TMB IV: Pulling together

I put the drawer on the floor and browsed again through the vestiges. My first impression had been right. No trace left of her in the pictures.

I took the whole mess and carried it to the sofa, then skimmed through it some more, my mind actually blank like the grey sea on a rainy day. Couldn’t think of anything else, nor cared to. Finally I switched off the lights and sat at the kitchen table, the only illumination coming from the lantern on the street. It glowed cold and ghost-like, just like I felt inside.

I got up once more and got half a bottle of Scotch out of the cupboard, placed it on the table and sat down again. Some minutes ticked by stealthily. I noticed I hadn't gotten a glass or anything to pour it into, but didn't feel like getting up right again. So I just sat there and stared at the bottle for the longest time. The faintest trace of light got caught in its honey-coloured body, and it slightly glowed in the gloom. My life as I had known it slid out of my hands. Every time before I could come to terms with one of the changes, another one had already taken place on top of that. I needed a break to catch up. I really did.

I reached out and touched the bottle. The cool of the glass felt comforting against my fingertips. I stared at it some more.

Then I got up and went to bed, tiptoeing through the mess in the rooms, mercifully hidden in darkness. I didn't even brush my teeth. In bed, I closed and reopened my eyes repeatedly. The dark behind my eyelids and the dark in the room differed not one degree from one another. I held up my hand. Nothing to be seen. Just like that thick film of lightlessness I felt encompassing me.

I continued to blink irregularly until I fell asleep.

Half past six, I opened my eyes again. The first messengers of dawn peered in through the window. I felt completely awake and utterly disoriented at the same time. As if you had all the pieces of an extensive puzzle in your head, but none of them seem to fit any other, and in the end you come to doubt they even belong together, but yet you are stuck with them.

I got a first push towards orientation when I looked over at the other side of the bed and noticed that no one had slept there. Second one was that I still had my shoes on. Dammit, I really had to get a hold on myself again.

I got up and had to face the chaos of yesterday's searching, but I'd take care of that later. I undressed and took a hot shower. After that I switched over to an ice-cold turrent and endured the onslaught for half a minute or so. When I regained proper consciousness, the unfitting puzzle pieces in my head had headed out, probably bound for some more pleasurable place, and I could go about my business. I dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a black pullover. In the kitchen I cooked up a pot of really black coffee, as black as a moonless, overcast night spent 100 feet underground in a coal-pit, and as strong as Muhammad Ali. After two cups of it I felt like I could tackle the cleaning business now.

A frenzy of concentrated putting away put away with everything. Last I fitted the drawer back in the desk and glanced at the watch. By now it was seven-fifteen.

Applying the same focused concentration, I made some eggs and toast. I didn't think of anything, but put all my efforts to the task at hand. Methodically, I ate my breakfast, buttering my toast, using the cutlery in the proper way, scooping up the yolk with some crust. Then I cleaned up the table and washed up in the sink. By now the sun had risen and whitewashed the kitchen walls with golden light.

I went to the bathroom and took a long, leisurely piss, then washed my hands and splashed some water on my face. I stared at myself in the mirror, looking right through it and not seeing anything. The face in the mirror stared likewise back through me.

Then I got on the phone and called my office that I would be in later today and if anything was up I needed to know.

"We tried to call you yesterday", the sec on duty told me. "Have you checked your mailbox?"

I told her that I hadn't done so.

"No", I said. "Anything you can't tell me right now? Saving time?"

She coughed, indignantly, but answered anyway.

"You have an appointment with Mr. _______________ at three-thirty today. He called yesterday and insisted on it."
I heard her catching her breath and think for a second or two. Then she continued, in a slightly lower voice:
"He appeared to be a little upset over something."
Now her voice dropped to a whisper altogether:
"But he didn't tell me."

Now what should I make out of this?

"That's alright", I assured her. After all, he was one of our best customers. "I'll be right there and meet the man. At his office, as usual?"

"Yes." Her voice was back to normal. She had straight organizing-business to do again. Something she knew about. You could tell she was by far more happier now. Someone elso would take care of the emotional stuff. I doubted I was a good fit either.
"Over at Hill Street", she said. Again a pause. "Well, I hope we'll see you later."

Was there a hint of sarcasm in her voice now? Ye Gods, things weren't getting any easier. But I didn't really care anyway.

"Oh, Judy!" I called out before she could hang up, "one more thing: Could you figure out which country's code...", quickly browsing through my mobile until I found the appropriate number, "...'0041' could be?"

Now she'd seemed to snort! Was this task beneath her or what? But she just reread the code to me and gave me an affirmation.

I hung up and took a breath. Then I got some paper and pencil and sat down again at the kitchen table.

Pouring me another cup of that coffee I pondered again over yesterday's events. Something seriously needed some sorting out.
It was about time.