The Empty Phial

The Empty Phial

They woke up side by side it had to be raining this was their fate. The room was too hot with a smothering air and a suffocating silence. Thoughts were hidden from each other and no words were spoken for several minutes. The awkward shuffling, feather dry coughing and ceiling staring, stole a few minutes from the clock. Both minds wandered with a heavy sadness of an impending burial as each leaden thought took a virtual tour of the house slowly scanning each room and its contents. Every image paused to remind them of what it used to mean, catching the odd cd or book which triggered another journey and always arrived at a fork in the soul ‘good times’ and ‘bad signs’

Even with eyes closed the pain followed the path they chose. Every image seemed turbulent and restless as they tried to escape each others haunting grasp but not before slashing across the exposed hurt with finger hooks tearing ferociously at their frayed conscience. The harder they fought the more damage it caused. Both expected blood to be soon escaping from the frenzy of torture, bursting through dams pouring out from their eyes and ears. How can they feel it now after so many dormant years?

How do you stop this agony, when you’re war torn and shell-shocked without bombs and bullets? You have no defence no shield and no escape. Something you can’t describe to anyone but yourself can make you cry, scream, change your day, kick your legs from under you and follow you every second of your life. It has to stop it really has to stop.

He could see himself standing on his own horizon with a deep cavernous emptiness in front of him and a figure vanishing into the morning behind him. ‘Tightrope walking is not a good place to be when your mind is on the floor’ he interrupted himself. He felt like he was trying to stop a volcano erupting by throwing his body on top of it.

She was stronger than he was though neither gave anything away. They could no longer find each other in daylight under the same roof. Both miss the noise of those early days, yes they were cliché sodden and deliciously juvenile but such innocence, abandonment and freedom! The memories seem smaller now but the almost unbearable desire to meet, the reluctance to leave, the marathon phone calls and the indifference to the bills crushed the thorny inconveniences. Those spark filled early days meant it was rush hour every hour, frenetic exciting and the certainty that you must have accidentally been given other people’s luck.

She rose out of bed first sighed and turned her back towards him and slipped on a long t shirt. He caught a glance of her back and remembered how he used to stroke her skin and pretend to write messages down her spine with his fingers. Why do thoughts like this reappear when the moment has long since departed? He wasn’t sure if he was crying or not. There was little sound coming from his mouth and there were tears but were they from yawing or had he conceded that it was ok to admit failure. Still, at least no one saw this and he dried his eyes with the pillow cover and got out of bed.

The oddest thing about this day was that neither seem to feel any great sense of loss, both appeared to be heartbroken but there was no fix or a desire to fix. They dressed in separate rooms and departed at different times. The drive to work for both of them was filled with nothingness at speed. Must not think of good things not a good time to think of good things must not allow myself to melt to submit to crumble to collapse to plead to bleed to pretend that this is not the right thing to do. All those years of gathering silence has generate just enough energy for both of us to walk away. There was no goodbye kiss.
(C) SJ2009