tuesday
when i'm walking through the exit of the university long after they have switched off the escalators and i'm feeling the warm evening breeze that is blowing across the square playing with the fabric of my shirt and pants, a memory that is more vivid than the actual event is shocking my bones like an electric current. so badly that i cannot take one more step forward, but have to hold on to the concrete wall for support and then have to sit down on the ledge were, during the day, the smokers sit in groups.
i see you in front of me with your v-neck shirt.
"this is my favorite one!" you said proudly, and i in turn was proud that i was favorite-shirt-worthy. it was orange, and it didn't really fit you, you looked kind of awkward in it, but i loved you for that awkwardness that so contrasted with the grace you radiated otherwise. it takes several minutes until i get up, walk to the bike and ride home.
on the way, i'm stopping at the café to have a coke and check how jodie's doing. it's empty and she is reading the paper behind the counter when i'm walking in, shouting at me:
"what do *you* want here?!?"
"i love you, too!"
"are you coming straight from the office?"
"STRRRAIGHT from the office!" but my pathetic kramer-impersonation is lost on her.
later, while i'm peeling the label from the empty coke bottle and she is washing glasses, i'm saying
"jodie?"
"hm?"
"you're studying medicine, you must know..."
"...must know what?"
"i am weirdly tired the past weeks, i could sleep 12 hours a day and 14 hours a night. i can't concentrate and right now i could put my head on the counter and fall asleep. i think i fell asleep shortly in the office this afternoon. even though i slept tonight for 9 hours. if these are the symptoms, what is the disease?"
the answer is coming even before i've finished the question.
"sounds like a depression to me."
i'm laughing about her joke but she's not laughing back.
"no, i mean seriously..." i'm insisting.
"seriously."
"get out! i'm not having any depressions! and besides i want to have something organic. something that you can take a pill for and you're feeling better the next day."
the bell in the kitchen is ringing and jodie's switching from talking- to working-mode, rushing off. suddenly i'm feeling two hand on my shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt to embrace me.
"hi!"
"hi, c.!"
"saw you sitting here and thought i'd drop in!"
jodie's walking past us with two dishes in her hand in a hurry. but she's got enough time to stop shortly and shout:
"oh bloody hell! you, *too*?!!?"
"she's in a good mood tonight!" i'm informing c.
"seems so."
later i'm asking c. what her diagnose of my sleep-the-clock-around-state would be.
"sounds like a depression to me."
i'm giving up and change the subject.
tonight gorgeous victoria is working, standing by the sink, washing glasses, putting them orderly in growing rows between me and her, and her hands and fingers become increasingly fragmented with each new row of glasses i have to look through. her golden wedding ring is blinking.
johnny commented: (asking in curiosity, not in judgment...) are you hurting her?
i'm afraid our protagonist is. even though he tried everything to avoid this and to not create a situation in which he would. this, also, is a reason why he didn't stay that night. because it would have sent the wrong signals. and he had made it clear from the start that he had no intention and no capacity to get involved emotionally. he had made this clear repeatedly. but this, of course, was theory.
