“Time, Red Wine and Heroin”
We sit by the stream in the sun, a
picnic, she seems fine and I am just happy to be here enjoying the warmth of
the sun, the sound of the water.
Not a stream though, not really,
some white water on the edges.
She said, “it’s so loud and it won’t
stop”. I agreed, it was loud and the water was intense, never slowing but
hurrying past, more coming, billions of molecules to replace the last. So
I could understand why she was made uneasy, but, but, it seemed overreaction in
a way, a past I suppose I can only know about talking now in this
present.
This future which keeps becoming
present, then past.
We didn’t leave.
I lay back with sun on my face and
someone in a mask stuck a needle in her arm.
She relaxed, the river no longer
bothering her, time, water, me, unimportant.
But when she woke she was even more
agitated, looking around for the masked one, I tried to comfort her and even I
could feel that the stream was even more violent, her shoulders shaking
as she listened to it, cried.
A kinder masked one offered me a red
liquid, tasting of grapes and decay, but slowing everything. We drank
more of it, the masked one and me, and the river softened, seemingly relaxed
all of a sudden, I asked her to try some, but she didn’t feel the
slackening and screamed at the water moving and laughing with me. She was
desperate. We finished the red liquid and I lay back enjoying the quiet
sound of the river sleepily going on its way, not stopping, not giving up its
relentless journey but seemingly kind and gentle.
But she screamed for her masked
friend who found her and the river stole her from me.
So it goes I think. Maybe a
cruel end to her time. But as it went too fast for her, I feel the slow
movement of the earth turning and it is comforting.
