When you were ten, could you lay down your life for that of another?
Could you be brave, to your very last?
I miss England. No, I do not mean that which is south of Scotland. I mean that which exists in our collective memory — in love and loss, under rain and (unlikely) shine.
I miss England, where no ships can reach.
‘What’s in there?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The river. You’ve been looking at it for a long time but there’s nothing there, innit?’
Yes, there was nothing there but icy water. The week before, there was something though. Some idiot tried to drown himself and you dived in to save him. As both of you surfaced to the embankment, I heard him thank you over and over again but you said nothing. You could not. Your teeth were chattering and all the colours had drained out of your face.
When both of you reached the hospital, the doctors did not expect either of you to survive. Therefore, they were amazed when he did not only recover, but at great speed too. It is as if you awoke in him the will to live. I know that because years ago, I was dying within the wall I built around myself. Then you came and tore it down.
Contrary to the man you saved, you showed no sign of holding on. With their scientific minds, the doctors were more puzzled by you. They have never seen a patient go just like that — with no resistance at all — but it came as no surprise to me. You had never fought against anything. To you, everything is the will of God. So when He came to take you home, you went in faith, as always.
‘Oh yes, there is nothing in the river. I am just thinking of someone.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll see him soon.’ the stranger replied with a peculiar glint in the eyes.
On the bus, I wondered what the stranger meant by ‘soon’ but my thoughts were interrupted when I passed by Highbury Fields. There was a carpet of bluebells… in winter! Global warming has brought with it strange phenomena but that really took the biscuit.
And now I stand, in front of your house. I have been avoiding it since you died but your mother asked me over. Knock, knock. No answer. Knock, knock. No answer still. Wait, the red paint on the door is very fresh. Your mother must be as extraordinary as you. Why, I doubt I will be painting doors if my son has just died.
I guess I just have to text her then. I walk towards the café, take out my phone and wow, what is going on? According to its screen, my phone seems to think that it is April 2008 but before I can make out what is going on, I walked into someone.
‘I am so sorry!’
‘Oh no, it is alri-‘
You.
You have just walked past me, alive and apologising. Yet you look different with that long fringe you had when you were younger and all. Wait, I think I know what is going on. Your hair, the newly painted door and the bluebells! Of course they do not bloom during winter, they flower during spring, like April… 2008.
That stranger by the river said I would see you soon. How soon is the past? Who would have thought? No wonder you did not recognise me. We will only meet at a Christmas party later in the year.
I turn round and there you are, the evening sun shining on your back.
If I had the chance to start again
Then you would be the one I’d come and find
Like the poster of Berlin on my wall
Maybe there’s a chance our walls might fall
—‘Chances’, Athlete
The world seems to stand very still, when the wind blows on Brandon Hill. Sit beside me Melancholy, atop here we can breathe easy. Those who have sat here all forlorn, knows happiness to be a thorn. The rain can do nothing but weep, while we half wish for deep, deep sleep.
I am Sisyphus 