I stroked the full glass, dry on its exterior, looking at the orange clouds whaling across the sky. They had a momentous glow of lazy embers, but massive and humbling sitting in the blue mass. There’s nothing like a sky, half-washed in the clouds of Gods to make you feel as insignificant as a pebble. And, that’s how I was – like my death is nothing and the sky gave up caring so long ago that it’s forgotten humans even exist. So, now I was as jealous of the sky as Shakespeare had been, but there our company ended. The fucking sky and its colours reminding me I’ve got to die. At least it was no surprise, I’ve been reminded so many times and now I’m counting them – maybe there’s a number with some answers - maybe.
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She’d told me to get out of the room just a couple of minutes before. I wasn’t about to argue of course. So, I was sitting on a red leather armchair, beaten into shape by thousands of nervous arses, moving my anguished fingers, feeling a little guilty that I didn’t feel stronger. She was the one pushing a human being through a hole between her legs – not me. What the hell could I say about that? I couldn’t call it a pussy right now. Not as I had in seedy moments of genuine affection. I had no word for what that part of her body was doing right at this moment, and had no business thinking of one. But, that’s the trespass of males – naming everything, even when they shouldn’t. Anyway, it was a pursuit to calm myself – to name things keeps me on track. I’ve done it hundreds of times. Waiting for job interviews, or something, looking at unnamed objects and naming them. The doctor exited soon though and came to me, in his blocked English accent:
‘You have a perfectly healthy girl. Please come.’
I still remember the smile in his beard to this day, despite what came next. My wife lay there looking somehow equally aghast and relieved that her work was done. At the side of her bed was a nurse spilling water over my daughter – human for just seconds, blue and built of about five huge wrinkles and soft bone, her eyes hidden under the weight of the world in bulbous skin. At a glance a fist slammed into me and I was consumed in my first ever unconditional love. I’m serious. It was God’s way of saying:
‘You can die now, can’t you?’
How right that was I’m still comprehending and fearing almost daily. My love for her makes death all the worse worthwhile.
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She looked at me two minutes ago, while typing this:
‘Are you okay Papa?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
It’s not the first time I’ve been okay like this and I’ll be telling you about a few more in the coming weeks.
