It is later, at headquarters when I don’t want to think about what just happened—I find myself in an office that faces away from the congestion, overshadowed by some trees that camouflage the reality of the surroundings.
There is not much to look at in the room, only a plain office desk made of mystery wood and stained to look lustrous, but exhibiting no unique individuality of the nature of tree texture which I find I prefer somehow. Prefer it because there is no need to lament the fallen sacrifice of that glorious vegetation.
I avoid thoughts of Jörn, thoughts of the danger of what occurred during the chase and his estimated …. choice to play with my life —speaking of sacrifices ….I feel so angry….angry at mankind, angry on an unreasonable scale at a species and gender too that I’d rather not deeply reflect upon…. I have learned through personal experimentation that it is not realistic to counter what you feel; you cannot annihilate what you feel—the result, instead, is you bury it, but when you bury it, it’s just covered up, poking internally like a thorn in your side and reminds you whenever you try to move about
So I acknowledge this. As I look at the fake wood of the desk, try to name the mix of colors that I recognize went into the stain’s hue….alizarin crimson….as I cling to this ….because it is one of the two of my favorite colors ….especially Windsor and Newton’s….and pulls me temporarily down an avenue of release ….away from the rawness of the savagery of my own anger
yes I grab onto this fabrication ….thinking of tubes of it….squeezing it out and how it glosses and shines as it catches the light still so pure on my imagined pallet ….why ruin it? poised over it as I know in time it will not stay thus, the air has already contaminated ….its existence to remain ….so
Out the window something distracts me….a movement of a bird ….
then….no, it’s not a bird, too jerky in motion, not the natural kind anyway; drone ….’a little bird told me….’
again, I am wrong, I’m being paranoid —just a helicopter descending as now I can feel the nearby vibration shaking the building
and look away….I had shut the abrasive overhead light off with its LED migraine caresses so the grey of the carpet and walls are subdued in a lush of FBI shadow I prefer to be cloaked under
Desk, chairs, a cabinet discreetly in one corner, the other, corner window and steel sills with pulled up blinds
There is a knock at the door that is startling though expected that comes just a second before the door opens
“Are you all right?”
“How dare you!” I say, not a shout but still spat, despite my intentions to not expose my emotions
Jörn looks at me, now changed into a dark blue business suit, superbly, expertly cut to outline his every angle to advantage
“Do you keep a wardrobe here?” I ask because he only just looks at me
“I understand you’re angry,” he says as he carefully walks towards me
I turn away from those eyes,
“angry….” I say but the laugh I attempt never is conjured and I get up and kick the desk chair….and we both watch it ungracefully topple in an awkward tumble, landing wheels up, one hitting the wall and spinning
I look at Jörn again now….he glances from the chair to me with one brow now cocked thoughtfully and —a stiffness around his mouth that holds back a desire to —laugh? that his eyes betray revealed by a twinkle he attempts to hide by looking down quickly
“What is it with your kind that just decide what will happen without asking first? How dare you decide for me?”
“My kind?” again that raised eyebrow
“Your—species!—breed!—gender!—type!—controlling, bossy, assuming, superior—“
“Now you’re just rattling off adjectives in tandem that challenge my grasp of your language as you do tend to morph their meanings….Duva—look—“
“No, you look! You can’t just pop in and out of my life and think it’s ok to play craps with it! Being shot at on the highway—“
“Now that wasn’t my fault—“
“But telling me to stay in the car when YOU get out and leave me there as bait —WAS!—“
He shrugs grudgingly but there’s no remorse,
“it was well calculated, you were never in any actual danger, duva—“
“Says who? According to who? Whose calculations? Not mine —from where I was sitting!”
“Duva—“
“Don’t ‘Duva’ me, fuck you! How dare you play with my life—my safety—my needs—what about what I want, what about my fucking opinions of what I want to happen or —DO!? I have to get back to the lodge—Sunny’s going to wonder, don’t you even see that much? Deciding for me when—you’ve put my—my—fucking —cover—at risk!!—jeez!….I want out of all this! I want to get out of here—away from you and away from your species telling me how to live my life—“
“You mean gender, right—? I’m pretty good with English but like I say, you can be challenging!” and he laughs at me
“Fuck you, Jörn!” I snap and then under my breath, “translate that!”
There is a pregnant pause
Then within the silence he says,
“Jag älskar dig….”
and his voice has gone dry ….that it cracks
It touches some unknown nerve within me
At first I don’t understand. I hear instead his tone. It has been awhile since I thought of the phrase. Especially connected to him. But….slowly it registers.
Why now? Why say this now? In an FBI setting of all places too….why now? Is it to shut me up?
I look up at his eyes. They watch me.
“I don’t want you to go back there,” he says and ….it is the vulnerability that I hear ….and see….that disarms me
**freedom of choice among other things, hidden in my meanings I rage about here; read between all the legend lines
No comments:
Post a Comment