One Page #38

So much of life was stillness just then. And it was unsettling. When everything stops you wonder whether you have stopped too, and ceased to exist for a moment, however brief. And then with a bang everything floods back in, exacerbating the lost moment of calm. Whether or not you enjoy the stillness while life is on pause, you will mostly certainly enjoy it once you are scrambling to keep up. The rope was still swinging back and forth in the breeze. No one had taken it completely down, just cut the loop on the end. While I watched it swinging everything else was still. The air held me upright and I was lulled into the slow motion of the frayed rope. I wondered how he had reached the rafter to fasten the end. It was so high up. When the breeze stopped the roped stopped moving and everything fell into motion again. Sirens screamed toward the house and I looked to the woods in desperation, hoping they would reach out and swallow me whole. Instead I would be identifying and signing and releasing. The rope twitched. I felt as if I were being pushed from behind by a forceful wave. The van drove away with lights blinking. A few cars followed. I stood on the front walk and watched. Silence. My hands shook, and if I hadn’t been standing I guessed my feet would be shaking too. Inside, I put on a black shirt and re-outlined my eyes in black. The stillness returned. The house was quiet after so much commotion. I wondered how long it would last, days, perhaps weeks. I wasn’t sure I could handle that. I threw my fist into the wall to test whether the bang would shake the stillness. It didn’t. Instead my knuckles hurt. I lay down on the couch and fell into the stillness. I released myself to the stillness. I gave in and it felt so good. The stillness was a power far beyond my own, and it reminded me of how small I was. I felt like I was being carried, but I didn’t know where to. I hoped that wherever I was headed would provide me with a moment of peace. A moment of letting go. I gently rubbed my knuckles and listened to the occasional car roll by outside, slowly as if already in the funeral procession. I thought about my car with the flag on the antennae. I thought about the flowers in tall vases and the carpet that softens our footsteps into a collective hush. I thought about the reflection on the casket that shone under the gentle but florescent lights, and the fingerprints that would grapple with understanding, desperately clawing for an answer, quietly overlapping each other and further confusing the swirled prints. I closed my eyes. I wondered if the rope still swung back and forth or whether it was still now. I would cut it down tomorrow. Until then it would be a reminder.