This is a very peculiar chapter, but bear with me. I'm going through a lot these days and writing is really helping me take my mind off of things. A big thank you to partypantscuddy for beta-ing this and to Sheis1963 for being her usual cuddly bitchy self :)
Chapter 12
My father died a month ago.
I reckoned writing might help me cope just like the last time.
I tried.
I tried writing everything that came to my mind.
But then I burnt every single word.
I watch as the fire tears the pages.
The crisp white paper turning yellow, brown, grey. Then black.
Death doesn't exist. People die only when they are forgotten.
In front of me, these exact words are burning bright among the ashes in my grandparent's house.
My mother told me those words, or, better, she read them to me from an Isabelle Allende book.
"If you will remember me, I'll never really die." she told me one day.
I'll never forget you.
She hugged me tight then till I'd had fallen asleep in her arms. When I woke up, she was gone.
My mother used to read me poetry before going to bed.
And all I can remember right now is how soft yet harsh some of the verses were.
She loved Italian poetry.
Dad and I would laugh in her face at her pronunciation. Not that we were any better, mind you.
We were just as clueless as she was.
La morte
si scontavivendo.
Life is death and suffering, indifference and discomfort. The real Death is living in particular circumstances and living in those, daily, is how we encounter Death.
Real Death is life, with its problems, its contradictions, its pain.
I'm alone.
I feel pain and betrayal.
I've been left here alone.
I can't do this any more.
I don't think I can stand another day.
Is it too much to ask to be normal again?
I want everything to go back as it used to be.
I want my mother to still be alive.
I want my father to keep breathing.
For the first time this morning I thought about Lisa.
I wonder what she feels.
I hope she's not worrying about me. Not worrying too much about me.
I don't know if I'm strong enough to go back to the US.
Maybe with time.
Maybe as the days go by I'll feel better. My heart will heal and I won't feel any more pain.
It feels as if I've been stabbed right in the chest.
Sometimes right between my shoulder blades.
There is no blood.
Only the feeling of helplessness that comes with losing so much.
With losing everything.
I haven't played a guitar in years.
I went to my granddad's studio and sat on the couch. I contemplated which book to read but ended up taking his guitar out of its holder.
The tightness of the chord beneath my fingers. The calming colour of the wood.
I played for a couple of hours.
It felt good.
Today I smiled.
Lisa's boyfriend sent me an email. A very embarrassing picture of Lisa, sitting on the toilet in her pyjamas, toothbrush in her mouth. She was fully asleep.
Laugh a little.
-H
And then I laughed.
It's been five months now.
I don't think I have fully come to terms with the idea that both my parents are gone.
I'm adapting.
I'm coping fine.
I want to call Lisa soon.
But I don't think I have the heart to tell her I won't be coming back to America.
