silence would reflect back: Here, Here,
Here, Here, Here, and no amount of work or alcohol could silence it. The
"here" was written across Molly' chest and beneath this
"here" was a dark and moist soil, silent and heavy, pressing insistently,
so much so that it made Molly wonder who was buried and where? Being buried became a non-physical timeless
possibility, something she carried around like a handbag...except it was within
her. A sweet and sour decomposing smell of her own flesh would wake her up in
the night. She would sit in her bed covered with sweat and tears and she still
she could find no redemption. She was that foul barren soil, lifeless; a desert
in which nothing grows, only death resides. And a terror was piling up and
filling every cell of her body, as she realised that she could go on like this
for many years before she could finally rest. Carrying around a putrid dead
heart. Aimless, hopeless, purposeless. Silent. Macabre. Death. "I am
here" it whispered. Yet it was the loudest sound Molly could hear. It was
the only sound she could hear.
And so, in her vision, she stood in front of the door and
grabbed the handle. A heavy door started to open with a mighty creak.
"Hello" she wrote.
"Hello" Aris answered back, as if waiting.
"I am here"
~ to be continued~
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