water trickle



They stood in the space between the balcony and the living room; neither inside nor out. In
coordinated moves, they moved to the balcony and arranged the plastic chairs in what was
now an acceptable pattern.
It was warm for that time of year and a cold but not iced drink would be just right.
-“what do you want to drink?” he asked.
The doorbell rang. She moved swiftly to the intercom and buzzed their friends in.
The group was creating an almost fascinating distraction for both of them. The reality was
that it would have been a “Heads I win, Tails you loose” conversation, had they been alone.
Once the group was settled in an alternative configuration of the plastic chairs, the concourse
started. The main subject was their summer follies; which were ridiculed with finesse by those
who had a conventional holiday.
She was mostly concentrating on the small collective silences. He had never seen her face
so clear. He was aware of her talent to mould her knowledge to her surroundings so much so
that he remembers vividly himself thinking, that she has a deceitful soul.
-“Have you noticed how contemporary therapists are talking about taking care of yourself
rather than others? How can that benefit the community that you are part off?”
I wonder did she say that to stun, to entertain, or to impress? He did not even manage to finish
his thought and said:” someone famous once said that “seriousness is the privilege of fools”
She looked through him onto the low sky and said.
-“People that do not take skepticism seriously are,…..; who needs a top up?”, she got up.
She washed her hands whilst looking at the mirror. The water trickled along her left forearm.
Pulled the sleeves back to prevent it. The water travelled from the posterior all the way to the
elbow, by that time it was absorbed by the sleeves. It is an uncomfortable sensation.
The soapy water had reached that part of the elbow that when you accidentally knock it, it is
surprisingly painful. Causing the kind of fast pain that gives you no time to scream.
She remembered this being more annoying in winter when wearing a jumper. Wet wrists are
very sad. In her lifetime, how many sad wet wrists has she had? at sad times, happy times and
all times in-between?
This level of introspection made her recognise the power of the repeated actions with irritating
side effects. Only through repetition, they have become her anchor.
His heart is shot every dawn and the scars that he was once proud of, are now a memory app.
used much like some patients maintain their wounds and their abscises.
'neither inside nor out'
'the small collective silences'
'an acceptable pattern'
'an almost fascinating distraction for both of them'
'all times-in between'
'no time to scream'