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***
Ok. I can do this I thought to myself. I had the handle of the bat
gripped tightly, the surface felt slippery in my sweaty hands. I was distracted
by how inappropriate my footwear was as I glared down at the floor - bright
orange trainers with strips of luminous green running down the sides. I could see an image in my mind of
the trainers soaked with blood, the orange fabric stained a shade darker, the
laces strewn over the sides like soggy dreadlocks, red and bloodied.
A sudden feeling of
queasiness nearly knocked me on my side as I slowly drew my gaze to meet the
landscape in front of me. I was leant against the concrete wall of a single
story building, the length running either side of me. Hills and pastures ran
into the distance beyond a high fence a few metres opposite the building. My eyes felt like they were floating
in my delicate skull, gazing out at the overcast day; everything was starved of
beauty in the dull light. At that moment
I just wanted to lie down, close my eyes and dream of a quiet room.
I had been standing there
for a while. I had to urge the rest of my body forward by pressing my clammy
palm against the wall, which ached as the concrete drove into the skin. Finally
I was upright, but I didn’t feel any more ready, my thoughts were flooding my mind
and halting my body in place. I was thinking of the person I had been up until
that point.
I have always enjoyed depictions
of violence. I grew up around violent games and films, seeking them out as an
alternative to going outside. The joy of staying inside and taking virtual
lives soared high above the idea of being with real people. Show me a gory
scene on TV and my face would light up, urging the screen to show me more, but
if you showed me a party invitation, my stomach would sink; I would beg my
computer screen to exonerate me from the agony of social contact.
I stood there behind that
building, wondering if that lust for violence could exist in the real world. I
imagined what was to come - broken bones, bloody eye sockets and gargled wails
for mercy. I felt no excitement though; I really didn’t want to go in there, but
I couldn’t give myself a choice. I was one of the people who remembered when
everyone else forgot.
~
I never really knew Mary
and as far as I was aware, she didn’t even see me – despite having worked in
the same building for two years. I had no doubt the only response she could
have to me would be repulsion.
One day we spoke briefly,
and my brain decided to inject me with a colossal shot of infatuation. After a
meeting at work, we were asked to clean the room for the next lot of people –
the cleaner was ill. I tried to appear like I was in control of myself by
making small talk, but my face betrayed me; my skin felt hot, I thought my
whole body had started glowing. I thought about leaving the room; I wanted to
make an excuse and return when I had calmed down, but I knew the heat in my
face would still be there when I came back. We tidied the room at a fast pace,
mostly in silence. When we parted ways I felt we had forged a connection that
was beyond words; she seemed to have seen through my outer shell – the tough
scales of fear and restraint that isolated me. I thought maybe she had an
interpreter who was able to speak the language of my mind - she was sensitive;
she knew what it was like to have an identity hidden away.
~
When I entered the
building, I would be facing exiles of humanity. I wasn’t unlike them; I too
remembered Mary, but they were not nostalgic, they were incensed, twisted and full
of disgust. They had slipped too far and could not be reasoned with. They
wanted to destroy her; I wanted to help her. I was going to be her saviour.
My body had gone slack
while I was caught up in my memories. I didn’t know how long I had been
standing there. My eyes scanned the dots and lines in the distance that made up
the city; the wavering hum of traffic whispered through the air, adding an
ambience to my thoughts. I was jolted back to reality; my phone started to
vibrate against my thigh. A vibrating phone always distressed me - somebody is
demanding my attention at that moment, and my privacy is torn away.
I reached into my pocket
and pulled out my phone, ‘Dan - Mobile’ the touch-screen read. I pressed answer.
The numbers started counting the call time, “0:00… 0:01… 0:02…” I lifted the
phone to my ear and listened. He sounded concerned, “How are you doing?” His words
seemed to alight something in me, -confusion maybe - my eyes flicked around as
if searching for a response. “I’ve just arrived,” I replied after a pause,
looking left and right, double checking where I was.
Dan was a good friend. He
was the only person I had confided in about Mary, and my infatuation with her.
I couldn’t take my feelings seriously and I don’t think Dan could either, but he
had never seen me as passionate about anything. I think he was ready to give up
on me before I went searching for Mary. A negative attitude spills into the
people close to you like poison, and he was beginning to feel my taint.
I stretched my stiffened
body like a tired traveller after a long car-journey. Dan’s voice had alleviated
me; I felt rekindled, like a hypnotist had snapped his fingers and returned me
from my trance.
“I don’t know what do,” I said
, sounding as wrecked as I
felt. Dan exhaled hard, the air blasted over the phone’s speaker - he was
probably smoking, but I worried he was getting impatient. “What’d you decide? You
know she’s in there?” he murmured. I could hear clattering plates and a thin
voice in the background – I recognised it to be his mother’s.
“I’m just going to go in, I
don’t know.” I waved my hand in dismissal, forgetting he couldn’t see me. I
remembered that I hadn’t told Dan my true intentions; he thought I was at her house,
planning to confess my enchantment over her – not that I was lurking behind a
building in an abandoned air base, holding a steel baseball bat; saying I was
‘just going to go in’ was calling my bluff - I didn’t linger on hiding the
fumble, “I’ll see if she’s actually in there first. She might not even be in,”
I said, hunching over the phone. He hummed in agreement, “maybe she won’t be,
but it’s worth a shot, really, what have you got to lose?” he hesitated before
continuing, “don’t just walk right in there though. I don’t think she’d
appreciate that.” He had caught my blunder, but took it as just that.
“I know, yeah.” I felt the
conversation break-off, like it often did when talking to Dan on the phone –
long interludes where neither of us made a peep. I hung up and slipped the
phone back in to my jean pocket, instantly feeling guilty for not saying
goodbye – I always said goodbye; not saying goodbye is something only American
actors do in films. I forgave myself for the breach in etiquette, and returned
my mind to the present. I took a deep, shaky breath and turned to look at the
door beside me, taking one long step towards my doom.
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