Three weeks ago, an odd thing happened. There was a massive traffic jam about three blocks deep. The streets were lined with cars and people with nothing better to do. Word on the street was a man died. An accidental drowning or something. The whole street was covered in water coming from a clogged manhole. The usi in me decided to stick around as they pulled him out from inside the hole.
In the crowd, I saw my mom standing beside a neighbor. They were both in their house dresses looking sleepy and curious. I smiled at her but she must not have seen me for she kept talking to Malou as though two weeks ago, they did not fight over a dying orchid.
It took an awful lot of pulling but soon, a man wearing goggles and a flashlight on his head emerged from the hole. The rope was fastened to his waist but his hands were anything but free. He carried a young man in an odd angle and I remember thinking if he were still alive, he’d probably have a lot of broken bones. His shirt was a little tattered and his pants looked really dirty. I zeroed in on the boy’s face and I felt a million thunderbolts rushing through my body.
He held my lifeless body. My arms sagged to the earth, my clothing ripped into pieces. My mother called my name in a voice I had never heard her use before. It sounded like sorrow, regret and shame all rolled into one. People were shaking their heads. Some remarked on how I was too young to die. Some wondered how I got down there in the first place. A couple of people looked disappointed as though they expected somebody more important to come out of the hole. Most were pleased it was someone they didn’t know. Something like that should never hit close to home.
I drowned in the city I called home. My precious buoys did not or could not save me. I allowed the lights and sounds to take me over until I was left with no voice, no will, nothing to keep me sane. My mother’s cries grew louder. Soon, my father and sisters arrived. Some men were blocking the way and my father bellowed and cursed them into letting him through. At a distance, I could hear sirens. Everything was so noisy. I covered my ears to block the sound. I stood there looking at a couple of rescue workers attempting CPR. My sister was on her knees beside me, willing me back to life, praying for a miracle.
Three weeks ago, I died. But I learned that I am far bigger than the city or anything it can throw my way. It cannot swallow me whole. May pulso, called out the man. A slow one. A weak one, but a pulse nonetheless.
Photo Credit: Drowning Man
Bachelor No. 2 or, the Last Remains of the Dodo
AFK. Just to make things clear, I’m still on hiatus. There are a few things I still need to finish before I can fully commit to this page again. I realize that my last post, if anything, was a bit vague on the issue and so I wanted to write a quasi-epilogue to explain. In the meantime, I hope you guys like the spanking new layout. I had a blast making it.