I haven't heard from Goren in two days.
Two days. Two whole days of sitting around doing dull, boring, endless, mindless paperwork. I think if I see another form to fill out, I'll scream, pull out my hair... maybe put my head through the wall.
Whenever I got exasperated with Goren, I used to think how annoying and nerve-wracking my job was with him around. But just until now, I hadn't realized how tedious work was without him. Yeah, there are times when he drives me insane, but there are times--moments when he gives me that smile that nobody else sees--when it's all worth it.
But lately he's been acting... The first time I noticed anything weird, it was during a coffee break. He went outside before I did; I came out a few minutes later and found him sitting on one of the benches.
Goren never sits on benches during coffee breaks. He hates sitting still. If we go outside, he's in constant motion--pacing, shuffling, strolling, always walking. But this time he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead at nothing.
I went up to him and waved my hand in front of his face, snapping my fingers once or twice. It was only after a few seconds had passed that he started and looked up at me in blank confusion. When I asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer--just started talking about the morning's caseload, as if nothing had happened.
I figured he was just tired. I mean, Goren drives himself pretty hard at work, and I don't know what he does when he gets home. It happens to everybody.
But it happened again. And again, and again. Soon he was forgetting things, dropping objects, rambling on and trailing off in the middle of sentences, coming in with tousled hair and rumpled clothes--Goren, who never omits a single detail, who keeps himself and his desk painstakingly neat and tidy, who pays careful attention to everything. It was like my partner had vanished into thin air.
I went home and sat down at my computer, because I was thinking things that I didn't want to think were true, and logged onto the Web. I surfed through some sites and found it. Everything. All the details, all the characteristics, there.
Goren was displaying the symptoms of a disorganized-type schizophrenic.
I didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true. I knew about his mother, of course, but the odds were low, and... maybe he was just under a lot of stress. Maybe I was wrong. I probably was wrong.
But it all fit. It all made sense.
And now it's been too days, and everything is way too quiet. I'm getting really worried now, worried and nervous. I phoned Bobby a couple of times yesterday, just to see if he was okay, and got his answering machine each time. I went over in the evening to knock on his door; there was no answer. I waited outside for about ten or fifteen minutes before giving up and going home.
I'm walking home now. I got off the bus a lot earlier than usual to walk by Goren's apartment--just in case, you know, I happen to meet him. It's cold and rainy and I'm shivering with my hands stuffed in my pockets; I trudge along in my clumping, clunking boots. I hate these boots. They're clumsy and heavy, with these huge chunky soles and thick leather laces, but they're great for splashing in puddles.
There's a bridge close by Goren's apartment, spanning a ravine about fifteen or sixteen feet across. The banks are high and steep, the jagged grey rocks slippery and splattered with blotches of dark green moss. Far below the murky dull brown water flows smoothly, without a single ripple-- meaning it's deep and dangerous. Nobody goes swimming in that river, not if they don't want to get drowned. You pass it as you walk down the dirt path that lies at the edge of the playground; to get to the apartment, you turn left on the trail instead of right, which leads you onto the bridge.
I'm going down the path. It's getting darker, either stormier or later in the evening--in this rain, I can't tell which. The branches hanging above me are whipped into a frenzy by the wind, lashing out with hissing stings as they rustle their leaves and spray rainwater everywhere.
I reach the fork, barely glancing at the bridge, and...
Oh, my God.
Approach him slowly. Don't scream, don't panic, just walk towards him very quietly and calmly.
"Goren?"
He doesn't turn his head to look at me. He's staring down at the water; it's churned up by the rain, making a gurgling, burbling noise interspersed with light splashes. The river isn't dull brown anymore, but a dark inky black that swirls fluidly about the rocks on the bank. The wind picks up and ruffles the surface of the water.
"Goren..."
"What are you doing here?" His voice is barely recognizable--low, rough, hoarse, filled with a harsh, grating anguish.
"I came to visit you... I was worried..." His feet are shuffling along the edge; my breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard. His hands cling to the railing as he leans out slightly, tilting forwards.
If he lets go...
"Don't," I beg, words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "Please, don't, it's not worth it, you can't do this, you've got so much to live for, please don't--"
He's not listening. Is he? A muscle in his jaw flickers as it tightens; he clenches his fingers convulsively, his knuckles white and blistered raw.
"Goren, come back over the railing," I plead. "Let's talk. You don't have to do this. Please?"
"Go away."
"I can't." Ever so slowly I take a step closer; he doesn't move.
"Get out of here!" Quieter, more bitterly, "You should be grateful. I won't be your problem anymore."
"You're not my problem, Goren, you never have been. I--"
Goren twists around to see me and I see it--the despair, the rage, the bewilderment, and those terrible blank, uncomprehending eyes.
He's lost it. He's lost his mind.
"Go away!" he roars with such force and intensity that I jump backwards, startled, even as tears roll down his cheeks. "Get out of here! Get out!"
"I can't," I repeat dumbly. I can't leave, I can't stay, I can't think... oh, God, what do I do? He's going to jump, any minute now--
He turns away. He tense his shoulders, he lets out a short breath--
My feet are clattering along the bridge, my long skirt is whirling and whipping around my ankles as I run--
--and he lets go.
***
Two days. Two whole days of sitting around doing dull, boring, endless, mindless paperwork. I think if I see another form to fill out, I'll scream, pull out my hair... maybe put my head through the wall.
Whenever I got exasperated with Goren, I used to think how annoying and nerve-wracking my job was with him around. But just until now, I hadn't realized how tedious work was without him. Yeah, there are times when he drives me insane, but there are times--moments when he gives me that smile that nobody else sees--when it's all worth it.
But lately he's been acting... The first time I noticed anything weird, it was during a coffee break. He went outside before I did; I came out a few minutes later and found him sitting on one of the benches.
Goren never sits on benches during coffee breaks. He hates sitting still. If we go outside, he's in constant motion--pacing, shuffling, strolling, always walking. But this time he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead at nothing.
I went up to him and waved my hand in front of his face, snapping my fingers once or twice. It was only after a few seconds had passed that he started and looked up at me in blank confusion. When I asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer--just started talking about the morning's caseload, as if nothing had happened.
I figured he was just tired. I mean, Goren drives himself pretty hard at work, and I don't know what he does when he gets home. It happens to everybody.
But it happened again. And again, and again. Soon he was forgetting things, dropping objects, rambling on and trailing off in the middle of sentences, coming in with tousled hair and rumpled clothes--Goren, who never omits a single detail, who keeps himself and his desk painstakingly neat and tidy, who pays careful attention to everything. It was like my partner had vanished into thin air.
I went home and sat down at my computer, because I was thinking things that I didn't want to think were true, and logged onto the Web. I surfed through some sites and found it. Everything. All the details, all the characteristics, there.
Goren was displaying the symptoms of a disorganized-type schizophrenic.
I didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true. I knew about his mother, of course, but the odds were low, and... maybe he was just under a lot of stress. Maybe I was wrong. I probably was wrong.
But it all fit. It all made sense.
And now it's been too days, and everything is way too quiet. I'm getting really worried now, worried and nervous. I phoned Bobby a couple of times yesterday, just to see if he was okay, and got his answering machine each time. I went over in the evening to knock on his door; there was no answer. I waited outside for about ten or fifteen minutes before giving up and going home.
I'm walking home now. I got off the bus a lot earlier than usual to walk by Goren's apartment--just in case, you know, I happen to meet him. It's cold and rainy and I'm shivering with my hands stuffed in my pockets; I trudge along in my clumping, clunking boots. I hate these boots. They're clumsy and heavy, with these huge chunky soles and thick leather laces, but they're great for splashing in puddles.
There's a bridge close by Goren's apartment, spanning a ravine about fifteen or sixteen feet across. The banks are high and steep, the jagged grey rocks slippery and splattered with blotches of dark green moss. Far below the murky dull brown water flows smoothly, without a single ripple-- meaning it's deep and dangerous. Nobody goes swimming in that river, not if they don't want to get drowned. You pass it as you walk down the dirt path that lies at the edge of the playground; to get to the apartment, you turn left on the trail instead of right, which leads you onto the bridge.
I'm going down the path. It's getting darker, either stormier or later in the evening--in this rain, I can't tell which. The branches hanging above me are whipped into a frenzy by the wind, lashing out with hissing stings as they rustle their leaves and spray rainwater everywhere.
I reach the fork, barely glancing at the bridge, and...
Oh, my God.
Approach him slowly. Don't scream, don't panic, just walk towards him very quietly and calmly.
"Goren?"
He doesn't turn his head to look at me. He's staring down at the water; it's churned up by the rain, making a gurgling, burbling noise interspersed with light splashes. The river isn't dull brown anymore, but a dark inky black that swirls fluidly about the rocks on the bank. The wind picks up and ruffles the surface of the water.
"Goren..."
"What are you doing here?" His voice is barely recognizable--low, rough, hoarse, filled with a harsh, grating anguish.
"I came to visit you... I was worried..." His feet are shuffling along the edge; my breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard. His hands cling to the railing as he leans out slightly, tilting forwards.
If he lets go...
"Don't," I beg, words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "Please, don't, it's not worth it, you can't do this, you've got so much to live for, please don't--"
He's not listening. Is he? A muscle in his jaw flickers as it tightens; he clenches his fingers convulsively, his knuckles white and blistered raw.
"Goren, come back over the railing," I plead. "Let's talk. You don't have to do this. Please?"
"Go away."
"I can't." Ever so slowly I take a step closer; he doesn't move.
"Get out of here!" Quieter, more bitterly, "You should be grateful. I won't be your problem anymore."
"You're not my problem, Goren, you never have been. I--"
Goren twists around to see me and I see it--the despair, the rage, the bewilderment, and those terrible blank, uncomprehending eyes.
He's lost it. He's lost his mind.
"Go away!" he roars with such force and intensity that I jump backwards, startled, even as tears roll down his cheeks. "Get out of here! Get out!"
"I can't," I repeat dumbly. I can't leave, I can't stay, I can't think... oh, God, what do I do? He's going to jump, any minute now--
He turns away. He tense his shoulders, he lets out a short breath--
My feet are clattering along the bridge, my long skirt is whirling and whipping around my ankles as I run--
--and he lets go.
***